Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum

Journey's End

       December 15^th 2005, was one of the greatest days of my life, I was witness to the birth of democracy in Iraq.  It is a rarity to be a part of such an historic event. Despite any and all arguments about the why we are here; by some accounts 75% of Iraqis registered to vote did so (Imagine who or groups of who, would not be in office if 75% of American voters turned out!). Despite threats (very real threats) of violence Iraqi men and women lined up and waited; some for hours, to vote. They waited patiently in lines that would have driven me mad! They have never before had such an opportunity to vote and have a say in their own nation. While none of these candidates (nearly 8000 of them), will share the overwhelming 99.9% landslide victory Saddam Hussein (Former dictator, tyrant, and poet) once enjoyed. The day passed without incident, save for the aforementioned self-determination of the nation by its citizens. All was quiet on virtually all fronts of the war in Iraq.  In fact, I can honestly say I was bored. Being bored in war is a good thing, and as of late, I have been blissfully bored to no end. Which is why I have not posted for some time, I simply had nothing to say.

 

Our battalion awards ceremony was on the 17^th and I am now, at long last a 1^st Lieutenant. Odd, I never imagined I’d ever be a 1LT, and now like some magic wand was waived the often comical look of confusion that plagues most Second Lieutenants is gone from my face. In its place is a grimace of a combat veteran, a sort of permanent scowl with my cover pulled down over my eyes and a frown etched on my face I move about the base walking briskly and as of late avoiding most unnecessary conversation. I have not been in a particularly bad mood, but save for time left here in Iraq, the mind has distanced itself from much around me. Funny, I don’t feel any different. It was a great moment in my life. I stood with 2 other officers and we were promoted together. Our battalion commander asked us to address the battalion and I was caught so off guard by it I couldn’t think of a thing to say; oh, and the microphone wouldn’t bend down so I had to stand on my toes to speak clearly into it. It reminded me of my speech for Student Council back in 1985. All I could think to say was that we’d seen our last full moon in Iraq.  I hope that is true. At the ceremony promotions and medals were awarded for our time here and for some very courageous young men, the medals were well deserved. For others…well perhaps another time.

Looking back at the last year, I remember so much and so many people I have met, and had the honor of serving with. I have seen some wonderful things here and I have seen some of the worst violence, and the darkness of the human soul. I have seen vicious acts of hatred, and I have seen selflessness I never thought possible. This war is different from other wars…This war is exactly the same as every other war. War devours everything in its path; there is no mercy to it. There is no reason in it, it exists to destroy, and as long as there are governments run by mortals there will always be war. Yet, even in war the brighter side of humanity can shine through, I have seen it. Average Iraqis handing me a bottle of cold water in the blistering heat, a little girl holding the hand of a grieving soldier whose friend had been mortally wounded in an IED attack. Defiant Iraqi civilians standing in line to vote, so that their voice is heard.

 

         How do I explain this place to those who will not listen, we are winning here. Of that, there is no doubt. The cost is high, but as Heinlein asserts; “Something given has no value.” A free Iraq has cost us more than I ever wanted to spend, in time, lives, friends and blood. For the soldier there is no politics (at least there shouldn’t be) for the soldier if there is to be war, then we destroy the enemies of our nation. War, as horrific as it is, is simple. Everything else is hard.

           I have been afforded the honor of being an Army officer in time of war, and I have served with the very best that our nation has to offer. When this is over and I move on to other things, it will be from this perspective that I move forward. Simplicity, Occam’s razor suggests we not add anything unnecessary to a problem to solve it. In short keep it simple, when you find a problem fix it. I will miss the men I have served with here, when you spend nearly 16 hours a day with the same people every day for 18 months, like them or not they become family. I see that now, again perspective, and a healthy amount of time spent apologizing to myself for being such a miserable SOB at times in my life. A healthy amount of time spent reaching out to old friends I’d slighted years and years ago, and saying I’m sorry. A healthy amount of time spent not talking but listening, and I mean really listening to what people had to say. I have met some great people through emails and in meeting them; I have been presented with some great opportunities for life after “this war”. Like I said 11 months ago, there are only two days here, the day you arrive and the day you leave (yes like prison). Soon it will be tomorrow and I will leave. Not that this hasn’t just been a blast (often quite literally), but I’ll be glad to kick the dust of Southern Baghdad from my boots and focus on tomorrow, walk my dog, and hug my wife, and move past the only life I have known for nearly a year. Soon I’ll be whole again.

 

      I am not certain if I’ll post again, not being dramatic but this blog (in its current form) has nearly run its course. I would like to thank everyone who has written me, even those who attacked me and lashed out with anger and at times apparent insanity. Interesting at times, and often down right hilarious. Those of you who sent me comfort items thank you so very much, your kindness and consideration truly lifted my spirits (AFSister!!) Those of you who shared pictures of your families, and children I appreciate your sharing what “normal” is with me. Those of you who think of me as a friend, I am always an email away. Those of you who thanked me for doing my job, well again all I can say is that sometimes the extent of my patriotism was putting my boots on, especially when I didn’t want to. So, I humbly thank you for reaching out to me and expressing your gratitude, thank you, thank you, thank you! Those of you who engaged in healthy and heated debate with me over our different political views, I thank you as well, soon we’ll see one way or the other won’t we. Those of you who continue to question this war, and why we are here, good for you, without different opinions, there is no debate. Without debate and open discussion, our perspective is skewed and we can ill afford to lose anymore of who we are because of a lack of perspective. Seek reason, find common ground, and never be afraid to stand up for what is right. 

 

Finally, to my wife. My angel, my best friend and my compass. It has been so long since I watched you drive away from the Airport on April 21^st 2005. It has been so long since my cheeks were stained with tears as I watched you pull away and felt as if I’d just died. At times, I thought it was the last time I’d ever see you, and at that thought my heart grew cold. We have been apart for 9 months now, and soon we will be together again, the one and only wish I have had since I saw you last was that I could see you again. To see you smile at me is the best present I could ever hope for, it is in fact the only thing I have let myself hope for, for months now. When this is over and I hang this faded uniform I hope to spend the rest of my life with you and when we grow old together, and reflect on this war and our time apart as with soldiers in all wars I’ll be able to smile and say; “I was there…”

 

What will I miss about Iraq? Nothing…everything.

 Until the next…

RDC

 

 

SEMPER FIDELIS

Greetings,

     How does a former Marine (still very much so at heart), celebrate the birthday of the United States Marine Corps?  Well, without specifics, I was in the air above the barren night landscape of Southern Baghdad, with Delta Company 1/184th on a combat mission, what the Army calls an Air Assault.  CPT D, of "Demon" Company asked me to tag along and lend a hand where I could, despite my reservations, it was my duty to oblige, thus I went. 

    The marshaling area was alive with the usual soldierly banter, and my mind wandered and my thoughts drifted to what it must have been like with LTC Hal Moore's men as they descended form the skies above the Ia Drang Valley.  Or how tense it must have been prior to the landings at Saipan, Gudal, or Iwo.  I wathced soldiers do what they do, they joke, they mess around, and they silently pray.  Father Bob was there handing out candy, and making us feel a little better about what we were about to do.  I didn't feel scared per se, but I was very apprehensive, that is an understatement. 

     As the birds, jumped off of the ground, the wind, and rotor wash filled the cabin, and as we were catapulted towards the darkness of the Iraqi sky, my unease  left, and if looked at the  ground below, from above even Iraq looks good.  CPT W, was more or less correct.  As the signal was given that we were 5 minutes out, what I can only say was what passed for a prayer "Father, may we be swift, sure, and right.  Should we be wrong, let us be wrong and remain standing."  30 seconds, the stomach tightened and I held my breath.  wheels down, GO GO GO!!!   We jumped from our seats and hit the deck fast and ready.  It was 0001 hours.  The USMC was 230 years, old, and I could think of no better way of celebrating than to put my boots (USMC issued boots) on the deck.  Granted it wasn't like Iwo, or Juno, Sword, or Gold.  But for me it was just as real, and the memories of it will be with me for the rest of my days.  The tension, and apprehension I felt were as real as I have felt them in over a decade.   As I moved with the team I was assigned to moved to our assigned area, the job (training) took over, and I did what I was assigned to do.  During the operation, the true spirit of America came out.  Children and women were cold, and we gave them blankets, and offered them smiles of reassurance.  How odd it was to be there, doing our job, and providing comfort and care to the people we are here to help, the local Iraqi's.  Despite fatigue, and aches, we all did our job. 

     We were in the air, and back to base.  The mission was complete, none of us got hurt, and the day was ours (Henry the V reference).  It was a good mission, and when I returned a former Marine took my hand and said happy birthday Brother.  I am fortunate.  I have the honor of being part of two distinct "Bands of Brothers".  I got "home" and felt drained.  yet I did what I was trained to do; "after every battle, sharpen your sword."  I cleaned my weapons. Sleep didn't come easy.  Today at evening mess, some of us gathered and we celebrated the Corps's Birthday.  Not as well as last year, but then again we are in a different place.  Yet the place does not matter, but it is the Company we keep. 

     230 years, and counting.  I was once told by a mentor of my progression into the commissioned Army ranks; that in order for me to succeed, I need only remember that I am a Marine.  Though I am not a Marine (in uniform now), my heart still beats with the intensity that it did when I was a younger man, when I was a Marine!  Now I am a soldier, and though the uniform and title have changed.  The blood that beats within my heart, has not.  Though today I be a soldier, forever my spirit shall remain that which was born on the hallowed ground, of MCRD San Diego.  Though tomorrow I am a Soldier and proud as hell to wear the uniform of a commissioned officer in this the Army of these United States, on this day, once again I am and honoured to be a Marine.

SGT D
SFC B
Gunny
SPC D
et al...

Happy 230th Marines!

Semper Fi

SIMPLE WORDS AND POWER

Shukran…

 

Words are power, more powerful than steel, more powerful than war. Words, define us, words travel with us each and every day.

 

Yesterday I finally came face to face with an IED. The soldiers…no men of Delta Company 1-184, and Rogue platoon recognized the threat. As we passed by the device, the driver became hyper aware, he saw what most of us did not, a glint of metal amongst the trash strewn road. As we passed by it, it lay there barely visible, yet it was the only thing I could see, it became what could have been our end. Life does not flash before your eyes when you come face to face with mortality, but a resignation that this could be the last moment, then sadness. Yet oddly, it didn’t take us. We cordoned off the area and kept the civilians away, spectators began to gather, and the danger became three dimensional. Moments before we passed our IED, another of our patrols was struck by an IED of similar design, there were no injuries, within moments of that report we seemed years away surrounded by onlookers, and trapped within our own cordon. The walls we had built to keep people away had also trapped us within.

 

I felt as if we were on a stage, and everyone from everywhere was looking at us. Demon 6, the on scene commander called up the report and help was on the way. Until then we were to wait literally on top of the weapon. Uncertain if the man who was to detonate it was amongst the on lookers, uncertain if an attack was to come at us. As the temperature rose so did the tension. Everyone was visibly on edge. We were each assigned sectors to scan for threats, yet the uneasy feeling that you were in someone’s sights was never far from our thoughts. It is that uneasy feeling you get when the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and your spine tingles because you know you are not alone. The urge leave had to be overcome; each man there knew his duty and his job. Yet, each and every one of us knew that innocent lives were on the line, it sounds cliché but as we looked at the crowds gathering, the people getting out of their cars, we knew that the real danger didn’t lie with the IED itself, the real danger was us… We were the bait, if we were blown up, the crowds could easily swell to hundreds of onlookers. There is an old Arab saying; “It is foolish to hunt a tiger when there are plenty of sheep to be had.” If we were blown up, our enemies know that the civilians would converge upon the scene providing a much more lucrative target.

Our enemies know that we cannot be beaten, so they opt for the easy kill. Civilians… As LTC F said be polite, be professional, be prepared to kill. As I mentioned the threat was three-dimensional. Civilians and curiosity go hand in hand here, the Iraqi Police came to assist us, but our first thoughts were of cautious skepticism, were these true Iraqi police, or were they the proverbial wolves in sheep’s clothing. Demon 6, is a professional soldier, his men, seasoned and crisp, like a symphony the men moved with precision to their assigned positions, I on a rooftop observation post, with an SPR, (Special Purpose Rifle). This weapon has a scope on its upper receiver enabling the shooter to accurately engage targets (threats) up to (in this case) 500 yards away. As were in an urban area, we were limited in what we would shoot at given no discernable threats. I ranged each open window, alleyway, doorframe, parked car and other visible points of reference. I drew a hasty range card, and set up my position. Then like everything else in the military, I waited. Moreover, as the minutes passed the heat rose. The thermometer read 126 (it was in the shade), eyestrain and muscle cramps from dehydration began to set in, and the weapon became hot on my cheek. The mirage downrange also increased, I had to re-verify my distances to known points, as I did this doubt set in. Was my windage correct, had I adjusted for my elevation, how hot was the bullet in the chamber. As people started to move in the distance, sweat began to fall into my eyes, my heartbeat became erratic, and the armor started digging in to my sides. It felt like I was having an anxiety attack, and I was losing my poker face. At that moment, I thought I saw a rifle in a window about 290 yards from my position, I could not see into the room from my vantage point, only a shadow on a wall in the room. Still, I wasn’t’ sure if I actually saw a weapon.

 
     I was trying to control my breathing; I could not calm myself to get a steady picture in the scope. I cursed myself and bit hard into my lip, I needed to focus on anything other then the burning in my eyes, and the pain from cramps. I bit harder, drawing blood. I was certain I had seen a weapon in the window; I clicked off safe and prepared to engage the threat. Blinking rapidly I got the sweat from my eye, and the stinging stopped, just as I was exhaling I got a clear picture of the room it was a woman nursing a child looking out to see what we were doing. I put the weapon back on safe, and stepped off the gun. I slumped in a corner of the rooftop telling my partner to cover my sector, I needed a break; two minutes later, the break was over. I was drenched in sweat, and shaking from cramps. Our water bottles empty, and Power Bars gone, we resigned ourselves to our stupidity, laughed it off and got back into position. 35 minutes had elapsed since we got on the roof.

The demolition team arrived and prepared for their mission, to clear the IED from its location. They decided to blow it in place. Soldiers began to scream for civilians to back off the area, and in Arabic, the police shouted commands to the locals with about as much urgency in their voice as the metallic voice coming over the PA in at most US airports. After some “unique” prodding, the civilians withdrew. My partner (a soldier of average height, and a slight drawl to his voice) told me the “6” (military term for a commander) told us to clear the roof and get below. From our position, the IED was about 130 feet behind us. As we clambered down the stairs with our kit, I was reminded of the pictures of Leathernecks from WWII, climbing down cargo nets into Higgins boats, we had little of their grace in walking down the stairs. Chewing bubble gum and walking at this point proved to difficult, so against the advice of my mother from decades past, I swallowed my gum. As my throat was dry from lack of water, it nearly choked me. Odd, I thought how embarrassing would this be to be evacuated because I choked on a piece of double bubble?

 

     When the signal came; “FIRE IN THE HOLE, FIRE IN THE HOLE, FIRE IN THE HOLE!!!” The explosion was far louder than I anticipated, thunderous is not an accurate enough word, it was louder than anything I have heard since I have been in Iraq.

  We were less than a football field away from it, and windows broke, dishes fell, and a child that was in the house that I was not aware of began to cry. Slowly I picked myself up from the floor and again we went to the roof. The silence there was surpassed only by the ringing in my ears, as we got back into position slowly the people began to reemerge from around corners, from behind cars, and from locked doors. As the moments passed us by, it became evident that we would not be attacked; our mood became no less tense. Finally after being there for several hours, we were given the all clear, and we once again descended the stairs of the Iraqi home. As we came down, I was struck at just how ordinary the home was. Pictures on the walls, fine china (albeit cracked and dusty) was stacked on shelves. Coffee cups on the kitchen counter. A throw, hung on the back of a couch. The smell of cooking clung in the air, and the people in the home who let us in, looked ordinary, scared but ordinary nonetheless.

 

The man in the house was holding his daughter Mina, a beautiful little girl who for some reason smiled at the two soldiers standing before her. I took off my helmet and goggles, and smiled back at her. Again, I was reminded why I am here. And again that reminder came in the form of a smile from a child. We exchanged thanks back and forth, and shook hands, the women in the house (his mother and wife) smiled at us the man of the house said “Assalamu alaikum.” As we put our kit back on I clasped hands with him and patted him on the shoulder “Walaikum assalam.” (Peace be upon you too) I patted my partner in the helmet, and staggered we moved to the gate. “Friendly coming out!” We shouted, and rejoined our patrol. As we rolled out, I was looking at the spot where the IED had been. The metal, contorted and charred a shadow of what it once had been, a reminder to me to what could have been. Shaking it off, I drank cold water, and drank and drank and drank.

 

They thanked us…

The power of words…

My friends you are very welcome…

 

SGT Monkey, as always thanks for having my back.

 

RDC

Gimme a Break

OK, GAB, to be fair, the Green (international) Zone takes a beating like the rest of the greater B'dad area, no doubt; mortars fall there, IEDs detonate taking life just like everywhere else in Iraq.  Gunshots are heard throughout, night and day.  Arhabi, live, work, and kill their.  They murder innocents and target them because they are easy prey.  They target Marines, Soldiers, Sailors and Airman alike.  They do not discriminate.  They hate us whether we live in the "worlds largest gated community" or in various FOBs in the greater B'dad area. 

Yet, if  words (mine or anyone elses) make you feel like any less of a soldier.  The problem rests with you not with me.  I stand here with nearly 150,000 other men and women in this uniform taking what ever beatings come.  From inside the wire or out.  I damn sure know who and what I am.  I stand with the men of my battalion whether we are embarrassing to you or not.  They are my family here.  I count on the fact that no matter how many articles are written about what has been done, I know that tomorrow they will go back to work and ride this storm out.  If I may;

"Why dont you take your self praising, Im doing such wonderful things on home for your campaign, because your BN has embarrassed itself enough already."

   Well, GAB I dare say there isn't a calender on this FOB  that isn't marking the days, hours, minutes and seconds away (that is a tradition of service men and women longer than you or I have been alive).  Active, Reserve or Guard.  But, if I have made you feel like less of a Soldier, then I am sorry.  As it has been said to me, Soldier on...

With Your Shield or Upon it...
RDC

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

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…”

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

What so Proudly we Hail

Trust.  Trusting someone here can get you killed,  yet it is who we as Americans are.  We are an open and trusting society.  We have our share of faults, just watch the news, our detractors are all too willing, and ready to broadcast our shortcomings.  So be it.  We are Americans, we rise above it, and no matter what the media portrays on television or on radio we rise above it.  No matter how much our allies proclaim our actions to be unjust, and how they will not support this or any other unilateral US action.  We rise above it, and when they call us we are there.  As Mr. Colin Powell proclaimed all we ask for in exchange is a plot of land to bury our dead.  That is who we are.  We also have our detractors at home.  People who call us murders, and say that we are targeting Innocent women and children.  They have absurd websites such as "Forsake the Troops", they use their celebrity status to elevate their own personal agendas and to sway the masses to champion their causes.  They call the President of the United States "idiot", they slander the very nation that affords them the freedom of speech to do so.  Still, we rise above it, and to the death I swore to defend them.  Against all enemies, foreign and domestic.  And so we do.  We soldier on, and every day we don our armour and load out into armorured vehicles and drive out into it.  Providing the men who are trying to kill us with a Target, so that if trouble may come, it comes our way.  Not to a little girl coming home from school killed by a mortar round, because the man who sent this weapon made in China, to end her life.  because he was so blinded by ignorance and fanatical bastardized religious vomit, he can't even comprehend that he is the pawn, and when he dies he is not a martyr just one more victim of the Global War on Terrorism.  Do, I respect him?  No.  Do I pity him?  No.  Will I honor him?  No.  I'll forget all about him, and though I don't pray, the loss of this life even one who murders innocents is tragic.  I am a soldier, he is my enemy.  At the end of the day it was him or me, here I am, I hope his journey to hell is a short one. 

Betrayal here is to be expected.  Being lied to, also expected.  Yet when it was one who you trusted, and sought to protect his helpless ones and he turns around and betrays that trust, it is devastating.  Not that I didn't expect it, but nonetheless I am more American at times that this job can allow.  My trust has been shattered by someone who doesn't get the gravity of the game he choose to play.  He will be punished, by his own people, so be it.  If he is guilty, he deserves his punishment.  We are Americans and we rise above it.  We are often called arrogant, and self-righteous.  Guilty as charged, we are called meddlesome, and charged with interfering in the internal affairs of sovereign nations.  Again guilty as charged.  We are reckless cowboys who are ethnocentrists and try to impose our standard of life on cultures and nations that don't want our help.  Ask the average Iraqi, you know the ones never seen on CNN, FOX, MSNBC, or Al Jezerra, ask them if they'd prefer to be back under the reign of Saddam and family.  If you pull all of your unbiased information from the MSM, you may be surprised to find that the average Iraqi, would rather die than go back to that. 

Do I want to be here? No.  I have other designs for the rest of my days, but in the end if these people here realize even 1/10th of what can be achieved in a free society, then my year here was not in vain.  Are we heroes? I don't think so, this is our job, for some of us this is not a job, it is our chosen profession.  This is what we do.  It is who we are.  For the last 16 years of my life it has been who I am.  I have never murdered an innocent civilian, I have never tortured a prisoner of war, I have never treated the Muslim holy book with disrespect.  I have treated all of my enemies humanely.  As well as about 99% of the rest of our Armed Forces.  Some detractors say we are fighting an immoral war and stealing the oil from Iraq, some say this is the President's illegal war.  I invite them to come here and walk a mile in my shoes.  In 60lbs of armour, and ammunition in the 120 degree heat of the cradle of civilization.  I invite them to come here to Iraq, and stare down the highway looking for IEDs in a HHMMWV that has no AC and the very water in your canteen literally is to hot to drink.  I  invite them to come here and remove the body of an innocent man assassinated in his car (shot in the head) simply for taking a job with the Americans (We have a tendency here to overpay).  I invite them to realize that being an American has great benefits, but with those benefits also comes great responsibility. 

I love my country, and I am here because she called me to service.  I am not a hero, I don't consider my comrades in arms heroes either.  This is our duty, and despite the hardship of being away from my home, my wife, and everything I love; this is (for now) who I am Citizen, Soldier, Patriot.

RDC