Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum

5 months 7 days

I am not alive... enough, I am not dead.  I exist here in a waking, walking, sleeping coma.  My dreams give me strength, my strength not reality.  Today I slept for 15 hours, the result of a migraine ongoing for 3 days.  The pain of it, giving me a reality that I could taste, metallic in my mouth. Tangible to me, pressure building in my head, punishing me for each of the things I look upon, for each thought in my head, for standing, sitting, moving, existing.  Sleeping induced by prescribed medication my only escape from everything.  As I lay in the infirmary watching the IV drip into my arm I could feel almost instantly the effects of the medicine as it entered my vein.  For the 6 hours I lay there on that hospital bed, I cared not, for those 6 hours I lingered in and out of consciousness  I wasn't afraid, I had no concept of responsibility.  For 6 hours I was free (granted I could have been on a yellow submarine for all I cared). 

I recall laying there between unconsciousness and consciousness, I remember talking to a JAG lawyer filling out a sworn statement about a photograph that hung on the wall in my office.  He wasn't a bad guy, he was just a lawyer who happened to say to me that one, there are too many lawyers in the world (I concur), and two he wouldn't advise law school to anyone. Odd to hear that from an attorney.  I also remember thinking this; if this is a different kind of war, then is it logical to assume the same rules that applied to conventional war apply here? 

  The articles in the LA times are what they are.  A view of one possible reality, Scott Gold is a journalist his job is to write a story that is palatable for his audience.  His audience is Los Angeles, and there they want to read of scandal to fuel the perception that “this war” is evil, and motivated by greed.  I do not subscribe to the perception that Mr. Gold attempts to establish.  From what I understand Mr. Gold has declined to accept our invitation to join us for a few weeks in the real war...figures.  The base we are on is way outside of the comfort zone of the Green Zone, so we are rarely “blessed” with MSM. 

I was talking to my wife the other night, she could hear the fatigue in my voice.  90+ days 12 hours + per day, not that it is physically demanding, but the strain on the eyes staring at the same data over and over.  I think I just burnt out.  I haven't had a migraine since 1999.  I got one 3 days ago, it got worse by the hour and it felt like my left eye was going to pop out.  Stubbornly I kept feeding the brain baby (Tic's nickname for headache) Aspirin, Tylenol, Excedrin etc.  I was eating it like candy, yet the pain and the pressure kept getting worse.  I finally went to the medical clinic on the morning of the 3^rd day. I was given a few Ivs and some vitamin (S)leep, I was down for about 6 hours and given 24 hours SIQ (sick in quarters), first day off in 93 days.  I have slept so much I am numb, after I finish this I plan on taking a nap.  I feel guilty, I am resting while there is work to be done.  I'll take this little vacation and keep my eyes closed as much as I can.  Tomorrow is another day, one less day. 

       There have been as many changes here, at first they were all a shock to the system, now just more to deal with.  In a lot of cases here the change has been good, in others I am indifferent.  Indifference seems to be like armor to me here.  I care about few things, and am bothered by even fewer; especially that which I cannot control.  I cannot control much here.  MAJ K, Thunder6, and I are all on different missions now, seperated by rank, title, and space.  All of us lost something 2 weeks ago.  This place seems darker now, not in any more danger than normal, yet I feel the loss.  LT Irish leaves in 3 days for his vacation, I can't wait to hear of his tales of home.  Each time someone leaves to go back "to the world" and I see them again I know that 3 weeks have elapsed, I look forward to seeing him in 3 weeks.  5 months 7 days... 

“That which does not destroy us, makes us stronger.”

Nietzsche

RDC

HOW DO WE START OVER

I posted once before about being wrong, admitting it when you are wrong, and how reporting here especially the first report is usually wrong.  Again I was wrong, and honor demands that I correct a mistake here in this forum.  I said that a CSM countermanded the order of the on scene commander.  I was in err.  I know this because the CSM I referred to ventured into the food chain to tell me face to face that I was wrong.  For those of you from Booman Trib,  here is a lesson in military protocol; you respect the rank the individual has.  With that respect comes this as well, you take that man at his word. 

The CSM, is in fact at the top of his food chain, I at the bottom of mine.  Granted I outrank him, here in this place, those who wish to survive defer to experience.  Again I take him at his word.  I apologized to his face, and am doing so here and now.

Let me repeat this, he got in a HMMWV drove a mere 7 miles of IED infested road and told me I was wrong.  On that one fact alone, I choke on my pride and admit it.  Personally, I'd have sent an email. 

Things in our little corner of Iraq have been picking up, not just outside, but inside as well.  I mentioned before the internal changes, not all change is bad, despite however resistant we are to it.  Here the shelf life for resistant is about 2 days.  We have no choice but to adapt, and move forward.  At the end of the day, before you steal a few hours of sleep, you realize the only thing that really matters is you are one day closer to something. 

The BN CSM, was going outside to water some plants (his zen bushes), he looked at me, the old warrior looked tired, more so than I had ever seen him.  He asked me (rhetorically) "How do we start over?"  The only answer that came to mind was 6 months. 

For those of you that inquired, yes I was called to the carpet, no it wasn't the end of the world.  Yes I deserved it.  No I haven't been ordered to stop blogging.  Again, I deserved the missing piece of my... 

We have read the articles, and already the men here in this Battalion are moving past it.  Our time, effort and energy are needed else where.  We haven't reached a breaking point, we can see it just shy of the horizon.  Yet until it gets closer to us, we will just have to keep watching  out for each other.

"We few, we happy few..."

Oh, one more thing.  I defined the role of the soldier here (as I saw it), what infantry soldiers do is this; they locate, close with and destroy the enemy with fire and close combat.  Anyone who chooses to be an enemy of this nation, and this Army, is driven and crushed.  They lessons of what brought us to the fight are never forgotten, those who we crushed serve only as a book mark to "our" place in time. 

Make Peace or Die...
Motto: 1st BN 5th Marines

Face in the Mirror

Yesterday I wasn't sure if I could look myself in the mirror.  Today I did, the reflection was the one it always has been, but I looked older.  I used to laugh when friends I hadn't seen in years remarked how I hadn't aged at all.  Today, as I looked in the mirror the person looking back at me looked tired, older.  More sure of who he was, the lines of time were beginning to reveal themselves each millimeter revealing a road traveled, each freckle a point in time a place I've been to.  Each gray hair, a reminder the clock is ticking.  Even here where everyday is the same as the day before.  Time does march on, if my face here is any indicator, then I have lost more of myself to time, than I can recall.

Yesterday I was more sad than angry, (I was oh so angry), so my sadness was tremendous, and there is of course fatigue.  We are all tired, and today was no different.  This morning the extent of my patriotism was putting my boots on, and going back to it.  The day was nothing out of the ordinary, then as dawn spread across Los Angeles news of “the article” began to spread, and the usually empty Internet cafe was full.  The hunting and pecking was hypnotic, those who don't normally type were giving it one hell of a college try, some were responding to emails others were angrily hitting backspace to correct a spelling error, others were hitting enter to address a chatroom slight.  A soldier asked me if I'd seen the article.  I hadn't, I really didn't need to.  I am here in the middle of it.  For those of you who don't know this BN was in the Los Angeles Times (yet again), and our woes are now quite public.

Yesterday I was angry and ashamed of the behavior of some in this battalion, in this Brigade, in this Division, in this Army.  Ironically; John was right, “Yesterday all my troubles seem so far away.”  I wanted to detach myself as fast a possible and as far as possible from this unit.  I have to say that was yesterday, today I was again in awe of the men here.  We were supposed to receive yet another briefing on the “rules”, yet another briefing, on security, yet another briefing on...well you get the idea.  Emasculation by power point (the most vile invention ever!)  The NCO who was supposed to give said Power Point briefing didn't show up.  The soldiers were sitting in the conference room, waiting to patiently sit through yet another brief.  As the assistant intelligence officer I said I'd give it.  I figured I'd go in spill a few buzz words, and let them go on their way.  When I walked into the room I saw a group of soldiers who have had a rough time, they have endured the pains of separation, some have lost the jobs that they thought would be there when they got home.  Some have lost friends here, others have lost their girlfriends or wives.  The men in that room weren't infantrymen, they were cooks and mechanics, medics, personnel clerks, and drivers.  They were admin soldiers.  I started the briefing but about half way through mid sentence, I hopped up on a table and looked into their eyes.  I just had to smile, and here is why, despite all of the grief that has come our way, and there has been plenty, and more will come.  They sat there waiting, some had been up for 2 days with little rest, yet they just sat there solid, like soldiers.  I felt a little tickle on the back of my neck, as I am bald it couldn't’t be my hair standing on end.  What I felt was pride.  I put my hands in my pockets and leaned against the table, and just spoke to them, man to man.  I told them that once upon a midnight weary I was in their shoes, sitting there in the middle of a PR storm, in the a third world country a million miles from nowhere.  At that moment I felt very old, but I grew old walking a road I chose, when I looked back in my minds eye, it was my boot prints I saw.  I was at that very moment exactly where I was supposed to be, because it was my boots that got me there. 

I told them about my blog, about the brass reading it, about about the article, and that anyone who “speaks on the condition of anonymity” has an agenda, and ultimately can't be trusted.  If you have something to say, and you can 't be man or woman enough to attach your name to it and own it, then sit down  and stop stealing oxygen.  I am sure that some will say it is me, fine.  At times I wish it had been, but that would have been petty, spiteful and would have ultimately done more harm to the honorable men here than the momentary satisfaction of “getting even”  I think I may catch some fury for yesterdays post.  So be it.  I spoke from my heart and I spoke noting untrue.  Marcus Aurelius's Meditations have been my compass here.  Today was one of the few times I have stood before a group of soldiers and spoke (here).  I have found to speak from the heart, to speak openly and genuinely is the hallmark of leadership (good leadership).

I saw fatigue in their eyes, I smelled “work” on their uniforms, I saw the stains of combat on them in, dirt, grime, grease, and some blood.  They were slumped in corners, crammed in chairs, standing against a wall, and leaning against one another for support.  I was looking at my brothers.  We may not be related, we may not come from the same social background, but we all have this shared experience that will undoubtedly keep us linked for the rest of our days. 

I told them that we all want to go home, and we may or may not care one damn bit about Iraq, but we all care about the United States.  I told them that what was at stake was bigger than our lives, it was the future of American Foreign Policy for the next 50 years.  Everything else... well duty, honor, country.  Whether we support this war or not, the only way out for the men of the 1st Infantry Battalion, 184th Infantry Regiment, 3rd Infantry Division, is through.  Smiling to myself I realized I told them what they already knew.  What a great bunch of men, how can I honor them, because each and every day they go to work they shame me, I had the audacity to feel sorry for myself.  I had the nerve to want to leave this Battalion.  If I need to say I am sorry it is not the the Army, it isn't the higher headquarters it's to the soldiers of this battalion who serve with honor each day.  I owe a debt of eternal gratitude to those among us here, who serve and endure their hardships without a word.

5 months 13 days and a wake up...

To be fair, and just.  Some of the changes here were absolutely necessary.  Some I would question the motive, yet as a junior officer mine is of course not to reason why...I'll save that for November 2006.

"The Dude abides."

THE POLITICS OF "OCCUPATION" THE CATCH 22 OF POST “MAJOR COMBAT” IRAQ

“Fighting the French is easier than fighting my own higher command.”
Heinz Guderian



There is a disturbance in morale, it is effecting everyone, it is spreading like cancer.


    The will to write, has left me as of late.  Changes have happened here, none of them life shattering, but the effect is like getting hit in the stomach mid-stride while sprinting full speed.  The effects have been devastating both personally and professionally. 60% of our command group has been “reassigned”, replaced with active duty officers.  Necessity in some cases, insulting in others.  Of course I cannot speak in specifics, yet the combat veterans amongst you can appreciate the mood it has caused among this soldiers of this battalion.  As an officer here daily I must reassure the soldiers that these changes are for the best, and that we have a job to do no matter what.  Lately the taste of bile has become so familiar, the contempt in my heart so pungent it seeps through my pours that my anger and vehemence emit an odor of their own.  Yet despite it all, the only thing I can do is move ahead one foot at a time. Left , right, left.  This morning I was going to shave, I didn’t.  Looking in the mirror at that moment...I didn’t want to look into my own eyes.  I still haven’t shaved today, tomorrow is looking doubtful as well.  How do you tell a soldier to shake it off, when it has hit you harder than he?  Is that a lie?  Or am I protecting myself from it as well? 

    My roommate, LT Irish, has been nearly killed for a third time today.  The Durkas are tossing TNT at us now.  A stick bounced off of LT Irish’s HMMWV, he told me that the first thing he thought as it bounced less than a foot from him, the only thing between him and it was thick armoured glass.  He said he wondered why they were tossing road flares at him in daylight.  Using them for signaling in broad daylight didn’t make sense.  Then he realized what it was. Irish, is one of the most decorated soldiers in this BN, and to the chagrin of the Infantryman here, he is a Field Artillery Officer, (his Military Occupational Specialty is desperately trying to find relevance in post “major combat” Iraq.  He works as a pseudo politician, dealing daily with local Iraqi politicians.  Dealing daily selfish, self-interested, local politicians.  He by default is an “ambassador” if you will.  Yet he is allowed to make no official statements.  I am also considered an ambassador of good will, and deal on a continuous basis with Kurds, their director of Intelligence, and various Sheikhs, and Imams.  Yet although we never promise anything, we are accused of lying to them, (not the Kurds), and deceiving them.    Yet, I am not allowed to file paperwork for 2006. 

    LT Irish, saw the man who tried to murder him fleeing into a vehicle, he ordered the gunner to fire at the man and the vehicle.  The kid in the turret, not much older than 24 froze.  Momentarily paralyzed with the horrific realization that he was about to murder another human being.  Let’s be honest here.  This is a war, in war men (women, even children) kill.  It can be reasoned away as for a greater good, for righteousness, for honor etc...  I make no such distinction, it is murder, plain and simple.  Justified, legal, righteous, or not; putting, lead to flesh, steel to flesh, or fire to flesh, causing death is murder.  In the end, if your cause is just then and only then are you vindicated.  Yet I fear in “this war” (against the radical Islamic Fundamentalists and their beliefs) will long surpass my lifetime.  I remember hearing a group of Iwo Jima Veterans speaking, and one told of the day he killed his first Japanese soldier; he said he was crying and his platoon sergeant slapped him so hard it knocked him down.  The man, towering above him told him to get it together, and move forward.  Later in the respite from the days fighting, he asked the SGT not why he’d struck him, but if killing ever got any easier.  The SGT said you get used to it.  I’ll never forget what he said to me, he said; “I never got used to it, but I did get good at it.”.

    My roommate left this morning and nearly got killed on his way home.  That is simply not “normal”.  How does one explain to a spouse when asked innocently “How was your day?”?  I laughed and made light of it with him, telling him there is an Iraqi out there who wants to kill him.  Ribbing him for not “dropping the “Durka” himself.  Here there is no real outlet for emotion, yet I suspect we both wanted to crumple to the floor and weep, not from pain, not from fatigue, not from anything other than the fact that “what the hell else could we do?”  Trying to make sense of this place is as impossible as moving a mountain by smashing your face into it.  Some days we just don’t win.  Today has been one of those days.  LT Irish, was so angry today his weapon was taken away until he calmed down.  Our soldiers often hesitate from pulling the trigger, all to often it is because of an almost unreasonable resentment of JAG.  The very presence of a military lawyer, causes some soldiers to spit in disgust.  Admittedly at times I have shared this sentiment; there are just some feelings that defy conventional wisdom, I know better...yet when I see JAG I too feel my stomach turn.  I now know what an ant feels like under under a magnifying glass. 


    26 JUL 05

    A few hours of solid, albeit Tylenol PM induced sleep, and I felt better today, than yesterday. My wife has met another wife who now must endure the separation of this deployment.  The two of them got together over email and IM and introduced me “virtually” to a new officer in the battalion.  He arrived late last night, a little worn from his journey but otherwise in one piece.  It was good to finally meet him, in person.  Odd to meet replacements, I am reminded of stories from veterans from wars past of how they reacted towards the new guys.  “FNGs” they used to be called.  To me they are just soldiers who have to come into the this place pretty much alone.  The only bonds they have are with each other, then spread apart throughout the battalion and literally starting over. Also one of our wounded veterans came back last night, he looked lean and hungry.  Not for payback as one may expect, but to get back to his men.  This is something that civilians don’t easily understand.  Why would anyone who has been wounded want to come back to “this”?  Simple, until we all go home, this is where we belong.  Would a parent bear the burden of being apart from a child any longer than need be?  I pray not.  This is no different.  Not nearly as dramatic as;  “That he who hath no stomach to this fight, let him depart; his passport shall be made...For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother.”  paraphrased from Henry the V.  Not nearly as eloquent as that, but the feeling to a soldier (a professional of arms) is that he be with his fellows.  Seeing this returning veteran warmed my heart in a way that words cannot express.  I shook his hand and embraced him as I would a brother. No words were exchanged between us, none were needed I helped him with his kit, and he went on his way.    Oddly the newly arrived soldiers followed him, it reminded me of watching ducks. 


    This morning when I came into the morning meeting, he looked up and smiled at me.  Not so much out of anything other than a familiar face. He looked clean, fresh, and eager.  I remember that... OK, that was a lie, I cannot remember what it was like to have a fresh laundered (dry cleaned, or fabric softener) uniform.  I cannot remember the last time I woke up and didn’t curse.  There was  a series of 5 explosions during our meeting, each time I noticed him flinch a little.  The “vets” sitting around couldn’t help but laugh.  Not that he was nervous; that would be cruel and honestly none of us has the strength to be cruel anymore.  We laughed because what he was feeling was something we could remember...fear.  Last night my roommate had a nightmare, I heard him talking in his sleep, and when he woke this morning he looked exhausted, and despite nearly being killed yesterday, he donned his armour and departed the room and went outside the wire again.  I admire him for that, and only like men of arms at war can I love that man.  He is my friend and he is my brother, LT Irish goes on leave in 10 days he will be missed. 

 

 

I can't even tell you about a CSM who countermanded the orders of the ground commander and let three Durkas go who local Iraqis said detonated an IED.  I can't even begin to tell you how wrong that is and on how many levels it enrages me.  It begs utter lunacy.  That is a story for when I am not bound by the UCMJ.  5 months 16 days and a wake up.  I am indeed a republican, and I do support our actions here, but there are things that those of us who blog, out of respect for the rules that govern us, will not say.  For if we do, then how can we hold our soldiers to these same standards?

    More lawyers here today, and more briefings on the Army Values, of which in my opinion there are far too many.  There are three general orders in the army yet there are 7 Army Values.  Didn’t General (five star General) Douglas MacArthur say it for us all; “Duty, honor, country.”  What you ought to  be, what you can be, what you will be.  It seems that there are so many “words” in our military.  So many Rules of Engagement, so many General Orders, so many things for soldiers to have to remember.  So many laws. What plagues our society, has bled into our military.  Our soldiers fear lawyers here more than they fear our enemies.  They hate lawyers here more than they hate the men who are trying to kill us.  Am I the only person who sees an enormous problem with that?  I have been called a warmonger by one Trazanna Leigh Halstead-Moreno.  She called me this when she was 12 and I 14. She even gave me the definition once and after over 2 decades I still remember it.  One who advocates war or warlike policies. When I was a younger man, I think that that definition fit. For the boy she knew then.  That boy was tested overseas on the dark continent, and the man that emerged no longer searched for glory in battle.  The man that emerged saw only the futility of it.  This is not to say that I became a pacifist.  I just began to see value in the idea of diplomacy.  I am on hiatus from Norwich University pursuing a Masters in international relations/peace war and diplomacy studies.  Again I found myself in a catch 22.  We can look back in the history of war, and see where diplomacy has failed us time and time again.  Here, now I am in a place where diplomacy was used by the former regime to delay, stall, and manipulate the us for 12 years.  A soldier who seeks public office will always be caught between two worlds, peace and war.  In the whole of European history, the continent has known only 11 years of constant peace (in a row for those who wish to quibble).  When it was conquered by the legions of Rome.    War is a result of humanity failing to police itself, war brings out the ugliness in man, yet it also does something else to us; it unites us.  On September 11th 2001, the world stood with us and felt our pain, on that day the entire world was one.  From the ashes of the single murderously bloody day in modern US history e pluribus unum, out of many one.

    Sorry, didn’t mean to preach. Life just seems so simple to me, yet we complicate things needlessly, which brings me to my original point.  We are wining this war, of this I am certain.  The cost is high, but the cost of losing too high.  We have never lost a war, ask any Vietnam Veteran, on every single field of battle be it chosen by us, by the NVA, or by the Vietcong we were victorious.  Every single time. To put it in plain language every generation can understand. War was outlawed by the League of Nations.  They failed. War it has saved us from time to time, but war; if we are not judicious in exertion of our undeniable power, shall be the end of us all.  Duty...


In Shadow I Remain,
RDC


PS To the wonderful woman in San Diego who sent me a copy of J.C. Watts’ “The Color of a Conservative” I humbly thank you.  I truly appreciate the book and your words that came with it.  Here is to Nov 2006, may the future bring change!

 

DJ…”All for You…”

WHISKEY TANGO FOXTROT?

This is specifically to "Dude",

     There are 24 hours in a day.  we; (the good guys) work in shifts.  I have tried the working until I drop thing and well, unless the Durka's are using the human wave/mass attacks (refer to Korea, and Vietnam) then there is no need to work until I collapse.  I was an infantryman, I am no longer a "grunt".  Again, there is no need for me to work 48, 60 or 70 hours in a row.  As for whining, well perception is reality.  If you perceive me to whine, then if I post once a month, or once every hour, will your perception of it change?  As I said early in my postings, this blog serves largely one purpose it is my scribe, to remind me, later what I felt and have gone through here.  The fact that some people find it of interest or helps them understand what a soldier on the ground here feels is serendipitous.  The fact that it angers some people who think our efforts here are a waste doubly serendipitous! 

     As for reading, what would you have me do when I have (some) free time?  Sharpen my knives, count the kill board, volunteer to go out and hunt for Durkas?  Or maybe I should write my Congressman, and snivel about how much I want to come home, and that I didn't sign up for anything longer than one weekend a month.  I'm not that guy, there is another martyr out there from Arizona, read his blog, again I am not that guy.  You are free to post whatever you want on my blog.   But don't accuse me of whining sir.  This is my 7th deployment in 16 years, I have been in harms way before.  Writing is how I cope with what happens all around me.  Reading is a further escape from where I am now.  Is that OK with you?  Since Army General Order #1 prohibits me from beer, wine, and spirits, and since I am not with my wife, again my two escapes are writing and reading.  Thanks for caring dude, but seriously, unless I get blown up...I'm fine.  As the last line of my Letter of Admonishment from General Webster stated.  "I consider this matter closed."

Maria R. Jordan,

     I used to love a good techno thriller, now after being in uniform, preparing for and deploying to "this war" I don't particularly care to read about it any more.  I still read military history, and study it, but as for reading it for fun.  The thrill is gone.  So, I read mysteries, I have again begun to read the classics, I have always loved "The Catcher in the Rye", Oh, and when I was at military school I did read Shara's "Killer Angels", great book!  I am a huge fan of Roman military history.  I was blasted for that on Booman Trib, I took many of the critics for what they were I took their jibes, and stabs at me.  I rolled with their accusations etc... in the end they weren't attacking me.  They were attacking what I represent.  In the end, those worth keeping on contact with I do, the others well, I have stepped in things here that are worth more than their opinions.  I am a soldier, it has been my life for nearly 2 decades.  I also read books about wine, cooking, culture; I really love satire.  I often joke that sarcasm was my major in college; however that isn't what my parents paid for so I ended up as a "grunt" in the Corps.  The best of times...The worst of times.  I actually have read War and Peace.  It took me 2 years to read that one.  The only thing that took me longer to read the bible, in Latin, the brain baby still kicks when I think about that. 

     Forgive me I digress, the simple answer is; reading about war (while I am here) leaves me feeling flat.  I read other blogs, books on international relations, even economics.  I read books on politics, books on politics in CA (Power and Politics in California).  I play X box (sports games) thanks David & Hud!!!   I keep another blog (OK, dude I whine there, I'll concede that.  But it is password protected.) 

     Now, if you'll excuse me I have to go.  It is Friday and that means cards...  My only vice whilst I am here in the "cradle of civilization". 

Semper Adsumus
Russ Currie

It's 130 degrees and they open a coffee shop...

As the heat slowly dies away, they march single file towards the approaching helicopters.  They came in low and fast descending from the skies above, birds narrowly escaping the rotor wash.  For a moment it seems if if they will slam into the tarmac yet at the last second the pilots raise the nose of the birds and nearly simultaneously touch down.  Clouds of dust obscure my vision only for a moment, the sounds of the rotors rips through the air every second breaking the sound barrier with a whipping sound that pierces the night air.  The whine of the engines decreases for the moment, as the soldiers deplane, others are eagerly waiting to take the now vacant seats.  From my perch upon the roof top I watch this clumsy dance.  Soldiers returning from leave, awkwardly move into the night in temperatures that are nearly 70 degrees hotter than where they just came from; home, now but a distant memory. As soldiers pass one another I see two friends shake hands, the one who is returning smacks the other on the back, his smile fades almost as quickly as his friends...his brothers widens. 

I have seen this repeat for nearly 2 months now, I climb to the roof, and gaze at the tarmac.  Even in the darkness I can see the heat rise from the apron of the airfield.  In the moonlight the convection of the rising heat makes me feel like I am standing above an ocean of liquid concrete.  The Earth beneath me seems alive, I hear the squeaking of the bats around me, I have invaded their space.  The moon is high above me, and fills the night sky above with brilliant light, so clear, seemingly so close all I need to do to touch it is stand on my tip-toes...almost but not quite enough.  I fell almost like a child again staring up at it.  So many questions, still.  Still no answers. 

Behind me, the sound of the helicopters changes, without looking I know they are preparing to take flight once again.  The whipping of the rotors grows more pronounced, and the turbines begin to whine.  Dust begins to rise, dashing away from the birds fleeing as if afraid.  As the dust rises it is caught in the wash, and swirls about like an inverted tornado.  Then without warning the birds lurch from the ground, noise; howling fury.  Heat; engine exhaust, jet fuel, and displaced convection.  Then as quickly as they'd touched down...the night fell still leaving me alone with my thoughts, silence all around. 

For them, freedom... a brief pardon from this sentence.  If only for a while, they will be free once again to choose or not to.  But for 21 days those kids...men...soldiers, will be able to love, laugh, drink as if it was the last days of their lives.  For some it may very well be.

6 more full moons and I will no longer be here... Not long now.  6 full moons. 

Rumors...  In the military rumors fly faster than light.  Take a line of soldiers and as you pass by say something nonchalant such as.  “We will be home by Christmas.” By the end of the day, pass by that same line, and soldiers will be making plans for New Years Eve.  Here, now, this war is no different. Much has been going on behind closed doors, and in private sessions of men senior (much) to myself.  Yet, RUMINT (Rumor Intelligence) is a powerful thing; I like it to a knitting circle.  Gossip...  I suppose it is mostly harmless, yet I try to ignore it.  Being an intelligence officer, I have a reputation for honesty; albeit blunt, and often viewed as arrogant, aloof, even cruel. I find that I am usually among the first to hear of these new rumors.  Usually someone seeking to confirm or deny.  Only 6 more months.  6 moons to go. 

HUMOR IN UNIFORM:  A coffee shop opened up on the base a couple of days ago, it isn't Starbucks, but to me...it may as well be.  I am not a coffee fan per se, but working for hours on end, a steaming cup of Joe (for me espresso on ice) does the job.  It has tables, chairs, biscotti, muffins, sparkling waters, and even gellato.  The men who labour to serve us this deliciously caffeinated nectar, are proficient and friendly.  Yet, as with many things here in this land, there is a typical communication problem. You order one thing and it gets lost in translation.  Thus you end up with something else entirely.  As was the case with Private Doe (not his real name).  He ordered a tall Mocha frappe, he got a tall cup of drip house roast.  I looked at him looking at the clerk, who was smiling (expecting his tip).  He was looking rather confused at this point.  So, I asked him if he realized that it was 130 F/55ish C?  He said yes but this wasn't what he'd ordered.  The clerk was still smiling.  I looked at the soldier, then the clerk, then back again. Clearly this problem wasn't going to start WWIII, I looked at the kid and said with a smile.  Good luck with that...  walking out of the store I sipped my iced vanilla frappe, about 8 steps later I dropped it, exploded all over the ground and with a hiss, the sidewalk began to devour it.  Karma.  FIDO, I kept walking no point in looking back. God speaks to us everyday you just have to look for the subtle ways in which he reaches out. 

“If it is not the right thing to do, never do it; if it is not the truth, never say it.  Keep your impulses in hand.”

Marcus Aurelius  (nearly 2000 years ago)

Post without a name

        “Teach us to care and not to care.  Teach us to sit still.”
                                                               T.S Elliot

 

 

I don't know much, I haven't been alive long enough to be wise.  I have seen more of the world than most, but am not worldly.  What I do know it this.  Chamberlain was right (more than one hundred years ago, near Gettysburg, we are fighting a new kind of war, with a new Army.  We are fighting for an ideal.  Freedom, such an intangible notion, such a simple thing, such a complex thing.   We can quantify the price in blood, we can quantify the price in dollars.  What is so simple here in B'dad, is so lost on so much of America...  Freedom. 

 

I watched Gettysburg a few nights ago, and was so awestruck by the noble speech of Colonel Joshua Chamberlain portrayed by Jeff Daniels. Those of you who do not know of the Battle at Gettysburg, or of COL Joshua Chamberlain, he quite possibly was the finest battlefield commander the United States Army ever produced.  He was a man of quiet religious conviction ennobling the cause of the Union so eloquently that his speech has rarely left my mind, nor its meaning far from my heart.   

 

“This is a different kind of army. If you look back through history, you will see men fighting for pay, for women, for some other kind of loot. They fight for land, power, because a king leads them or -- or just because they like killing. We are here for something new. This has not happened much in the history of the world. We are an army out to set other men free.”

Chamberlain (Gettysburg)

I am aware there are many reasons we are here in Iraq, some say an illegal war for oil, some say to settle an old score.  Some say we are attempting to set a puppet government here in this strange land. Some say Saddam violated UN resolutions time and time again, some assert he was harboring terrorists.  To each one of us there is a certain truth what we belive to be real.  To some of us our perceptions have become the only reality.  A world seem in “black and white”, a world of absolutes.  I am not a worldly man, but I am here in this world and it is my only reality.  My vision is not clouded by an unreasonable hatred for the President.  My heart is not cold with the lust for the blood of our enemies.  My mind is not predisposed to condemnation of all of Islam because of the murderous actions of the few.  Simply put; I am just here walking through this moment in time.  The future will judge what we have done here. 

 

“All these thousands of men, many of them not much older more than boys each one of them, some mother's son, some sister's brother, some daughter's father, each one of them a whole person, loved and cherished in some home far away. Many of them will never return.  An army is power -- its entire purpose is to coerce others.

Now, this kind of power cannot be used carelessly or recklessly; this kind of power can do great harm. We have seen more suffering than any men should ever see. And if there is going to be an end to it, it must be an end that justifies the cost”.

Chamberlain (Gods and Generals)

 

If the end justifies the cost will history be kind to the horror our soldiers have been witness to, will it judge with less scorn and bitterness than those who judges us now for that which had to be done? 

 

“May the judgment not be too heavy upon us.”

T.S. Elliot

 

I have been thinking a lot as of late about my wife, and the struggle she has had to face alone to maintain hope, and sanity.  The sacrifice for her is tearing at my heart.  I never thought I would miss another human being as much as I miss her.  This time will pass, and fade and the bitterness will erode from my heart and hers for the separation we have been forced to endure.  She will forgive me in time, and in time the scars will also fade.  Yet the memories of this place will linger.  I cannot see nor feel the changes that are taking place inside me.  Yet, by virtue of being here in this place and fighting in “this war” there undoubtedly has been a change. Mustn't there be a change? 

 

To those of you from Generation X, I have a favorite song in this place I listen to it daily.  Nine Inch Nails “Everyday is Exactly the Same”, a favorite verse of mine is;

“I'm writing on a little piece of paper
I'm hoping someday you might find
I'll hide it behind something
They won't look behind
I am still inside here
A little bit comes bleeding through
I wish this could have been any other way
But I just don't know- I don't know what else I can do!”

 

Baby-boomers...”We Got to Get Out of this Place...”

Silent Generation...”We'll meet again..Don't know where don't know when...”

Millenials... “You know You're Right.”

 

I just finished Reading Dean R. Koontz's “Velocity”.  It was the second fastest I have ever read a book in my life, less than 36 hours. He quoted Elliot throughout, and caused me to dig out a book I have been keeping for nearly 20 years; in it I have detailed and captured favorite quotes from my time just before I graduated Kemper, until well...today.  I have over 7 thousand quotes in it, many I can recall from memory.  Each one has a particular place in my minds eye, from days past.  Trying times, sadness, heartache, love lost and love found.  Each quote takes me away from this place if only for a moment, even the saddest memory I have is more pleasing than being here.  However I am not here to be entertained, nor pleased.  My existence here is part of a bigger collective whole.  I get that, duty first.  Yet as a man, no as a human being, I eagerly await to hang my uniform, and return to my life.  As an adult I have never known a normal life, I look forward to walking the road to “normal” with my wife upon my return.  Yet as I wrote that line I smiled, running for Congress isn't really normal is it? 

 

War tears at the heart, it destroys the soul.  It has divided our nation, and torn a line down the middle of the very fabric of who we as a people are.  A soldiers job is to kill without question, or hesitation.  It is not my job to care.  Yet as a human being I am compelled to care.  I feel the pain and anguish of Iraq, I see it in the faces of the Iraqis I see everyday.  I hear it each night when the thump of an IED echoes in the darkness.  Teach us to care and not to care.  Teach us to stand still.  Time here has no purpose, being half way through this deployment is largely like being the middle child.  Still to young to drive, and as a National Guardsman still not old enough to not have a babysitter. 

Each time I am asked what is going on I hear myself saying same “story”, same day.  Here in Iraq; “Everyday is exactly the same”. Tomorrow is the day I go home...but tomorrow for me is 5 months, 23 days, 11 hours and 14 minutes away.  My basic reality here is, tomorrow I'll see my wife again, and tomorrow I will try to see what normal feels like.  But today, I have a job to do.  Today I have to keep moving forward, and keep moving fast.  If I don't there won't be a tomorrow.  Today, was a good day...Today and everyday I am here I sit still... as time slowly passes by.

 

“The world turns and the world changes, but one thing does not change. However you disguise it, this thing does not change: the perpetual struggle of good and evil.”

    

***I used to read only military fiction, and historical books; studying my craft through the eyes of warriors who have come before me.  Yet here, in Iraq I find that reading military fiction has left me drained and nearly crushed my desire to read and write (Sorry Mr. Clancy).  Just as I wrote that last sentence an IED exploded (close). I don't flinch anymore and that worries me.  Anyway, I really recommend “Velocity”, it was a page turner.  I still read daily from “Meditations” by Marcus Aurelius.  Old habits resist change...***

4 YEARS AND A LIFETIME TO GO

I take this time, to reflect not of the road ahead of me one possibly littered with IEDs, VBIEDs, snipers, and untold as of yet unseen dangers.  I take this time to offer my renewed faith, not in our cause here, but of my faith in my love for the most wonderful woman I have ever known.  My best friend, my truest love, my wife.

This day four years ago, we had our first date.  Looking back it wasn't much, some awkward conversation, a couple of tacos, and to me not a premonition but a determination to spend the rest of my life with this wonderfully shy, and beautiful woman.  I was certain nearly from the beginning when I first laid eyes on this woman, who I now call "my angel" that it was to be her.   It seems that almost every  important hallmark in our relationship thus far save for our wedding I have been away.  We were married two years ago in November.  On her 30th birthday I was at Officer Candidate School.  Our first anniversary I was away, preparing to be here.  On this date which marks the fourth year of our time together I am away.  I'll miss her birthday again this year, and our second anniversary I'll be 10,000 miles away from the one person who means more to me than my own life.  I never really understood what love truly is until I met her.  These last few days have been emotionally trying, we have had to endure heart breaking disappointment and intense emotional assaults; and have had to do so so far apart.  Words over the telephone and emails of support are a sorry substitute for being able to hold my angel.  My hands shake as I write this, because my heart is heavy with longing on this day.  I know my duty and continue to discharge said duty, but today my heart just isn't in it. 

6 months two days, and 16 hours this minute and I'll be closer to home.  about 9.5 thousand miles to be exact.  So much time to make up, when I get back, so much to do.  An entire year will be missing from my marriage, and I don't know how to get that back.  There will be challenges aside from having to get to know each other all over again.  There is significant resistance from family to our relationship, that must be overcome.  A campaign to run, moving into a new home, and rebuilding a life that was put on hold.  Not just mine, not just hers but "ours" as a couple.  There was a movie that I saw as a child called "The Best Years of Our Lives" about soldiers returning from WWII, and the challenges they faced upon return.  I remember a quote that has always stuck with me, a husband said of his wife; "I have had to fall in love with my wife all over again." 

This war has offered me communication that was undreamed of in the 1940's, so I get to hear her voice almost daily, I get to read her words nearly daily, I get to see her face in near real time weekly.  It has been two and a half months since I saw her last.  It will be 6 months two days, and 16 hours this minute and about 9.5 thousand miles until I get to hold her again and start making up for lost time.  I can't say with certainty I understand everything about Iraq.  But what I do know is that everyday I survive this war is a day closer to home, and the woman I love.  Every single day here is a fight, and we are very much in a war.  At the end of this all I'll be able to say is "I was there."  At the end of this, when I look into my wife's eyes she won't care about the war, the insurgency, or the United States Army.  All that will matter is we are again together and after a year, we are again whole. 

Happy anniversary angel, I will do everything I can to return to you...I love you endlessly.

Rusten

Oh, for those of you who haven't heard this song...it was written by a fellow soldier from the 1st BN 153rd Infantry Arkansas National Guard.  Fellow goes by the handle JR.  This is a link to a previous post, forgive the crude language.  Download the song it is worth it.

The Picture is the 100 roses I sent to my wife for our 4 year anniversary

SWEET LAND OF LIBERTY

Happy birthday dear mother, from your womb I was born free

Happy birthday sweet mother, God indeed shed grace upon thee

Happy birthday dear mother, your sons will defend you

Happy birthday sweet mother, your daughters bear fruit and life anew

Happy birthday dear mother, my home, the nation, my heart yearns for thee

Happy birthday sweet mother, cherished land of liberty

     Monday July 4th 2005, this day is nearly over for the men of the 1st Battalion 184th Infantry Regiment, 3rd Infantry Division.  In 25 minutes this day shall be a thing of the past, in time it will fade from my memory as just another Monday that I was in Iraq. When I cross it from my calendar, I will have roughly 190 days left here.  This day has passed virtually without incident.  For that I can only thank God, whoever God is.  The air today was vindictively hot, despite the dust clouds overhead it appeared we were forced to trade the relative peace of the day for more heat.  Today there were no fireworks in our sector, today no one was hit with an IED in our sector, and no one was injured.  Today was a good day.  Today one of my dearest friends asked me to be his best man 365 days from this day.  He will be a commissioned officer in the United States Marine Corps.  I have known him since he was a young Lance Corporal.  He will soon wed, and he will soon be here.  It's amazing what can happen in a year.

 

     Today was a good, day.  No one died.  Tomorrow is another day, we shall see what tomorrow holds.  For now, I am grateful for your emails, prayers, and well wishes.  For America it was her birthday, I hope she is treated well.  Give her a kiss for me,if you can find the time.  Let her know that you love her as much as I do.  I have spent a lot of time away from her over my 17 years of service, and despite all the pain, suffering and heartache; I'd do it all over again is she so asked.

 

     Today was a good day, no one died.  We watched the news, and joked with one another, silly pranks were all around, a news paper article displaying Turkish wrestling was plastered on Murph's door.  CPT A, posted a "Cartman" likeness near the Intel shop and the name tag said MAJ K, and it demanded that we " Respect his A U T H O R I T I E!!"  I had a crude message from Thunder 6 on my keyboard when I walked into the office.

     Happiest of birthdays America, fly your colors with pride.  Hang the stars and stripes from your homes, in your garages, stand tall as they pass you by.  On this day, there should be no Partisan politics, on this day we are all Americans, who owe much to few.  Today our patrols suited up and rolled out, today they as I watched them roll by as I stood on the street watching them roll by, I realized something, those kids are the best.  Today they earned "our" freedom, so enjoy it.  On this day appreciate that there are more important things than us as individuals, on this day; from many...one.

Today was a good day.

Semper Fidelis,
Rusten Currie

MY COUNTRY TIS OF THEE

    Across America on this holiday weekend, millions of Americans will celebrate the birth of these United States.  In New York City, there will be thunder in the skies above Manhattan and as children sit atop the shoulders of their Mothers and Fathers their eyes will witness the wonder and majesty of the rockets red glare as night turns to day one burst of brilliant color at a time.  In Boston, the harbor will hold tall ships transformed into a million points of light resting on the waters under the electric sky. In St Louis, the VP fair will hold thousands under the Gateway Arch, as the masses surge for a better seat on the grasses and concrete on the bank of the mighty Mississippi.

     In Bozeman, Montana people will line the streets as floats pass them by and marching bands play homage to the history of a nation forged as much by blood of brave men as the ideas that set the founding Fathers on a collision course with history.  In South Dakota’s Black Hills under Mt Rushmore, thousands will gather under the eyes of Lincoln, Washington, Roosevelt, and Jefferson and children will look into the faces of four of the greatest leaders in the history of the United States as the skies above are ignited in celebration and the citizens below are united not by what makes them different but by what makes them Americans.  In Colorado, the citizens of Montrose will tune their radios to Steven Glassman’s KKXK and listen to a patriotic tribute to America.  Families will throw blankets on the hoods of SUVs, and pick-up trucks and park under the heavens and as the fireworks explode over head the mountains will appear silhouetted against the night sky, and the crisp mountain air will hang heavy with smoke and frenzy.

    In Washington DC, Lincoln will still gaze across the calm of all he surveys, while all eyes are looking to the sky a the annual gala over the holiday weekend Speeches will be made, untold thousands of hot dogs will be eaten, beer consumed, first kisses will be captured under the majestic skies of states all across the land, hands will be held, and children will be both frightened and mystified by the energy in the air.  Dogs will bark at the heavens and as the fireworks fade away they will soon forget the excitement and continue to go about doing what dogs do.  The crowds will disperse and head towards their homes, couples will hold hands, children will wonder with awe why the day was so special, Grandparents will reflect on friends long gone, and recall days when things weren’t so certain.

     As this holiday weekend begins, 10, 000 miles and nearly a dozen time-zones away today is Saturday, nothing more than a day to mark off of the calendar, tomorrow the 3^rd and Monday the 4^th will be a mirror of today.  Heat, dust, sweat, and the foul smell of sewage festering at nearly 100 degrees, on the 4^th as Americans at home celebrate our great nation; men and women across Iraq will stand around armoured HMMWVs and listen intently to patrol briefings.  NCOs and Officers will offer stern cautioning to their Soldiers, Marines and Sailors (maybe even a few Airman) they will be cautioned about driving to closely together and to far apart.  They will be cautioned about the ever present and tell tale signs of IEDs.  Soldiers will smoke cigarettes, and chew the coveted Copenhagen.  They will make jokes, and they will play grab-fanny and make fun of the new guy.  They will all look into each others eyes, and there will be an understanding that today could be the day.  They will all silently pray, that it is not, for there is no such thing as an Atheist in a trench.  That was a lesson Mike Nelson told me from his experiences in Gulf War one.  To this day, I still hear him telling me that when he came home.  As the convoy commander issues his final thoughts they will all suit up and prepare to roll out.

     Everyone will check and recheck their armor, chest plates in place, neck gator fastened, groin protector covering all the right places.  Magazines will be loaded in to M4s, and M9s. M240s, M249s, and M2s will all be loaded and once the threshold of the safety of the base has been crossed fingers will rest uncomfortably on safety switches.  Tired eyes will gain the intensity of a falcon on the hunt, adrenalin will energize heat weary warriors, the instinct to survive will replace everything, and the only thing more intense than this for these young men and women is knowing that while they are here blurred in between what were once called frontlines the fight is here, and not in Bozeman, Montrose, St Louis, DC, Venice, Tallahassee, Long Beach, Phoenix, Broken Arrow, Watauga, or anywhere USA.  From sea to shining sea on this 4^th of July once again the right to breath free will be paid for in the blood of patriots.  I hope nearly to the point of desperation I do not die here, but my country gave me the gift of freedom, the only thing I have to offer to her in return is my blood.  I can only give my life once for my homeland, if need be, here in Iraq I’ll repay the debt.  My only worry; when my world ends will my love for my wife remain?

    Monday is the 4^th of July, one of my favorite holidays, traditionally.  This year is different; the 4^th is nothing more than when crossed off of my calendar, one less day in Iraq.  To the others here in the 1^st Battalion 184^th Infantry Regiment, 3^rd Infantry Division it is a Monday, it means patrols, debriefs, trips to the mess hall, lines at the PX, phone center, and smoothie shop.  It means teary-eyed husbands speaking nearly inaudibly into telephones to their wives (avoiding at all cost letting their fellows hear their voices breaking as tears fall to the ground; and disappear forever). It means men and women talking to their little ones from 10,00 miles away and perking up momentarily until the call is ended and they walk out once again into the barren landscape of the FOB, and the heat engulfs them again, and with the heat comes regret of yet another holiday missed with family.  As eyes and tears are dried by the Iraqi sun the base will be oddly quiet.  Everyone here hoping that there are no fireworks, for us fireworks mean only death and suffering. Younger soldiers will attend the karaoke contest, and take advantage of the ever so brief respite from the uncertainty that lies only a few hundred meters out side the gate.  As for me, I’ll smile as needed and joke as needed with the young soldiers here, but my heart lies in Venice Beach, California.

    It was this time last year that I was walking on the beach with my wife and I got the call that I was going to Iraq.  I would again be leaving my wife.  Thunder6 called me and told me we were Mobilizing for Iraq the excitement in his voice was the polar opposite of the dread that welled in the pit of my stomach. My only hope as this holiday draws nearer to us is that it passes for us without excitement, without fanfare, and above all else without bloodshed.  Soldiers fight and die, for it is what soldiers have always done.  We kill the enemies of our nation; duty.  We help sow the seed of freedom wherever it is planted; honor.  We serve the greatest nation on the face of the earth and do so willingly; country.  Yet it is we, the soldiers of our nation that live with the ghosts of our actions, my prayer is this; when the time comes for me to leave this place I can do so.  That when I leave, that the ghosts of Iraq and my actions here leave me in peace…

 

 

RDC