Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum

A DAY LIKE EVERY OTHER

Apparently yesterday was a holiday, well if it was I missed it.  I am getting closer to going home for "Enviornmental Leave".  Whatever they call it this week, I am glad to be going.  Many of you have asked what my typical day is like.  I really can't answer that, because there is no such thing as normal here.  Allow me to qualify that, by saying this.  Anytime that there exists the possibility that a mortar, IED, VBIED, or suicide attack against you, that kind of kicks normal in the gut.  So there is no normal here.  My days begin at about 0800, I get up, and go into the office, at about 0900 where (as I mentioned before) I am bombarded by many soldiers coming in telling me of this great piece of "intel"  they got from this informant.  Ok, first as an officer I listen to what the soldiers have to say.  I have a duty to pay attention and to listen.  So I do, I take notes, and then I file them.  Again I have a duty to follow up on all credible leads.  Having said that I'd like to quote a SGT who was a veteran of the initial push into B'dad.

"Everybody in this country knows something, but nobody knows nothing!" 

That is never more evident than during questioning of a suspect.  There are about fifty million ways for them to lie to you and they find more.  The story changes faster than they can tell it.  So, when I get this "intel" daily from the soldiers here my disposition continues to degrade.  Everyone here wants to play 007, but none of them seem to get that in a year, I will be lucky if I can begin to piece together what happend.  The expectation is overwhelmingly this. 

Here is some Intelligence, make some magic happen...

Well, I have surpassed my allocation of space and time at the Military Intelligence magic lab.  Sorry fellas, we have crack this nut the old fashioned way.  It seems that in the CSI, instant coffee (Starbucks) world that is the American reality, I am supposed to be able to find Al-Zarqawi based on a source saying he was at this corner a year ago.  Make some magic happen...

My commrades in arms here seem to be getting frustrated that there aren't enough (I decided on a name) Angry Men to "take down".  They grow increasingly frustrated that the leads the follow up on, are not worth the dust on their boots.  I for one, am glad things are realitively slow here.  I like the quiet, I like sleeping through the night with out hearing the dull "whump" of something blowing up.  But hey, that's just me. 

I have been in Military Intelligence for a little over a decade now, and in MI a good day is pretty much when no one talks to you, in MI to expect praise leads to much unhappiness.  I like it quiet.  But, as I mentioned everyone likes to play 007.  People come in my office and ask me things like, hey have you ever heard of this website (Global Security).  Well today I sort of fired a shot across this CPTs bow, I'll call him gut truck.  I said wow, no I've never heard of this site, wow, man you sure made my job a lot easier.  Well, I think I know where Bin Laden is, man I just figured out who shot JFK, and I know what really went down at Roswell!  He sort of blinked and said oh, I guess you've seen it.  DUH...  Make some magic happen....

Boomantribune...(a nice blog type site from Ohio.  It is left of center (often way left), but some good readings nonetheless)

I saw a hit from this site on my blog, so I went to check it out, turns out there are some really smart and dialed in people there.  So I posted a comment and offered to answer questions about "the war" from my perspective.  Here is a sample of the shots I took "center mass".

• Do you think it is OK for your commander in chief to lie to the American public in order to gin up support for a war?  Specifically, is it OK for him to say "There is no doubt" that Saddam Hussein has WMD when, in fact, there is a lot of doubt?  Was it acceptable for the commander in chief to lie to his countrymen about "uranium from Niger" in his State of the Union speech?

  As an aside:  don't you think it would have cost a lot less in terms of both guns and butter if we had let UN Inspection teams do their job?  If the US had undeniable proof that WMD existed, if there really was "no doubt", why didn't we tell Hans Blix where they were located?  We controlled the airspace over Iraq - we could have easily paid a surprise visit to any suspected WMD location.  If Saddam continued to cat and mouse us, we could've dropped a daisycutter on the installation.  He'd learn pretty damned quickly.

• Why is it that when we took Baghdad, we surrounded the Oil Ministry with 57 tanks, stationed snipers on every floor of the building and did evrything we could (successfully) to prevent it from being looted?  Shouldn't we have done that, with say, the Ministry of Defense?  Maybe that would've allowed us to find those elusive WMD's...  If we care so much about the Iraqi people, why didn't we protect their musuem - which was a world treasure, but specifically an Iraqi heirloom?

• We knew where the nuclear research installations were.  We knew where UN secured nuclear materials ewre stored.  If this war was about making the world safer, why didn't we secure those installations right away?  Why did we allow them to be looted?

  You see, this in particular, is disturbing.  Because if we accept your premise - that the world is a better place as a result of Saddam's departure, ergo war=good war - well, we'd certainly have to ignore this inconvenient fact.

• Do you believe we will ever leave Iraq?  I don't.  I think we will have a base or two in Iraq that will be comparable in size to the bases we used to have in the Phillipines or Germany.  Iraq is in the center of the neo-Cold war.  Peak oil is approaching.  China, India and the rest of the world are demanding more and more oil.  We've now managed to stake a claim in the heart of the middle east - before anyone else could get there.  Comment please.  I'm especially interested in your bit about America being an unwilling empire.

• Knowing what you know today, do you think this was a war of aggression?  If the answer is yes, then how do you feel about the "peace-loving" United States putting themselves in the same category as Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan?  If the answer is no, then I'm going to make an assumption:  that you must concliude that this was a war undertaken to "rescue" the good people of Iraq from the tyrant, Saddam Hussein.  but then I gotta wonder...  Why not get involved in Darfur?  Or Saudi Arabia - where they still behead women in the public square for adultery?  Or Pakistan - which has a record of nuclear proliferation AND still throws acid in the face of rape victims for "having tempted a man"?

Sorry Lieutenant - but I think you have allowed your political ideology to trump common sense and yes, your patriotism.  You are fighting for George Bush.  You aren't fighting for your country.  (I will allow that you are also fighting for other reasons - your brothers in arms, etc - I was a Marine (enlisted) for four years...)

Ok, so my basic response was, those questions are above my pay grade.  And man did I continue to get shot up.  It was the comparrison to the Nazis that really annoyed the hell out of me.  There were many more such questions I didn't answer, again above my paygrade, and I was getting tired of being beat up by the intelligencia.  The intellectual elite who become so "seemingly" enamoured by their own intellectual prowess that they simply cannot be wrong thus there is no need to listen to the other side.  I am fortunate here in Iraq, in that we can deal with those here who cannot be reasoned with.  But in the US the 1st ammendment guarantees freedom of speech, even when the ability to know when to shut up is lost by diarhea of the mouth and mind.  But, there are some very smart people I came in contact with there, so I shall take my licks and stay in contact with them.  I got beat up in there, but I am still here.  Sucking dust in Iraq, with a perspective on this war, that they the arm chair pundits will never have, but it's easy to second guess what we do here, when you're always right. 

I did ask one of them, a very intelligent man, and veteran who has a chip on his shoulder, overshadowed by his enourmous brain.  He is a self proclaimed pascifist.  Where he sees the need for the existance of soldiers as a sad commentary on our society.  Bummer, anyway I asked him if (and I dumbed way down for this one I put it in grunt terms.  I love the infantry these kids are as real as Americans get) any way, I asked him if I punched him in the face, would he just take it?  I am still waiting for an answer...

Well, he can sit on the fence and fight his intellectual fight, me and my guys will just wait for him to fix the worlds problems with talk... Because bullies just love to talk don't they.  In simplistic terms, that's what Germany did to Poland in 39...  "Say Uncle!!!" 

7 days until I'm home...

First, thanks for all of the emails. I really appreciate it. Second, about the colour of the site; as I have more readers than I ever anticipated and I really mean that my original intent here was to keep a digital journal so that at the end of my tour I could scribe my war journal into a book. It has been a life long goal to write one, and the Army has seen fit to provide me with a wealth of material; thanks so much Uncle Sugar! So I changed the colour to make it easier on the eyes. Everything’s a compromise, poli-sci 101. Thirdly, the paragraphs; no I am not a student of the late Kerouac.  I use MS Word to write my posts first then paste them into Typepad, when the post is lengthy, or contains quoted text the software pulls apart the post, and I have to edit it by hand. As time is at a premium here often the easiest fix is the most inconvenient for you to read, for that I apologize. Some things just can’t be helped.

 

So, this week has been rather slowfastslow. We have been told from second that we mobilized that we have to pace ourselves, that we should get plenty of rest, and make sure we PT and eat, and again rest. They told us that we can’t sprint a marathon, that we can’t win the war in a day. Well, I am here to say that the men that told us that OBVIOUSLY haven’t been here. We have no choice but to sprint, the bad guys (I am still desperately searching for a name for them, MG suggests fascist bully boys of the once popular series “The Young Ones”) so we sprint all out for 10-12 days until we hit that proverbial iceberg. We sleep it off get up from the work induced coma, and jump right the hell back into it, not for pay, not for king and country, but for the 20 year old kid who counts on us to do our job, and not complain. For that 20 year old who is just trying to survive this horrible war, and make it home. But more importantly we push ourselves beyond reason for each and every one of our honored dead; we push through exhaustion for those who sprinted that last mile.

 

Anything you do here can get you killed, including doing nothing. Two nights ago somewhere in the US a mother got a call in the middle of the night that all Americans who have a loved one here dread. For anyone who has a loved one here in this place, a call in the middle of the night is a horrifying thing. It means one thing and one thing only, that a loved one is coming home in a flag draped coffin. We lost one 48 hours ago. He was a kid, barely a man that I will never know, a son who will never see his family again, a fallen brother, a lost friend another dead American Soldier. I cannot give details in this medium and it would be in bad taste to do so. I shall only attempt to honour him, by remembering him. I will be attending the services that will attempt to in some small way thank him for his sacrifice. For what else can we do, give him medals posthumously, not enough! Pay his death gratuity to his family, insulting! Name a building or a road after him, maybe a school? Laughable! What we can and must to is to see this through to the end, no matter what the cost. Find the man who fired that fatal shot, oh, yes without a doubt. He will be found, and I pray to whatever God/Gods that will hear me, I pray we find this piece of filth, and I pray he decides to resist. I pray we send him to his martyrdom on the fiery vapor trails of a hellfire missile, with a chaser of a thousand bullets. Goodbye young man, I shall live everyday here attempting to honour you, and I will not let his passing be in vain. Those words seem empty to me. Life in this country is so fragile. People die everyday, and we barely notice. Yet I have been haunted by the sound of a phone ringing in somewhere USA, in the middle of the night the trembling hands of a parent who just knew what it was, the tears of a mother and a father who got the worst news of their lives. We here, who remain shake it off and continue on, but there is always the echo of the fallen, a lingering image of a lost brother or sister here in this place 10,000 miles from reason. We here, who remain, continue the fight, and choke back emotions and remain strong because that’s what Soldiers do; we soldier on, and hide our feelings from each other. Someday, but not today, there is a bullet out there with my name on it; hopefully the bastard who pulls the trigger doesn’t know how to shoot and if he does, well I’ll be waiting for him on the other side….

 

I go on leave soon, 9 and a wake up. It will be interesting to be home 10,000 miles from this place. 10,000 miles from this strange and beautiful place, 10,000 miles from the unreasonable unfathomable hatred that would make a man annihilate himself and take complete strangers with him. I look forward to being among the “living” to seeing my friends, to being with my wife, to just not being here. But, I know that B’dad will be calling to me. I now get it;

“When I was here all I could think about was home, when I was home all I could think about was getting back into the jungle.”

 
I can’t wait to rotate back to the US, but how does one communicate this place to someone who has never been here. There is no real way to explain Iraq, I think that I now understand what it meant to serve in Vietnam America still owes those brave men an apology. In summation war is horrible, we as a species have not grown fond of it, yet we still haven’t found a way to rid ourselves of it. Proof that the evil exists, I have been afforded the rare privilege of being able to look into its eyes here. Not an image I will soon forget. But in 9 and a wake up, I shall give it that old college try.

 

Honor Ante Omnia,

RDC

 

 

I DREAD MONDAY

God how I loathe Monday.  I watched a movie with Murph last night, he hadn't seen Napoleon Dynamite, so we put it into my IBook, and we were taken to an absurd little Idaho town in the middle of nowhere, where our hero Napoleon made Murph laugh until he nearly wet himself.  I love to laugh so I had to on numerous scenes in the film dry my eyes.  Many of the Soldiers here have named various pieces of equipment after things in the film.  LTC F's security detail has named all vehicles after the main characters in the film, for example LTC F's vehicle is "Napoleon" 6, (when the commander is in it).  Other vehicles are aptly names, Pedro, Rico, Kip, and when a female interpreter is with them her call sign is LaFawnduh.  It's amazing how much people love that movie.  I guess we all saw a little of ourselves and identified with some of the characters. 

So, I loathe Monday, and here is why, today I completely overslept.  By about 3 hours, the bosses were not happy.  I walked into being late for a meeting, and 3 As...  Bad guys being detained, and the usual catch the hell up from the night before.  It seems that the amount of time we spend sleeping exactly quadruples the amount of work that we are behind when we get in in the morning.  In this case late morning.  I had to, do three things nearly simultaneously.  Jump headlong into a tactical questioning of detainees session, get caught up on what I'd missed during my extended nap (I owe the tax payers about 3 hours of overtime).  Lastly I had to go talk to the Executive Officer, and get my bottom handed to me after he was done gnawing on it.  First as...but chewing of the war.  Undoubtedly not the last.  So, rump gnawing being done, I quickly learned how to use the coffee press MBN was gracious enough to send to me, and made a triple extra heavy strong cup of mud.  It was divine!  I opened the door to the room where the questioning was being held.  OK, here is where I need to clarify for you; the powers that be have now frowned on the usage of the word interrogation.  This holds a very bad flavor in the mouths of people I've never met.  I guess someone out there has watched to many movies, and images of flickering light bulbs, and a leaking faucet, and a weary sleep deprived perp, sitting in a cold metal chair whilst the impeccably dressed Gestapo stands over hims asking him again and again for his papers.  OK, this not what I do.  At the Battalion level, the men in black allow me to ask tactical questions.  It is a little beyond name rank and serial number, but much much less, than the previously mentioned scene from 1984's room 101.  Oddly enough that is the room I live in at the barracks (this irony has not escaped me, quite the contrary it made me a little uneasy). 

So, after I got all amped up from the java demon (coffee being my only true vice here), I walked in.  As to not make the men in black who monitor my blog (along with MAJ K, and Thunder6 aka Liger) with scientific scrutiny I will not bore you with the details (I'll save those for the book, when the 1st amendment applies to me again).  I asked the man the usual questions, over and over and over yet again.  He was more than a little agitated, oh I should tell you, this was a bad guy, and so were his friends.  This is such a deadly serious game, it really makes me nervous to be an actor on this stage.  I remember when I was in Mrs Cavender's business class in high school.  I remember for "What do you want to be when you grow up" day, I said I wanted to be a military intelligence interrogator.  Back then I thought; "It would be so cool to do that!"  Hmmm, my 20 year high-school reunion is in 4 years, if I am around for that I think I'll have to confess to Mrs Cavender that I regret ever saying that as a youth.  And, going back to the Napoleon Dynamite theme, if I could go back in time, I'd smack myself in the mouth, and say something to the effect of; "Hey smart as...guy, stay in school, and..."  Well knowing me back then I'd have smarted off, and knowing me now.  I'd have beaten me senseless for smarting off. 

Anyway.  There was a point in the Q&A, when (I'll call him Smiley) Smiley mentions kids.  I nearly became incensed.  How can a man who we know is a bad guy speak of children.  I thought of little Adele, and Omar.  It is because we are Americans, because I am an officer and supposed to be a gentleman, because we are holding onto the moral high ground, because of all of those reasons I did two things, I held my tongue, and I put my hands so deeply in my pockets, one might have though I'd misplaced the meaning of life down there.  Smiley and I locked eyes for what seemed to be a very long minute.  I remember hearing when you stare into the devil's eyes don't blink.  In looking at this man who would see me and my "brothers" harmed or worse, it was not hate of this man that fueled my anger, it was love of those children that changed my outlook on my purpose here.  If I saw this man in battle it there would be absolutely no mercy, no quarter nor would I be naive enough to expect it from him.  Him or me...I'm going home he goes to the morgue.  Yet again there is this oddness that means to be American.  When we close with our enemies and kill them we treat their remains with respect and honor.  Maybe there is still a bit of naivety, or maybe chivalry.  But we honor our dead, and theirs.  Our soldiers carry "Bobby bags" in vehicles, and are expected to care for our dead and wounded as well as theirs.  If they don't believe in honor, then surely we must, surely we will.  Honor ante Omani...honor above all!

Today the Terrorists...(Favor, someone give me a name to call these creeps, Mujas is apparently disrespectful, Jihadi sounds lame, and I promised Father Bob, I'd tone down my language and try to sound more like an officer.) Today the (insert derogatory term here) decided to ambush an American convoy.  Well they picked the wrong group of Americans.  Kentucky boys, know how to shoot, and breaking with typical Army tactics gave these (insert derogatory term here) a real bang for their buck.  As much as I want a quiet and uneventful 365 and then some, I wish like hell I could have been there to see these NATIONAL GUARDSMAN (One weekend a month, 2 weeks a year) give it to these creeps.  This day was ours, and they (the bad guys) learned a real important lesson, In the National Guard you really can!  Way to go Kentucky!

The hour is late, and I have  To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub.  I never miss her more than when I close my eyes...

SPQR


 

Since we arrived in AO B’dad, insurgent activity has dropped off to almost nothing. Not that we have done such a stellar job at hunting the enemy that they have decided to give up and go back to whatever country they came from. No, I sincerely don’t think that we are so lucky. They, the “terrorists” (a word I grow in increasingly weary of hearing) are not throwing in the towel; they are now waiting just as we are waiting. We have indeed moved into the next stage of this after-war. The clock is ticking, to what we shall see. The fact that Iraq hasn’t imploded has the pundits amazed and looking for something else to complain about, fact is, the changes in the Middle East were due, the liberation of Iraq simply prodded the inevitable along. MAJ K, Thunder6, and I often engage in discussion about the situation in Iraq, and the Middle East as a whole. In Vietnam the phrase was hearts and minds, while as of late Sen. John Kerry called it winning the peace. The key to this “after-war” is to outthink the enemy. The thought processes of our insurgent foes, is quite secular, and two dimensional. They are the product of a way of life (not a religion that is a tired argument and lamely racist.  We are talking about a small group of evil men.  Ok evil cubed!) that has resisted evolution, and violently so. 

I have seen such magnificent sights here in Iraq, things that watching the “news” cannot possibly show you. I realize that I am watching all of this drama unfold from jaded, and pessimistic eyes (I am a product of 10 years of military intelligence work, bitter often doesn’t even begin to describe it.) I am only now realizing that the big picture is so much larger than simply Iraq. It is the evolution of a generation no, generations of oppressed peoples, who now have been given a voice and a chance for something they don’t yet fully comprehend. It is truly magnificent to be witnesses to the Iraqi Government re-invent itself. While we are here this year we will see the entirety of B’dad undergo a face lift. I sincerely hope that one day in my life after this “war” I can come back here and see the seed of democracy grow into something wonderful. This city and its surrounding areas has the potential to become what Beirut once was; as much of what Beirut now stands for, Baghdad is its polar opposite. Where once there was only despair, hope. Where once there was only oppression, freedom. It is not a perfect world here by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s a start.

During the election he [Kerry] said that we didn’t have a plan to win the peace, I disagree. Each and every day we win the peace, we aren’t seeking to make a status quo here, we are planting the seed of democracy here. I am not typically a flag waiving patriot. I don’t go to parades, I don’t really like holidays save for Veteran’s day, and I don’t often fly my flag at my home. I am a quiet patriot, proud, but quiet. What I see here is real honest to God progress. We are rebuilding the infrastructure from the ground up. This nation is standing on its own two feet now, as an infant would. So, there will be set backs, and Iraq may fall on its bum from time to time, but like a growing child, eventually will walk on its own.

Thunder6 and I have talked at great length about little Adele, and the sense of joy we felt by watching those children smile. They are the key to the peace in Iraq. I am fortunate here; I am at this very moment a grad student of international relations and diplomacy at Norwich University, and the fortuitous part of that equation is I am in a nation at its rebirth and get to see up close and very personally the impact of US foreign policy in the Middle East. Most of my homework is being done for me on a daily basis. As T6, and I walked back from lunch we were struck by this simple truth, the combat phase of this “war” is over, and as much as the Company Commanders and their Platoon Leaders want to go out and close with the enemy, that simply isn’t really our job any more. A Marine General recently said, “Sometimes you have to kill a fly with a sledge hammer.” Here that is absolutely true. As I said I completely fell for those kids, and as the bad guys here begin to alter their tactics (as they continually do) Parental instincts I never knew I had have begun to take turn on inside my head, no inside my heart. For every bad guy we drop, we need to be handing out shoes, candy, school supplies, and toys to as many children as we can find. With this simple message, we are not your enemy. It is not a matter of hearts and minds; it’s about what Franklin Delano Roosevelt called the 4 Freedoms. In my opinion the greatest speech of an American President in the history of our nation, basically it said this; “We look forward to a world founded upon four essential human freedoms. The first is freedom of speech and expression--everywhere in the world. The second is freedom of every person to worship God in his own way-- everywhere in the world. The third is freedom from want . . . everywhere in the world. The fourth is freedom from fear . . . anywhere in the world.” --President Franklin D. Roosevelt, Message to Congress, January 6, 1941

All too often we choose the easy wrong over the hard right, I am not here to preach to you, but far too many people have slung mud at the President for his decision to invade Iraq. Well, whether you voted red or blue back in Nov, one thing is becoming obvious. Maybe just maybe the man made the right call. Hell, even the French have sent help to Iraq. Yes you read that right, they sent one single solitary advisor to Well, I must finish a paper that is due in about 4 hours. Did I say finish, I meant start.

RDC

Rufus to some, husband, friend, brother, officer, soldier, I remain…

TURNING POINT

There are only two days in Iraq; the day you get here and the day you leave…

March 16, 2005 was the single best day thus far of my time in Iraq. The day started off as any other. I got out of bed, and donned cammie top, bottom, boots, threw a cap on my head, made sure I had a 30 round magazine on my weapon stock. Op checked the “mistress”, grabbed my back pack and headed out the door, total time from eyes open to departure, 4 minutes. I looked bad, and felt worse. Sleep is the only escape here, and that has come with such randomness as of late when I get it I have to trick myself into accepting that I can actually do it. As per the norm when I got into the TOC I was bombarded with the SITREP, and all the things that intel is supposed to know ad naseum and verbatim. For those of you old enough to remember the TV show “Taxi” at the end when the credits had rolled. We hear a female voice saying “Goodnight Mr. Walters.” Mr. Walters replies, inaudibly; Mr. Walters: “Mumble mumble…” That is my usual response until I get to my desk and get the SITREP (Situation Report, a snapshot of what has happened in a given time). The day itself was shaping up to be more if the same a real snoozer.

MAJ K, was scheduled to go out on a patrol with the Battalion CDR, LTC F, but MAJ K, wanted to stay back and get caught up on the massive amounts of information we receive. We have been behind since we took over our Area of Operations, so we needed to climb a little farther up on the heap. Yet every time we think we see the top, it just keeps getting steeper and higher. I am beginning to think that it would take the light from caught up a million years to get to how far behind we always seem to be. So, as I mentioned it appeared to be just another day, in B’dad. I went and knocked on LTC F’s door and asked him if he had any specific intel requirements on the day. He looked up at me and asked if I wanted to roll along with him on his patrol. In the span of 3 seconds before I said yes, my mind raced about a million miles to find a compelling reason why I shouldn’t go. For the life of me I could not, saying I don’t want to is not really something one tells one’s commanding officer. So, as I was saying yes, my mind was already racing as to what kit I’d need. You see, when going on a patrol you have to choose the best kit for the type of mission you’d be going on. For example, on a linear patrol along a highway, the M-14 would be ideal, in the Designated Marksman role. The ability to reach out to targets at 1000 yards, and say goodbye adds to one’s feeling of security. For the urban arena, a variety weapons is needed, shotguns with an assortment of ammunition; the lessons learned in Fallujah, and An Najaf are simple. The Muja’s respect the shotgun, and by that I mean they absolutely dread the sound of the racking of and discharge of the street sweeper. It has been known to remove limbs with one shot. For the environment we would be in we went with standard kit; Kevlar helmet, body armour, ammo, M-4 carbine, and water.

Before we “rolled” LTC F, conducted a pre-combat inspection checking us for proper wear of our kit. He checked our weapons for cleanliness, and made sure we had enough grenades. Satisfied we mounted up, and our convoy rolled into the food chain (again). LTC F’s intent was to conduct a patrol along the Tigris, and check the shores for weapons caches. His preferred method is dismounted. Meaning getting out of the up-armoured Hummers, and putting boot to dirt. Now, keeping in mind that we are on the same hemisphere as you, it is still a desert environment so with the armour on and the fact that we were surrounded on all sides by single and double canopy jungle, and flanked on both sides of the roads, by houses. As we began to walk I felt very exposed, but watching LTC F, move about with such confidence, and command presence was inspiring. I drew strength from his very presence. Despite blistering pain in my back from the armour, and from crouching to look into every drainage ditch, in every car window, stopping to listen to every sound when the birds stopped chirping, despite sweat dripping from my head and the stinging in my eyes from it. My legs ached from the slow deliberate walking one must do to avoid tripping an IED, or stepping on a mine. I felt fairly confident we were safe as there were a few locals milling about and again there were children present occasionally. As I mentioned before the Mujas don’t typically murder children. I think I’d have collapsed from exhaustion if this was a movement to contact patrol (one where we knew we’d find as…Ok, digression here; I talked to our BN Chaplain Father Bob, he mentioned that he liked MAJ K’s mine and Thunder6’s blogs, but that I used to much profanity, so I will make yet another attempt to not use my favorite 4 letter adjectives.) On with the show, so progressing along Thunder6, and I found ourselves on point. This being the place where a man is the first in the formation, the first to move out, and for those of you who watch the old Star Trek, he was the dude in the red shirt that in the script was written as guy who gets killed in scene 1. When LTC F said I was to take point, I looked at him and said; “Sir, you can’t put the black guy on point! Don’t you watch TV?!?!” Let me tell you about LTC F, he is an educator, a scholar, and a gentle and kind man. But in his chest beats the heart of a warrior. He served in Vietnam as a Marine, and again in Rhodesia, in the famed Selous Scouts. He has a way about him that calms and inspires without having to say a word, but his sense of humor is as large as his sense of purpose. His laughter was deep and sincere; shaking his head he slapped me on the back as I ran past him to take my position “on point”. Thunder 6 was to my left, and we again moved ahead, Siempre Adelante “Always Forward”. I couldn’t help but look across the river at the jungle, it reminded me so much of the introduction to my all time favorite movie “Apocalypse Now”, I was lost in the serenity of it, and my mind was wandering far far away from the immediate necessity to focus on my environment. I heard the little voice in the back of my mind calling me back to reality.

“Excuse me Russ, this is LT Currie, can I be in charge for a while? Thanks, that’d be super! You might want to pay attention so as not to get blown the hell up on this lovely little trail.” So, snapping back to reality I shook off my need to vacate my mind from the moment, and back to the painstaking process of looking three dimensionally around me, for anything out of the ordinary, some split second notice of something wrong, listening for anything that would give me “on point” a jump on a bad guy. As we swept from side to side, looking, listening, waiting, and hoping that God was watching over us with a ready sword, we moved forward. When we came to about the ¾ mark of houses that were on our patrol, we came up to a gate that was slightly ajar, so we decided to look inside. Slowly peaking through is not very accurate. Firstly when on a patrol wherever your eyes look your weapon is pointed there. For the obvious reason, that you can send bullets should you need to. This response is nearly automatic, but the weapon gets very heavy especially when your muscles are screaming to rest. As I entered what I thought to be a courtyard turned out to be the front yard of a family dwelling. I saw movement to my right and swung around to face 2 young boys. Who came running out to meet the “Mister Mister” w/chocolate. Almost as fast as I pointed my weapon at the movement, the Mother came rushing out to pull her sons back in, she was screaming; “La la la!!!” This is Arabic for No, no, no. She was genuinely afraid that I was going to shoot her children, I was so shocked I literally dropped my weapon, (it was attached to my armour so it fell to my side) as I let it go, I dropped to one knee and smiled at the children. They came up to me and shook my hand and were all smiles. The children in this country just love us. As I backed out me and Thunder6 repeatedly said thank you in Arabic, the mother reached out for and smothered her boys with hugs. The love a mother has for her children never ceases to amaze me, the look of fear and then relief in her eyes was amazing. Hell, I’m one of the good guys (at least I hope so), and I was scared for her children. What is of interest is exactly how little time you have to decide to shoot or not. Yet in a relatively small amount of time I think I aged a few weeks.

During the course of our dismount we probably moved 1 ½ kilometers, and when we finally climbed back into our HUMMWVs, I was totally spent, it was as if I’d run a marathon in waist deep mud. I probably lost about 3 lbs of water weight, and my eyes were red from strain. THANK GOD for the new HMMWVs. They have AC!!! When I say this to the American taxpayer THANK YOU I do so with all sincerity! After we got back into the vehicles and drove off, LTC (by the way this is a rank for Lieutenant Colonel, our Battalion Commander.) Anyway we were headed back to the road and LTC F drove up to a house that was by the highway. He dismounted again, and again he did so faster than his Personal Security Detachment (PSD) could get out with him, he motioned me over and we went from Combat Patrol to interviewing a local in the blink of an eye. This is called change of mission. It goes with the Army’s new flexibility program. More things we have to learn in the blink of an eye. We trained for this kind of thing back at Ft Polk (Joint Readiness Training Center, or JRTC) however it is very different in the reality of things away from the safety of the training environment. Here mistakes end up on CNN (Constantly Negative News), or FOX (Fueling Our Xenophobia) (Piss off MSNBC!!!!) So, as our BDE commander calls it, this fight is “intellectual combat” a gambit of chess with a determined and ruthless enemy; an enemy who is not nearly as bound by conventional morality as us, and who isn’t afraid of a little bad press. So as I approached LTC F said handle this 2 (2 is the staff section designator that I fall under S2, or Staff 2 Intelligence).

So as he marched off to look at something else here I was now changing mission again, this time from Soldier to diplomat. I learned a lesson from the former Battalion Civil Affairs officer, who I’ll call Tex. Tex was as smooth as silk, and had a voice like good Kentucky sour mash, it was just pure cool. He had a way about him that was just as friendly as a purring kitten. Tex could sell a used car with no wheels, engine or seats, to you and convince you it was a bargain. He taught me to always smile, and shake everyone’s hand. Not that he was being friendly, no that perception was there but, more importantly he was checking for weapons, and looking into the eyes of everyone he’d met. There is something to be said for the eyes being the window to the soul. They eyes tell much. I’d took this lesson to heart, and applied it here. My training was over, school was out, and I was for the first time on my own conducting an honest to God field interview in a country that was as foreign to me as I was in it. With a man whose language was as old possibly as civilization itself. This man was so proud of the fact we, the all mighty American Army had come to his humble (Very) humble home. He offered me a cigarette, and we talked about my home, the Chevy Nova he’d inherited from his Father. His wife and his daughter who were the same ages I don’t think that they were sisters, but they were definitely friends. So we continued our talk of life the universe and everything. In this country, and culture you must discuss the simple things before you discuss business, the American way of cutting to the chase is viewed as rude. Again I did not want to be the Ugly American nor did I wish to end up on CNN, FOX, (Piss off MSNBC), so I listened attentively as my interpreter translated his stories, I laughed when he laughed, and then it was down to business. He said he wanted an AK-47 to guard his stretch of land near the highway. Ok, now we are in business. I said that I’d have to check with the “Boss” to get permission but that I think looking into it would be fruitful. He was appreciative. At this point I began to eat a power bar (I usually carry about 10 per patrol), his daughter and wife came floating over like Dracula’s bride. They looked very interested in what I was eating. They lowered their veils, and began smiling at me. I motioned for my driver to bring my pack over and I gave girls 2 power bars each, and a bag of corn nuts, and 2 cans of Coke. The Daughter spoke to the “mother” and she then spoke to the interpreter. Who looked rather surprised and asked me; “Mr Russ, the daughter wants to know if you have wife?” Holy mother of God! I am sure to the good country folk of Southern B’dad’s rural region she was a beauty. However as I am from Los Angeles, and not a pedophile (she was not a day over 16) as was her stepmother), and am happily (most all of the time) married, so I told him to tell her father that I already had my legal limit of wives, and we were forbidden by international law from Marrying while in a combat deployment. The BS was flowing from my mouth so fast I was like, please God someone shoot at me please! We then shook hands and then the “mom” went” over to a tree and hit it with a stick until some berries fell out, she scooped up about two dozen and handed them to me, she said through my interpreter that they’d ripen in about 30 days. I thanked them all profusely and told him I’d return with food, and hopefully an AK-47, so he could guard the highway for the new Iraqi Government. The simple things in life family, food, guns… We waived goodbye and headed further down the road, where we were greeted by about 8 children and their parents. The children were just an absolute joy. They made my month. The little girl in the pics is named Adele, she was the most beautiful little girl in the world to me. Her smile just melted me, and the little guy in the pics with me was just so adorable, he walked up to me and said “Pleased to meet you mister.” He offered me his hand, and well he got the other half of my heart. A picture is worth much more than a thousand words, they are moments in time, real time. Forever captured, in an instant. I will never have my face plastered on Time, or Newsweek. I may never make it into congress, but if there was ever a reason to risk my life on a daily basis, I’d do it to help these children. Not to sound clichéd but these children represent the hope of this new nation. I spent only 30 minutes with them, giving them shoes, backpacks, and candy. But their smiles to me were worth far more than what we gave them, their smiles gave me hope, and once again showed me that life is truly a beautiful and wonderful thing. The smile of a child lifted my spirits to heights I have not felt in months. The hug from a little Iraqi girl, and boy gave me such a rush of energy, and pride for being here so much love I now have for these children that I ask you to go to whatever church groups you have and beg borrow and take what you have and send them to me so I can give these children what they do not have. Clothes, shoes, book bags, toys, stuffed animals. Wining here takes not only bullets, and tanks, it will be the smiles of the wonderful little people that must inherit what we do in this nation. Little Adele what a gorgeous child, 10, 000 miles from home and in a war zone I found perfection in the smile of a child I may never see again. I found genius in a well mannered little man named Abed, who spoke perfect English and offered me his hand in friendship. We gave Abed a lion king puppet to keep, he’d never seen a puppet and when we showed him how it worked, by putting a hand in it the look of awe and wonder brought a great smile to his face. And again to mine, this may not be the meaning of life, but it is part of the answer.

Protect the future at all costs. What is worth living for must be worth dying for. I found another reason to live yesterday, and I found something else I’d fight to the death for. Pictures often say what our words cannot, so I shall end with the pictures from yesterday that won my heart. They are also in a new photo album. Thanks for putting up with my rants, and sour moods. If anyone knows how I can send these pics to CNN & FOX (Piss off MSNBC) please tell me, because the fair and balanced news is starting to make the brain baby kick (bad headache). If the onlything that is newsworthy is suffering and death, then we have already lost ourselves. Because watching Adele, get a pair of shoes yesterday was the most news wothy thing in the world to me, if the world could see that… Enough for one day.

SPQR,

Rusten Currie

PS,

GREAT SHOW OF THE AMERICAN MILITARY SPIRIT...

Honor Ante Omnia

Wearily I stare upon all that is made, in daylight what shines in darkness will fade…

As the sun set today, there is an odd displaced calm over the air. Tomorrow marks a significant date in the new Iraqi Government. They move closer to self determination, and ultimately we move closer to turning over the security of this nation to its indigns. Although this has no bearing whatsoever on my time here, I look forward to a day when American Soldiers, Marines, Sailors, and Airmen no longer need to serve in Iraq. Although I am confident there will be another place to deploy to, yes I am very confident of that. I spent a long time today staring at an envelope marked DJ. In that envelope are words, that if read will mean I am gone. What a damned horrible thing to write. “The letter”. Yet in every single conflict in modern American history soldiers have written “the letter”. Today, as Dino would put it was a kick in the head. And not the good kind mind you. Yesterday I moved YET AGAIN, because the powers at echelons above common sense, and some righteously piss poor planning saw the FOB I am on that is already at capacity about to receive over 1000 more people. So what you say, well so this, not enough rooms, not enough tents, not enough beds, way too much trash, and as it gets warmer, so will come the rats. Where there is trash there is rats, and where there are rats there are snakes, lots and lots of snakes. Oh my!

So, as I moved last night (did I mention I moved AGAIN?), into a smaller room. This is the first time I lived in barracks since I was a Lance Corporal way back in the early 90’s. I hate the damn barracks! However, it isn’t like I can move out, and get an apartment in town. No, that would not do! So, as I had to lay my weary head to rest after moving in the dark, and mud. I slept poorly last night. Tossing and turning at every bump; actual or perceived in my minds eye, so when the alarm went off this morning and I slept through it, it was 1000 when I realized that I was supposed to be at a meeting at 0900. So, I called MAJ K, and woke him, he too was surprised that the morning had snuck up on him as well. The officers in the intel section were SLACKING big time. Alas, that is what happens when you work 12-16 hours a day for 20+ days. Well, I’ll rest when I am on leave. With my luck I’ll get a cold when I get home and sleep for the whole time. Because, it seems that there is a God after all, and he doth in fact have a great sense of humor. Wouldn’t you if it was never at your expense? So anyway, when I got into the office, the Battalion Exec called me into his office. Man, did I have a flashback to going to the principal’s office. Oh, well, I deserved my ass chewing. He didn’t shoot at me, so there I had that going for me. It seems that George Kastanza was right, if you always looked pissed off, people tend to leave you alone. Things here are no different, save for your pissed off look can be taken a step farther, “game face” is equal to hello it’s so very nice to meet you, and I am prepared to shoot everyone in this room…Have a super day! So, that was about 1100. I didn’t really eat lunch, but I got a care package from Dbie! Thank you so much, very appreciated. Seeing the ravioli reminded me to eat something.

So, where was I? Ah, the letter. I remember what it says but what does one say in a last letter. There seems like there is not enough time, ink, or paper to say everything to a loved one if you are never going to get to say anything to them again. That was the hardest letter I have ever written, it was harder than the LSAT! As I sat there staring at the letter, I think I got even more introspective; like that is even possible. So I did that fearless moral inventory thing, friends of Bill W know to what I speak. I looked back in my life as far as I could remember. I seemed to recall being in a stroller and the house next to my grandparents house catching fire. Mrs Stalls’ house I think… or maybe the one next to it. Ok, maybe that was to far back for that inventory thing. So from when should I begin? My first slight against my fellow man, the first time I killed an animal, The first lie, the first malicious thought, the first impure thought, drinking underage, stealing a kiss from a friends girlfriend, cheating on a girlfriend? What I did realize in this period of introspection is that I am kind of a creep. It seems that in my professional life I strive so desperately to make up for the faults I have personally as man, and a friend. My very best friend in the whole world Bolen, I got him fired from a job he got me when we were in high school, and then he got me another job. Wait before you go calling me names, know this. After Bolen got fired, I quit that job… What? I hated that lousy job! Besides, I was AWOL from the Marines to be his best man, I figured it was the least I could do, after always getting away with it, and he getting stuck. Ok, another example as I am feeling all nostalgic (euphemism for sad, lonely, depressed etc…etc…). So, Bolen and I skip the first three classes of the day one bright spring day, and when we go walking into the office Mrs. Dixon the sultry secretary that all the young men lusted after, though most of us hadn’t a clue what to do, if that ever came up. So, when she asks me why I was tardy, I pulled my LAMEST 007, Sean Connery’s Bond of course, piss off Roger Moore! I sat on the corner of her desk and told her in a LAME accent that I’d just been to the doctor, and I was certifiably quite mad, and therefore couldn’t be held to account for not being in class. She giggled and scribbled on my hall pass, excused. When my young friend Bolen was asked why he too was tardy he numbly said he was my ride. Well damn the luck Ole Bolen was BUSTED tardy and got detention. Again all my fault, and again I sailed by unscathed. And since good stories come in threes, the aforementioned AWOL to be his best man; ok it goes a little something like this. I was on emergency leave for the death of a relative, and coincidentally it was the same weekend of Bolen’s nuptials. Well, I was not about to miss that one! So what could I do but blow off getting back to the Corps. I got a date :) and away we went to Bolen’s special day. When I got there a chap named Tony was slated to be his best man. The hell you say! Here was this guy who was going to pharmacy school for God’s sake, about to be the best man to my BEST friend. So, again the brain began to go into overtime. It went something like this.

Russ: “Tony, best man wow, do you have the ring?”

Tony: (Sheepishly) Uh, well I better, or Bolen sure will be mad…(nervous laughter…)

     I suppose I should caveat this I was in peak physical condition, and wearing USMC dress blues. I was intentionally leaning on the poor fellow, bullying even. So, he produces the ring, and gingerly opens the box.

Russ: “Wow, that is a beauty… May I see it?”

Tony: “Uh, well… Don’t lose it, I’d hate to get fired before the wedding…

” Russ: Taking the ring, and smiling; “Yeah about you being the best man well… Yeah the 1st string is back in the game so, you can see the dilemma Bolen is faced with, his best friend being back on leave and all, but we really appreciate your efforts…”

Tony: “?????”

What the hell could the poor SOB say, it would have been very uncool to get knocked around in a church, albeit a nondenominational one. So When I walked up Bolen was taken back but not really surprised. Yeah as I look back I am kind of an asshole. So, at the very informal reception we had dinner at a local restaurant, as Bolen is not a fan of pomp and circumstance. The reception was very low key, just immediate family and best man…rather me. It seems Tony had a test to study for or something… It was time for the toast, so I insisted that I be allowed to buy my best friend and his new bride a drink. But me being me true to form I laid my wallet on the table, and winked at Bolen. He rolled his eyes, and sighed, his bride was confused and Bolen says just watch. As I strolled to the bar I called the bar to attention and told the barkeep that my best friend had just become a married man, and I wanted to get he and his new bride a sex on the beach, casue if there was a God in heaven, that what they’d be doing when they got to wherever the hell life would take them. There was a little bit of laughter, people raised their drinks and I didn’t pay for the round. After all who charges a man in uniform for a drink?

That man is like my brother. And no matter where on this planet I am, I never ever miss his birthday! April 1st each year, I call him at the most inappropriate time I can think of. And Bolen if you are reading this, you bastard, you had better answer this year! Even though he has never been in a fist fight, or in combat, or really worn a uniform for that matter, he has always been my best friend and he has always had my back. I can’t think of a time when I wasn’t able to call him, or he didn’t have time to listen. I hope our children will be as close as he and I are. If everyone had a friend like this man is to me, we would all be better off, for knowing him I am a better man.  I hope he is reading this, because I have never told him how much he means to me. There is a song by Vertical Horizon, about two brothers who have always counted on each other, and are the very best of friends. It is good to know that people like him are out there. He is one of the best people I have ever met. I have lost friends in the military to accidents to combat, to time, but if Bolen were gone well I will say this, selfishly I hope that I go first. Should I make it into Congress, I can think of no one I’d rather have as my Chief of Staff, than this man. But since he is my best friend on earth, I’d never subject him to that. He’d be better off fighting here than dealing with the vultures in DC. Me, on the other hand I look forward to that fight. Wearily I stare upon all that is made, in daylight what shines in darkness will fade… Semper in Adsumus RDC

Here are some pics from the last few days.  No real order...just a glimpse into this reality, as I try and relax in it.   This pic is of a classmate of mine from Kemper.  She works in a nicer part of B'dad than I.  God bless the infantry!

This is a pic of Mistress Mary, M-14 with a 10 power Leopold.  With armour piercing rounds she can punch large holes in most construction material in B'dad.  And anyone...

This is a gift from MBN, he and I are both avid collectors of militaria.  It is a replica of an Afrika Korps wrist cuff.  No, I am not a Nazi, two things, one I'm black, and two those guys were kind of assholes! 

Last second solutions to impossible problems…welcome to my world.

I don’t even know where to begin, so much has happened since my last post. The Al Sadeer Hotel was hit by a VBIED, and we had soldiers on scene, within 20 minutes. Let my tell you what CNN, Fox, (Piss off MSNBC) failed to tell you. The bomb was about 2000lbs, in a big industrial type truck. It was driven by an asshole and had assholes in it shooting people who tried to get in the way. Few innocents were killed; however 1 is to many as far as I’m concerned. The truck was able to breech the defenses at the hotel. Which are now post facto quadrupled. The truck detonated in a quad type area, by this I mean it detonated in the middle of a parking area flanked on all sides by buildings. The asshole driving the VBIED (Who I hope is in hell suffering in unimaginable agony!) detonated the bomb. So, keep this in mind explosions are not like they are on TV. There was no massive fire ball, what there was, was this enormous pressure wave that shattered windows on every building facing the blast, and there were windows shattered as far as 5 blocks away. The pressure wave is caused by the immediate displacement of gas (Oxygen) due to the violent chemical change of a solid (the explosives) to a gas (BOOM!) So, when this happens the gases released by the VBIED move at about mach 3 away from the point of detonation. Wrecking everything in its path, (See photo album marked VBIED). I talked to several people at the hotel I saw that had noticeable stitches and scars on their faces, one gentleman I’ll call Jazz was scared and burned on the left side of his face. I asked him what happened. His story was amazing! He was just coming out of the shower in his room when the bomb detonated. He was thrown out of the door of his room (oh, every door in the hotel from the 3rd floor to the 7th was blown off its hinge. This gentleman was blown out of the door. Now let me “clue you in to some knowledge” about explosions. There is the initial push of displaced oxygen. However my fine young friends, once this air is displaces there exists a vacuum that sucks everything in its path back towards the point of detonation. So Jazz was about to smack into the door across the hall when low and behold, all of a sudden he was being sucked back into his room. And towards a now gaping hole where a window was just 2 seconds before. The only thing that saved him was smacking into his desk that fell out of the window in his place. Now, as I am sure you have all seen on the news the Chevy SUVs in Iraq that are painted black and white. These vehicles are heavily armored and weigh more than an armored HMMWV. The force of the blast was so powerful that the vehicles parked around the corner from the original blast all had their frames warped by the pressure wave, all had their nearly 1 ¼ inch armoured windows shattered, and doors popped off of the frame. Metal was literally bent and snapped as easily as a warm knife moves through butter. Walking this ground was simply awe inspiring. I will not publish any photos taken that show human remains for one should not speak ill of the dead. I saw clumps of flesh, and pictures of various body parts. In an explosion the force of this unleashed hell is so powerful it literally blew the flesh from the driver, and his face lay wrinkled in a neat little pile, as if it were a used washcloth, discarded in the men’s room. The man that was firing the machine gun was blown up and over the hotel, his body hit the ground with such force it was barely recognizable as what could once have been called human. He was barely a man to begin with, so I imagine what was left after he landed was of equal or greater use than while he lived. I hope that this man too has found himself in eternal agony. Once again, fuck him if he can’t take a joke (long story not for here or now…). My friend “Luther Mohammed's’s” wife gave birth to a little girl. He sent me pictures of this little one, this precious new life. I must say I was so overcome with happiness, and so eternally grateful that she was born healthy and unaware of the ugliness in this world, born unaware of hate, and completely oblivious of Iraq. I found myself weeping almost uncontrollably. I had to leave the office, and go for a walk. I attempted to find some corner of this place where I could be alone. The only place I could find to be alone, was a port-a-potty. I sat there alone for nearly 15 minutes crying like a child. wondering what in the hell was wrong with me? When my eyes finally dried, I stood up and at my eye level was the ever present mixture of “shit-house” poetry, most notably. Were these; 1)“Fuck Iraq” 2)”Fuck 3rd ID (3rd Infantry Division) 3)”Fuck the Army” Not exactly my sentiments but I suppose this small display of ones 1st ammendment rights proves democracy is alive and well, indeed!  My friends Aaron and Tina god bless you! I look forward to meeting the newest edition to your family, I love her already!!! Yesterday (13FEB05) I went out on a patrol to survey a newly acquired area for my battalion to operate in, what should have been a 6 hour day took nearly 10. It started off on a light note, I was putting on all of my gear prior to the convoy briefing. (I am trying a new kit configuration) any way I am quite top heavy, and the HMMWV was parked about a size 7 ¾ away from the curb. I wear an 8, and well I got wedged between the curb and the tire, well gravity is indeed a harsh mistress and I fell straight back, and landed with a large THUD! Well, shit! Everyone was looking over at me so what could I do, I shouted as loud as I could with the wind knocked right the hell out of me; “That shits funny, I don’t care who you are!!!” The laughter was loud and continuous. It is often a good thing to be able to laugh at yourself, and to appreciate it when you can laugh. There is damn little that is funny here so we took the opportunity to do so. Once we left, the gate we were definitely in the food chain (again), and all joking ceased, we were ready to kill everything we saw, and in just a few hours we would almost have to. I went to a power plant in Baghdad that was operating at 50%, and the stacks that were operating at about 110% of their original capability. It looked as if it could blow at any moment, there were people milling about all over the place. The Battalion Commander pointed out a place in a field where insurgents have fired multiple RPG rounds at the Iraqi Police Station that is assigned to protect the power plant. About half a kilometer from the firing point is yet another Mosque from where it is said the insurgents store their ammunition. The reason why I mention this is because this Mosque fires anti-American rhetoric almost daily like it was part of the religion. On this subject we had to go knock on the door of another Mosque, as a courtesy call if you will. Well there were new dudes in this one, and they never heard of the guy we were looking for. Hmmmm… So, we were polite as usual, (despite the creeps in the media portraying us as anti Muslim racist murderers. The guy we were talking to seemed in a real hurry to get rid of us, so we took the hit and prepared to leave. While we were walking slowly and deliberately down the street I noticed that we were being watched from about 2 different points, and from one point a Muja could easily snap launch an RPG. So I paused, and when I did he ducked back behind cover. We danced this little dance about 3 times, then I leveled my rifle at the corner at about what I thought to be neck level. He popped around the corner again, and I gave him the universal Iraqi hand gesture for STOP! And to my utter surprise he actually did. I was looking at my first target in my rifle scope for over a decade. My throat got really dry, I could hear the beating of my heart, and literally feel the blood getting cold in my veins. I actually clicked off safe and was about one-one-millionth of a second away from dropping this man. He actually smiled at me, he must have been ready to go, but it was not his day to die nor was it my day to take him. I raised my head from the scope, and we both slowly backed out of “the kill box” From that moment on, I felt highly introspective, and didn’t really want to talk to anyone. I wanted to go home. Fuck I hate this damn country, I know we are doing great things here but the feelings I have must be what my Dad’s generation felt 30 years ago in “The Nam”. Why? Why do these assholes murder innocents? Why!?!?! I hate it hear and I can’t wait to never be in Iraq again. I have what Murph calls Iraqnaphobia: the irrational fear of having to return to or get extended in Iraq. I laugh about that, but it is again a nervous laugh. Why? When we finally got back to the FOB, I was asleep the second we rolled past the clearing barrels. Yesterday wasn’t day either. When I got back to the office I walked to my desk and slumped, the acrid stench of sweat pouring off of me. I greedily drank the last Dr Pepper (and I’d do it again!). I looked at a picture of DJ, and removed “the letter” from under it and placed it back in my drawer. The last letter from a husband to his wife would not be sent by MAJ K today. No, not today… I hope that I am not sounding to down, I am not I am just “troubled” by my encounter yesterday. Make no mistake I would have dropped that man and forgotten about him before he hit the ground, but the thought crept into my mind, are you ready to kill this man who may not be your enemy? Well shit… Not today. Now for those of you who read MAJ K’s blog, you are familiar with this next rant. We can’t put these little “terrorist hunting” permits on our HMMWV’s as it may offend the ASSHOLES we are trying to kill! For those of you who have seen my favorite movie of all time “Apocalypse Now” this will ring familiar. “We drop fire on these people, but we can’t write fuck on our aeroplanes!” This is what is going on here. We have become so damned PC that we don’t kill the ASSHOLES anymore, we reduce their numbers, we don’t destroy, we neutralize. And so on and so forth. I have a logic bomb here; If a terrorist is Killed and we say “reduced” is the fucker any less dead? Or do we just feel better about it because it seems more sterile, and we can more easily detach from our actions. Well, I have been sent here to, and lets be clear find out where they are and gather actionable intel so that we can better KILL, WASTE, DESTROY, DROP, CAP, FRAG, GREASE, POP… Well you get the picture, I didn’t come here by choice. I didn’t volunteer (per se) to come and get shot at, to face IEDs, VBIEDs, Snipers (term again used loosely, save for the Chechen's those assholes can shoot). Yet here I am, fighting the verbage war as to not offend the very assholes trying to kill us. Fighting the real war, against Mujas so bitter, and sick with hate they have lost nearly all reason. Echelons above common sense are making decisions that could get us killed. We accept this, echelons above common sense bind our hands, and tie one leg to our ass, and tell us to run, we accept this. Echelons above common sense… One day in the next 48 months I will be a US Congressman, I will be on the House Select Committee on Intelligence and I will be on the Veterans Affairs Committee. By this, and before god I swear, the shit that goes on in war stays with a man (person). It grinds at you and changes you. Sometimes for the worse, but sometimes for the better, the men and women here in uniform sacrificing deserve better. The Reserve and Guardsman here deserve better. Our families at home deserve better. The price of wearing this uniform is high; sometimes it is far too high… Enjoy the pics… Semper In Adsumus, RDC

THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE...

America's sons and daughters speak of life and death in Iraq.  Milblogs give America and the world a look into the eye of the storm that is post war Iraq.  Here are a few...  Thanks Dbie!

More to follow...

RDC

What has two thumbs and could care less about Martha Stewart?

Greetings,

This post should have been before the last one, but as I mentioned comms here are at best excrement, at worst shite.  Since I was able to get into type pad, I just posted and shall assume that all of you will see that this one should have preceded the last.  Enjoy my Friends...

Since my last post much has happened the in order of precedence lets say the least important thing is Martha Stewart getting out of Jail. I would quote “Fight Club” here, but I think that I am going to make an effort to clean up my language. As I have an abundance of readers now, I shall endeavor to curb my rather aggressive vernacular. So on the Martha Stewart thing so the hell what! Ok, on a justice note, the man that set off the IED that wounded our soldier has been apprehended. So, whatever he gets GOOD! I got my first care package in the mail, from MBN! Many thanks! Of note I received a copy of America the Book, and an Afrika Korps cuff band replica. (No, I am not a Nazi, just an avid miltaria collector, and history enthusiast.) Many of you have been asking if there is anything that I need, and as I am not a greedy man, I keep saying no not really; aside from the initial list I posted I am content with what I have. However, I would LOVE a dart board!!! Here’s why; we finally (after about 6 months) have rooms to call “ours” and although it is about as comfortable as I have been since Jan when I left DJ, and my home. It doesn’t have a dart board! Luther Mohamed knows to what I speak! This just in! It is hailing in B’dad, and I am officially stuck at the office! Ok, back to reality, have I mentioned it sucks here? Just checking… Ok, what’s important? Mail, not getting enough of it, but I can’t complain, I did get the first piece of mail here. Nothing to exciting, it was Books for school. This semester International Economics, and the International Monetary System; I am so looking forward to diving into that one. My Ipod died last night, rather someone was playing with the settings on my IBook, and when I plugged the IPod in, it…well long short is I lost 19 Gigs of music. Suffice to say, I had a near core meltdown. My only release here is music and if that was taken away WTF am I to do. So, I stayed up until about 0400, working and spending WAY to much money on ITunes, recapturing my lost music. I was able to get some of them back, but man what a loss, and what a “jimmy” kick to my morale. But, in light of where I am and the fact that people are dying every hour here, I kept this little tantrum to myself. When we got our rooms, MAJ K and I were initially going to be roommates, but him being a field grade officer, and I a lowly 2LT. The MAJ got his own room. Which he quickly gloated about how much cooler it was than mine…and it was. But about 4 hours later the Chaplain said he wanted that room (originally it was his) so MAJ K, had to move out. To a much much much much less nicer room. Karma is a B-----. So in an effort to avoid a Karma bullet I will leave it at that. ;) Things continue to blow up here, with increasing frequency. Bullets are traded nightly with assholes (yeah I know what I said about profanity, but they are assholes!). The Iraqis are starting to come down off of the fence though, and take back their country. As posted on MAJ K’s blog, an Iraqi Police unit saved the lives of some Americans who were not paying attention to their surroundings and thus daring the Mujas to take them out of the gene pool. And so they tried, however the IPs were indeed on the ball. They intercepted the Muja before he could get into the American convoy and kill US personnel. Sadly though the VBIED did go off, and all four IPs in the vehicle were vaporized instantly. I salute those men for their sacrifice. They died defending men they would probably never have met. That is the meaning of honour! One more asshole reported to hell! Good riddance! I have come to realize the importance of communication, and a need to let those you care about know that you love them. I sent a lot of emails to my friends and family telling them how I feel about them, and I even got some replies. I got some dear friends to talk again after over a decade. I have grown closer to people since I have been away, and I have been overwhelmed with the kind words of complete strangers and the generosity of my friends old and new alike. Now all that remains is time here in Iraq. Let me tell you about Iraq, a very good pal of mine told me a few things I had missed. You see I am a small piece almost in insignificant piece of a huge machine. This machine set in motion in 2003 a campaign to shape the world we will see our children inherit. Right or wrong, we are changing things here, and our successes in Iraq and Afghanistan will determine the might of America for decades to come. If there is to be a peace and I mean a true lasting peace in this world then there is no peace but the peace of America. Pax Americana, my friends. Doug S. brought the bigger picture into focus for me, and I thank him for it. The tendency of most sharp shooters is this, to stay focused on the target and ignore everything else. And that is what I was doing. I was so zeroed in on the suck here in B’dad, I overlooked the HUGE, sweeping change going on in Lebanon, the glimmer of hope that Arafat’s passing has lit in the Israeli/Palestinian conflict. It appears that the tide of change that 9/11 started is indeed gaining momentum. Again, I am not a warmonger, as you will find most soldiers are not. For it is we few, far to few… that will deploy forward and jump into harms way. I got to hold an M-14 sniper rifle last night; I almost volunteered to go on the hunt tonight. So many old feelings came back holding that weapon, looking through the scope, adjusting the sights. The clicks of the windage, and elevations knobs, the action on the trigger, the feel of the cheek pad on my face. Becoming a part of me, merging with it, getting into that “zone” again, damn… So many feelings, thoughts, and smells came back. I really wanted to “cammie-up” and go hunting. That however is a younger mans game. But I could not help but hear trumps sounding calling us to the gates. That is no longer my lane (function). My job is to find out where the Mujas are and provide information on how we can best close with and destroy him on the field of our choosing. Still, there is a younger man lingering in me who wishes to find those who harm the innocent and helpless and utterly annihilate him where he sleeps, eats, and stands. To kick him square in the ass, and keep him on his heels and always moving back, relentlessly hammering at him until he submits. Or until they are all dead, and their bones have turned to ash, and their children have no longer remember their names. By thy colour will he know thee… By thy standard, will he dread thee… Cry havoc, and loose the dogs of war… RDC PS, Our first casualty is back among his family and recovering. As I mentioned the man responsible is behind bars… Not the preferred outcome but again one more asshole out of the game. This day was ours.