Thursday, July 31, 2003

Dog Drama and Choy's Antics

31 July, 2003

Another day closer to home. It was so wonderful to talk to you last night. I would love to go to the horse ranch with you! Well, nothing is going on right now. SSG Choy is being an ass to everyone. Just to satisfy my curiosity, I went to the barracks. Sure enough, I found him in his room. He tries to get out of as much work as possible, then tells us that he works soooo hard. He does nothing. He came out right as I looked in and asked, “What are you doing?”
‘Oh,’ I responded, ‘Just wondering where you were.’ He’s a bad person.
Conroy came in to tell me about a story from Pappy. He’s out on patrol, and a kid throws a rock at Sergeant Prince and Pappy’s truck. So they stop, and this is what happened:
“Sergeant Prince, you get that boy and don’t come back until you do!” said Pappy. So the Boy Prince took off for the kid, along with the scouts. They didn’t find the kid, so they went tactical. SWAT style, weapons drawn – they searched an abandoned building and found the renegade child. So the scouts and the prince caught the boy and zip stripped him. This is going on in the heart of Baghdad. They brought the child to CSM Sanders, and he ordered the child’s legs be zipped up too. So the child stood crying with his limbs bound. Then Pappy said (as he threw a rock that found its mark on the boy’s chest), “How do you like people throwing rocks at you?!” Like the boy could understand him in the first place. The boy hadn’t even struck him, but now Pappy was hitting him, while bound. The man is crazy, that is for certain. You talk to him and his little blue eyes seem so glazed and lifeless. He’s a mass of pig flesh with no mind, no sense. He’s a perfect product of the Army. Perfect.
Yesterday I was talking about Jimmy, since I got a letter from him. I was talking to SSG Ramos about him being at Camp David. Well, that’s at Thurmont, Maryland. Well, it turns out that Sergeant Ramos is from Thurmont, Maryland. So all of a sudden we are talking about his hometown. He all of a sudden lost his bearing and got relaxed, and then confided (in an air of someone being understood perfectly), “Yeah, there’s a parking lot up there where we used to get so fucked up and stoned! You know there’s a bend on the road, and my buddies got this one girl all drunk and stoned and stripped all her clothes off! Hehe. So they tied her up all naked to a tree, and cars would drive by and see her! Haha. We’d get so fucked up up there!”
I thought to myself, ‘Wow, this guy is a loser, and he’s still a loser, and he’s my boss. Wow. I can do better than this.’ Most of these guys are of bad character. It was only a matter of time before Sergeant Ramos let me glimpse into his world. I wasn’t totally surprised. I’m glad I wasn’t involved in drugs and drinking during high school or earlier. It really does damage people, I’m convinced. The whole time he was talking to me, he acted as if I could completely relate to him, as if he looked cool. I only felt sorry for him.
Nicols just came by to tell me about two incidents that happened. He was parked pulling security in a market. Suddenly, the car in front of him had a girl and a boy, about 3 years old and the boy was pointing a gun out of the window. “I thought I was going to have to shoot him, a kid! He was aiming and everything, holding the gun with two hands! I wasn’t going to shoot unless he shot first. So, I snuck around the side of the car and I was shaking. Then, I slapped the gun out of his hand. It was a fake! It was the most realistic toy gun I’ve ever seen! So it breaks. If that kid had been 16, I would have shot him. THEN, the father comes out yelling at me for breaking the toy. So, the LT gives him a dollar to buy another toy gun.
Then a guy tells us a bomb is on a bus. So we search a bunch of red busses but don’t find anything. He comes back and says it’s on the frame of a broken bus next to the school. So we find the bus, and a man in the bus points the bomb out to me, and there’s an RPG round on top of it. He just picks up the RPG round waves it around. We take it from him. Then, I have to reach in and pull one up from the top of the differential through a hole. I thought, OH GOD, I’m going to lose my arm. My hands couldn’t stop shaking and I was sweating so bad. So I got all the pipe bombs and we put them in a box. We make the Iraqi carry the bombs back with us, and he’s dying because it’s so heavy. Then we pass by a music band, and kids come out and it turns into a mini-parade! It’s crazy!
Also, our guards at the power station said someone threw a mortar round over the perimeter wall. But it didn’t blow up because the safety pin was still inside. Then we look across the street and there are 50 mortars just lying around. Kids play with them! We’re talking to the guards, and they don’t understand English – so we are giving them crap in English like. Then a man understands us and gets upset, ‘You don’t tell your elders that!’ Then they said ‘Kids tell their parents off in America, and shit on ‘em!’ The man seemed disturbed at this. ‘That’s so horrible!’”
Nicols also said they tried to show them a playboy picture, but everyone would turn away and hide their face. But if they showed a picture of their wife or girlfriend with clothes on, all the men would like it and go crazy over it! That’s funny, so what’s wrong with no Playboy? It’s discipline not to go for that stuff. I respect them for that.
Well, I just came in from outside, and a 3-7 IN war veteran sergeant was looking for his dog. Well, I guess he adopted this dog during the war and cared for it. Now it’s roaming around with a gunshot wound. “Who the hell shot my dog?” He asked in a genuine way that demanded an answer.
‘Our Sergeant Major. He’s a bit crazy,’ I answered. Hey, I was honest. POP! Went off loudly and I ran outside to see what happened (last week).
“Yup. I got that motherfucker, got ‘em in the heart,” Pappy (sergeant major said). I heard his squealing Texas gibberish floating through the air. I saw him and I thought,
‘This guy is crazy! He really is crazy! He shot a dog and shot him like nothing!’ I didn’t get confused over the dog, but firing a weapon within our camp. What if he missed or it ricocheted? He gave me the creeps, walking around screeching and talking to the air. His eyes would narrow and get bright. He walked off, and people gathered to see why the shot went off. Everyone just looked at each other confused.
“What just happened?” Knight 5 asked.
‘Sergeant Major just shot a dog, sir,’ I answered. He just looked around and exhaled greatly, and walked off. Anyways, today the sergeant asked me about that same dog. We presumed he died in the woods. Now he seems to be walking about, either him or his ghost.
“You tell your Sergeant Major he’s a shitty shot!” he said. I had to chuckle to myself.
I walked over to the puppies and the momma and watched them for a second. Sergeant Choy came over and turned the water on of the ditch where the puppies were laying. He said it was to water the bushes. The pups lay there to nurse and keep cool in the shade. At this time, Major Stanton came over and asked,
“Are you trying to drown them out SGT CHOY?” At least I wasn’t the only one seeing this.
“No Sir, but if I had the choice, I would cut their throats!” he said typically.
‘Ahhh, come on Sergeant Choy, all small creatures of the world deserve a chance to live,’ I said. He was just a tiny sour ball, a sour man. I just wanted to make a point that his brutality was no way to deal with his size insecurity.

Wednesday, July 30, 2003

An Unfortunate Series of Events and Not Taking Our Malaria Pills

30 July, 2003

Another day in Baghdad, everyday the same – every – single – day. I got to talk to you for a while last night , got through on my second try. Two days ago and yesterday it took 2 – 5 hours. My hand even hurt from redialing! Well, it was good to hear your voice. I love you.
Well, so far today nothing big has happened, except for a carjacking, a house robbery, a stabbing, a shooting, and a USAID visit. I woke this morning to Foley waking me up – he’d been gone for a few days for sickness. He had to share the stories of his hospital stay and the incompetent staff. At least he’s better now. Sergeant Nash the medic immediately proclaimed that he had Malaria, which was highly absurd. Immediately, the question was, “Were you taking your Malaria pills?”
“No,” he answered. So we all had our pills counted. I haven’t been taking any of my pills, so I threw some away and put some away. I came up short by 12 pills, when they counted them. They make me puke, and I don’t trust them. I don’t like taking any medicine, much less pills from the government. So, now, every morning Sergeant Rush comes to all of our rooms and watches us take our pills. So, I put the pill in my mouth, under my tongue, take a swig of water, and he leaves. Then, I spit the pill out into the trash. I feel justified in doing this though, I’m not putting a chemical into my body for the Army. I’m just a piece of meat, an investment, not a human. I’m staying as healthy as possible. This morning, I woke up and Rush made me and Foley take our pills. He did. Then it was my turn. Of course, I kept my pill hidden. Then, I saw Foley spit his out as soon as Rush left. I laughed and spit mine out too. He looked over to me and saw me holding my pill and we both started laughing. I’d almost welcome Malaria.
Yesterday I got a letter from Jimmy. He should get home to Jen in a bit. It really was good to hear from him though. I wrote him back a foul-mouthed letter sharing my complaints about Iraq and the military.
Well, a few days ago, Uday and Kusai were killed near Mosul. I was studying German in my room that night and had no idea what had happened. I heard suddenly, the thud, thud of an anti-aircraft gun, and some other shots. I looked out of my window and saw red dots climbing into the sky over Baghdad. It was sporadic and sparse. I got Villarreal and showed him the sight. I grabbed my video camera and went on the roof with Villarreal. The tracer fire increased over the city, then spread to our area in a heavy volume. Then the AA
[1] gun went off again, and AK-47 fire from behind. I watched the bullets streak into the night sky. Then “POP, POP, POP, POP!” a gun fired close by.
‘Shit! Get down!’ I yelled. Villarreal got down and we kept filming. We decided to run back to the stairs before we got hit my falling bullets. So off we ran, not really scared. You get used to the gunshots. It’s part of life. I went over to our headquarters and on FOX there was a reporter talking about the celebratory fire. He was in a flack-vest and wearing a helmet. It was a sight to see. There was also a lot of lead going up and coming down. The rumor is 50 were killed from falling bullets. I’m not sure about that. They did display the bodies on television. The first pictures showed the two brothers poorly and from a poor angle. The next day, a video was released and the bodies were reconstructed. When I first saw the reconstructed bodies, I was struck by the extreme artificial appearance of the faces, waxy. Almost papier-mâché looking. As I saw the bodies on TV I thought about the five soldiers that died since the brothers were killed. 2 dead brothers, lots more dead soldiers and Iraqis. These two were such evil men. From all the stories told, they sound satanic. Well, they are dead now. I wouldn’t even want to be near those dead bodies, just their presence would drip of sin. It’s a tough situation when dealing with evil people. Well, they’re gone – and few must be sad.
We conducted another raid, “Orangutan Crush” and “Chimpcicle.” Much of the same planning and danger was involved as in Ice Baboon. It was to pull in Fedayeen (one colonel brought a change of clothes and some books for college and turned himself in). This time we got some more officers, one having a picture of Udai pinning a medal on this guy.

Ø Rundown of events of past week: “We’re driving down a narrow part of the road and two boys are on the right side,” Nicols said on one of his visits. “Well, they put their thumbs up to say good job, and my side view mirror hit their hands and bent my mirror all the way back!” It takes a bit of force to do that. “We were doing about 40 MPH! We looked back and saw them holding their hands, in distress. I think their hands are broken!” He said. Well, that was a freak accident, but somewhat ironic.
Ø Laser pointer incident: An IED was thought to be on the side of the road near our camp. A security team was sent – engineers. They arrived on scene to keep it safe for Americans and Iraqis. It was dark at the time. At some point in time, a laser dot appeared on someone from afar. That would be unnerving. After seeing the dot, the security element opened fire with an automatic grenade launcher (very destructive) and some M-16, 9mm pistol fire – but I’m not sure exactly. I know the MK-19 was fired for sure. No target was identified. The platoon leader was questioned.
Ø I went into the prison to talk to Poe, and there I saw a man lying on the floor with a large cast on his leg. He’d been shot with a M240 in the leg for running away from our scouts. They came around a corner and saw a group of men getting drunk outside – past curfew. “We came around the corner and that guy took off running down the road, so they followed him and told him to stop. He didn’t stop, so they lit him up. His leg’s all shattered! The doc at RSS said to just kill the next guy instead of wounding em’ they already had to fix up so many Iraqis!” said one soldier to me. At Iraqi hospitals, if they even have enough beds, the critically wounded or hurt are put in back rooms to die. The hospitals were stripped bare. The hospitals stay busy picking up dead bodies. Many people can’t afford to have bodies picked up, so they bury them in unlikely places. At one checkpoint, one of our companies stopped a car with a wrapped object on top. Turns out it was a dead relative. They had her strapped to the car to take her to the hospital.
Ø “We went to the warehouse and a group of guys were there at the munitions factory. We went up to them and searched their vehicles. Well, it turned out they were looking to fix one of the cars. Gumble ran up, “Get down muthafucker!” and punched one guy square in the face. They had no idea what is going on. They got them on their knees, and one guy moved the barrel of SFC Rocker’s rifle with his hand, so he butt stroked the shit out of him. I think he did it so hard I could swear a round ejected from the chamber of his rifle – it actually recoiled! So these guys are fucked up, and we find out they’re not even thieves. The thieves’ car left long ago. Those guys were messed up! So we called you, tellin’ you we’re coming back, and released the guys,” Poe said. I knew they searched the area following a report a helicopter sent to me, but that car (the one that was stealing arty shells) already left. As far as I knew, the mortar platoon went out there, looked around, and came back. That was all they reported. Strange to hear what really happened. It makes you wonder what all goes on we don’t know about.
Ø “Let your soldiers know not to steal from Iraqis. I don’t think it’s a problem in the Knights. Platoon leaders, make sure before a raid, soldiers go in empty pockets, and leave with empty pockets. There are reports of money being taken from homes and from shops. People are going to start getting angry if we start taking their shit. Make sure you are in control of your men. Keep hotheads back at home on ops.” Apparently soldiers have been taking items from shops and homes.
Ø A soldier on top of his truck accidentally fires a grenade from his grenade launcher within his camp. One person injured. Just shows you how stupid people can get you killed here.
Ø Mass grave site was reported in our sector. It was reported by the Washington Post, so the Army assumed it was true. We still don’t know yet. It appears the site is a bunch of fighting positions, with overhead cover. NO signs of a mass grave. Just another possible exaggeration.
Ø There was an IED attack on some guys leaving our C Co. BDE HQs. One person was killed, two injured. I worked the initial evacuation plan, that was to take the injured to a location 6 kilometers to our camp. Well, we suggested they take them to the big hospital (Army) only less than 1 km away. It was a mess. After we got that arranged, they canceled the request. That night I went to my room and listened to the BBC report on the attack I worked on.
Ø I read an article in Time magazine and saw pictures of Paul Bremer. He was in a typical Capital Hill style suit. Something wasn’t right. He was wearing suede desert combat boots. Combat boots and a suit. I wasn’t impressed with his stunt, this attempt to draw attention to himself. Shallow. One thing I noticed in another picture was the perfect condition of the soles. Never worn. Thanks Paul, but no thanks, let us do the boot wearing – you keep to your loafers. Also in another picture, he’s standing on a bridge in Baghdad surrounded by fat body guards with machine pistols. He said it was to make a point about Baghdad. What’s the point? You need bodyguards? He was standing on the very bridge I was on when we got lost – only a kilometer or less from his palace office. Get real Bremer. People in the States don’t know this. They think he’s in Baghdad! He’s just off the palace grounds. Hardly dangerous. I’d rather they just stay home rather than pull stunts. I would even respect them more.
Ø (31 JULY, 2003) Last night, 1LT Sheppard from A Co., the embodiment of childish pride and machismo was looking intense and confident, heaving with testosterone, a man in charge! He brought in a large cache of pump action air rifles! And two old Turkish shotguns. He claimed a 30 caliber rifle was among the “rifles.” Well, there was no 30 caliber rifle! People began to say, “LT Sheppard, thank God you got those air guns! Baghdad is safer now!” What an idiot, I thought. This is the second time he’s done this, brought in crap and looking for glory. I think he could feel the atmosphere was laughing at him, so he pretended to hold a conversation with another officer when Knight 2 walked in to offer his humorous observations. The rifles were returned to the man this morning.
Ø 2 nights ago I tried calling you for over 4 hours! It was no problem though, I didn’t even mind. I just kept redialing and tried to stay awake. I got through though! So it was worth it. I would do anything to hear your voice, it is the most important part of my day. After we talked, I went out and brushed my teeth. As I was going back to the room, I saw the white dog laying on her side in the grass. I heard some little cries, like chirping. I noticed she just had puppies! I saw she looked exhausted, just laying there and breathing heavy. The little puppies were so tiny, they looked like little hamsters – 6 of them. It was so amazing! They could hardly move their bodies, they’re so small. I sat there and talked to the puppies and the mom. It was so amazing to see. No dad was around, just her. As human beings, we are so lucky to know love and not just survival and mating. We are different from animals in some ways, in ways that make life more peaceful and loving – when we choose to be more than animals.
Ø One lieutenant came in all excited, with his enlisted cronies. This is the same LT from Apache they jumped for joy at having beat a man (written about earlier). His men were in our office tonight, excited about something, but it’s for sure they derive some pleasure from roughing these people up. They don’t even behave civilized. They act like savages. Just the expression on his enlisted man’s face radiated mischief, with an excited, bouncing, demon-like grin. It makes me sick.
Ø I walked over to our internet room, and, it was night, and I noticed an Iraqi man praying on a prayer rug. I passed and tried to stay respectfully quiet. I went into the internet room, and some soldiers were sitting with the Iraqi shop keeper (the internet “café” is in our barracks) at his computer. I sat at a computer and began to hear, “Oh yeah, I’d give it to her in the pooper! Oh yeah!” It was one of the American G.I.s sitting with the Iraqi. Both G.I.s were talking pretty distastefully. Then, the man who was praying came in and sat down. They were watching a belly dancer in some auditorium on DVD, it looked like Star Search or something. I didn’t pay attention to it, I was e-mailing Senator John Warner about revealing some evidence that supported WMD. Anyways, the soldiers continued to say lewd things. I paid attention to the praying man’s face. He didn’t seem amused, he just sat there and offered a bitter, fake smile. I just bit my lip and continued writing. Iraqis aren’t perfect either. A lot of times the kids will teach you words that are actually body parts, not “Hello.” The adults come up and laugh, then correct the kids. Well, some of them are buying porn on video disks from kids too. I told Sweeny and Villarreal if I caught them with it again, I’d destroy it. Conroy lives in their room too, and doesn’t like that stuff. Anyways, it’s illegal.
Ø Knight 3 says snipers need permission to fire on people from a major or above. Reason being that 3-9 Infantry is shooting too many Iraqis. They would see someone putting a box next to a car—then shoot them. See someone with a gun (usually people guarding property) – shoot him. So they have to ask first. Oh well. You know, it’s probably good that no body count is being kept of Iraqis. It would probably spark and outcry.

LT Sheppard of A Company would later be laughed at for bringing
in a disabled Iraqi in a wheelchair. Not only was the Iraqi in a wheelchair, he had a colostomy bag attached to his abdomen. Sheppard explained that this prisoner of war was actually the brother of a suspected terrorist. The wheelchair terrorist was released. Unfortunately, so was Sheppard.


[1] Anti aircraft gun

Monday, July 21, 2003

Geneva Convention Discussion, Getting Lost in Baghdad, Bremer and His Damned Combat Boots, Fedayeen Generals Captured (and their Family)

21 July, 2003

Another day in the ‘Rack, Iraq. I’ve been sick for a week, virtually shut-down. Pretty much everyone got sick – diarrhea. I was pretty bad, and in this climate, you can’t lose too many fluids. Well, all is well now, and I am back to full energy, thanks to you Spatzi. Talking to you and writing you really keeps me going. I love you! I can’t wait until we’re married, seriously! It’s time for that.
Well, I’m listening to The Manic Street Preachers
[1] and about to tell of the great week of adventure in Baghdad! Well, this was the week of Operation Ice Baboon. Yes, Operation Ice Baboon. Let me explain, as it was explained to me, what this name means. There is a military term called Guerilla Freeze, meaning to shut down guerillas or terrorists. Well, we found the old HQs of the Saddam Fedayeen. Actually, the Assyrian Democratic Movement (a Christian political party – well funded) moved into this building after the war. They have been very nice to us, letting soldiers use their satellite phones, internet, and cooking them food. They even hosted well-organized lunches for our brass. Well, last week, they say, “Well, we have a huge vault in our building, and it has files on every single member of the Fedayeen. Addresses, pictures, histories, phone numbers – all of it. The CIA told us to leave it there for later, but never came back. Are you interested in it?”
The answer was a resounding “YES,” with Captain Jasper seeing his golden opportunity. I don’t blame him for being so assertive in working to collect files, after all, he trained years for something like this, and the Fedayeen are no different than the SS. I was happy for him. So we got to do a job the CIA wouldn’t do. S2 ended up spending a week at the ADM complex scanning documents and creating a database of the top leadership. Well, come to find out, a few generals and top brass lived right around the corner. And thus, Operation ICE BABOON was created to pick these guys up. Our first big operation to do something other than raid the wrong houses based on bad information! This info was good, BUT, Ice Baboon? I thought that was a joke (as did the general when he was talking to us last week, a bit embarrassed for us). LTC Jagger just huffed and Capt. Jasper beamed with pride, oblivious to its absurdity. Well, I warned 1LT Orr that Ice Baboon is very imaginative, since a baboon is most known for its large, inflamed-looking buttocks. Actually, I said, ‘flaming-red ass.’ So an icy, flaming-red (maybe blue) monkey ass. OK! I couldn’t get over this. ‘Captain, maybe we should try Chilly Chimpanzee, that would work,’ I said. Everyone just laughed.
In seriousness here, the operation was well planned – and it even seemed dangerous. All the commanders were a bit anxious during the brief. We were going to raid 5 or so houses to capture the leaders and their records. At some point during the brief, it was suggested .50 cal be mounted on our medical personnel carriers. “Sir, that would be in violation of the Geneva Convention. You start messing with Geneva rules, and you are asking for trouble. We don’t bend rules!” The medical leader, a former enlisted drill sergeant-turned-officer said. I was surprised to hear that! He was unrelenting! Our colonel agreed with him.
“What are you going to need such big guns for?” he said
Well, it was planned that when they came to the houses, they would say on a loudspeaker, “So and so, you are surrounded! Come out!” Everyone was wary of this tactic, saying it may give them time to escape or prepare a defense. “OK men, see you tonight!” Knight 6 said. The raid would start 0300. I went to my room, and on the way there, I passed the scouts in their rooms, cleaning their weapons and looking preoccupied with their thoughts. Frankly, they radiated nervousness – and I thought that was understandable and sobering. The machismo disappeared. I thought, ‘Some of these guys could get killed tonight. God, keep them safe, please.’
Next morning, our jail was full of top brass from Saddam Fedayeen, and some people associated with them. Sons, kids, and guests staying over at the time of the raid. Well, it tuned out we asked these people to come out of their homes, and they came right out! No problems. They ended up charming everyone with their manners and English, even the guards. They were even allowed to walk around with no restraints. One 12 year old boy was even sharing his candy with us. Crazy. These are terrorists, the real deal, killed their own people. You had to remind yourself of that. I didn’t forget this. I looked through their confiscated things and found missile posters (nothing big), maps of Mosul (tourism maps from 1979), pictures of Saddam, but nothing damning. The men all seemed so docile, just happy go lucky, a bit passive. Just a bunch of old men, or older. Was the Fedayeen exaggerated? Bad, but not SS material? It began to seem that way during interrogation, the more we found out, and with their warm personalities, like friendly shopkeepers. So Ice Baboon was a success. But is this why the CIA didn’t care about the Fedayeen? Because they weren’t a real menace? I still don’t know. I am still skeptical though. We had these people powerless, at our will. Maybe they are docile now, kissing our asses. But maybe when they were kissing Saddam’s ass and had POWER, they acted very differently. Very likely, I think. You can’t trust all military people, because they depend on the power head for their living, and would change loyalties if it best suited them. I dunno.
Well, I had to take them to Baghdad International Airport to the detention camp so they could be questioned by the FBI or CIA. That is a dangerous drive. I had to go. Before leaving, I called you, just in case something was to happen. I also talked to Poe about an incident at a warehouse. He told me about some things that took place on a case I worked with a week before, but never found out about the beatings of some suspects. I’ll get to that later.
Well, we loaded up our blindfolded cargo into my truck for all of Iraq to see. We left our gate, and I put a bullet in my rifle. Time to protect my life. My escort was ahead of me with a machine gunner on top (SPC Buck). We were flying down the highway, going extremely fast. I didn’t I didn’t want to wave to anyone, didn’t care about them, I just wanted to get to the airport. Flying past was a nasty, dirty, hot trash pile called south Baghdad. Trash everywhere and kids all over, playing in it. We were constantly scanning the road for bombs, called IEDs (improvised explosive devices). So many G.I.s had already been killed on this route. You could still see the black marked areas of burnt metal and scorched asphalt. Someone killed there. I remember this place from seeing it on the news. Well, as we were driving, two men appeared from a truck on the other side of the highway. The truck stopped, and two men bolted from behind it (yes, on the highway) carrying a big, wooden ammo crate box. I saw them and thought, ‘OK, get your rifle aimed, too late to slow down! Buck you going to shoot?’ The men jumped the guard rail and set the box down. It happened so fast, but I was ready and only pushed the gas harder. Nothing happened as I swerved to the right shoulder and saw the escort clear the men. Buck almost shot them, and it wouldn’t have surprised me, I expected him to. It was that out of place. During the war, had they done that, they would have been shot. The thing is, we don’t know if it was a bomb. Everyone who saw it thought it could have been, that they were caught off guard or too late to set it up. OR, they were trying to carry a box across a busy 6 lane highway. Hey, this is Iraq.
It seemed like all was OK. We kept driving closer to the airport, me weaving through traffic in my 5-ton truck with “Lil’ Nora” still on it. As we got on the main approach for the airport, the civilian traffic grew sparse. It looked like an approach to an airport in the States. There were also lots of modern signs advertising Duty-Free, and Trade Commission this and that – all in Arabic and English. One sign depicted Iraq as very large and dominating a large chunk of the globe. Perhaps this was the idea they wanted to project, petty propaganda or nationalism. This stretch of freeway was once a battle ground, as 3rd ID pushed from the airport to the city. You could see the ruts created by tanks traveling in the wide wooded median parallel of the road in order to avoid land mines and contact. Now the roads are safe. We passed a checkpoint. All of a sudden, two M1A1 tanks come rolling across the median (to our front about 50 meters and to the left) and rolled over and crushed a large section of perfectly good guard rail. I couldn’t believe my eyes – two tanks just crushing stuff to make a u-turn. I thought, ‘That was a good guard rail, now it’s going to have to be rebuilt!’ Oh well, you see that a lot, things destroyed senselessly. It’s just more mess to clean up. I looked over to my passenger guard and he was saying,
“Did you just see that? Did they just...?”
‘Yup, I think so,’ I responded, not surprised. We continued on, and the huge bag of confiscated Iraqi and U.S. cash we had fell off the seat and spilled on the floor of the cab. We were driving while picking up the huge wads of cash,
“God, it’s like we’ve robbed a bank!” Sergeant Albert said. So much cash. After seeing so much cash constantly, it’s no big deal to carry 20 grand here and there. We also had an AK-47 in the cab. As we entered the airport, you could see a billboard for Iraqi Airlines. It was a nice ad, looked very professional. It depicted a 747-400 jumbo jet with Iraqi Airlines markings. Well, the building the ad was on is now occupied by 1st Armored Division.
We continued on to the detention center. As we pulled up, we saw civilians and civilian SUVs parked around. There were some guard towers and razor wire everywhere. It looked like something out of Vietnam. Raggy men were sitting in the shade, some women sat in huts, all Iraqi people. It was dirty, it was dusty. Some Iraqis congregated along one fence as some G.I. did a little skit for their entertainment. Something involving a water bottle. I didn’t figure out the story line, but the Iraqi prisoners seemed to enjoy it. One peculiar thing was the loudspeakers. They were playing “Crimson and Clover” over and over. It was loud, with tin-can quality, and echoing eerily through the dust. Iraqis sat there. GIs sat there in brown t-shirts. Crimson and Clover, over and over.
We downloaded the prisoners and brought them into a hangar. We brought their belongings and cash along with us. We got to the intel “experts” and they started looking through their stuff. They were reservists. One man had white hair, old, looked like a mountain man. Another man was a civilian in military uniform. The others were all middle aged with a civilian look to them. We thought these guys were experts, but soon, like everything in the in the Army, things fell apart.
“James, look at this,” he held up a box with a picture of Saddam on it. “What is it?”
“I dunno, be careful!” said James seriously.
He messed with this box for 5 minutes at least. I saw a button and a window like a viewfinder on a camera. ‘I think it’s a picto-finder,’ I said. He held it up to the light and looked thorough the viewfinder. Sure enough, 12 full-color images of Saddam went by. These guys are experts?
“James, check this out!” he said holding up a circuit board. He was concerned about this. The Iraqi said it was to a TV.
“I build TV. Hobby – Sir, yes,” said the Iraqi man. He was the most docile and cooperative. The Army guy asked us,
“Where did you find this?”
“In a box,” said Sergeant Albert simply.
“James, I need you to translate!” said one of the men interested in the board. “Ask what kind of box this came from,” he said to James. James looked like Don Johnson from Miami Vice, went up to the Iraqi and began to look at the floor, as if building up courage to speak, brought his hands up and began to babble something. He had tremendous trouble saying whatever he said. The Iraqi man spoke back rapidly. The American stood there bobbing his head and squinting his eyes. He raised his fist to his chin. James looked up,
“He said, well, a box, and well, he said. I dunno, because I didn’t understand the context.” So, this went on for 20 more minutes about this broken circuit board. The confusion just grew. The four men sat squatting against the wall, talking quietly to each other, not looking too upset. Buck picked up an AK-47 and started taking it apart, explaining to me the ins and outs of how it works. The prisoners just looked on. Buck became angry a few times, as he thought the prisoners were treated too well. He exploded when the guards told him that the prisoners get free cigarettes.
“WHAT! FREE CIGARETTES! And Joe has to pay for ‘em? This is what’s wrong with our Army. You treat prisoners so good, they go tell all their friends not to worry about us!”
All of a sudden, as we got ready to leave, the mountain man came up – southern accent and all. Then he looked to the brigadier general Iraqi and began to speak to him in perfect Arabic – fluently. The general and he talked so naturally. I respected that mountain man, he could speak a foreign language – and that says a lot about him.
“Check her out, she can get a ride anytime! Man!” the guys were telling me as they undressed some woman soldier with their eyes.
‘I don’t care, I just want to get outta here – it’s starting to get dark,’ I said while resting my legs and my face on my forearms. I really didn’t give a damn about seeing any women. I just don’t care, it’s so stupid.
“Oh yeah, Corporal T, you’re married, aren’t you?” said Sergeant Albert, I guessed he saw I really didn’t care to look.
‘Not married yet, might as well be. I just want to go home, I don’t care about all that crap,’ I told him.
“I thought you’re married – well you act like it. Sorry about saying all that,” Sergeant Albert said. He seemed nice – but too nice, almost artificial. Perhaps he is genuine, I don’t know, but empathy towards Joe runs thin from me here.
“Let’s roll!” 1LT Orr said. Finally it was time to leave. The sun was setting. By now – during prayer time – Islamic music was now playing on the loudspeakers in the camp. ‘That’s nice of them,’ I thought.
‘Damn, the truck won’t start! Get the slave cables to jump it,” I said. My truck was dead. The generator was out. So we would have to jump start it. Oh, before I forget:
“Be sure to get an inventory on this cash,” one of the sergeants said. “You would be surprised. Last week, $7,000 dollars went missing from a prisoner. So I told my guys, ‘I’m going to call CID (Criminal Investigative Division) to investigate right now!’ Before CID showed up, the cash reappeared in a connex. Nah Sarge, we don’t know how it got there. Bastards.” He said. It’s true, soldiers are taking money. I’ll get more into this later.
Then 2 CIA people walked up. They didn’t care about our Fedayeen folks. As it later seemed, no one did. Not even the intel guys. So it felt like a waste of time. There was a man and a woman CIA. They are typical in their Dockers and Polo shirts, hiking sneakers, and fanny packs. Not Hollywood material. America’s elite looked like America’s nerd patrol. The woman walked past, not hiding very well her discomfort at having every soldier stare at her. I was rather amused at seeing the faces of the soldiers elongate and mouths open pitifully. That was more enjoyable to watch than any woman (except you, Nora!)
Well, we jumpstarted the truck, and got ready to roll out. I put the radio on to the Manic Street Preachers CD and had a splitting headache. I drank some boiling hot water. We realized my headlights were dim, because the generator was out. We would have to get back to base fast. Journeying out into the Baghdad night is like going into a jungle at night – it’s better not done. The city is safer than the highways at night. Still though, someone could fire an AK-47 or pistol in an instant. That is why I watch my mirrors.
Well, we started driving along, leaving the airport, passing checkpoints guarded by black teenage soldiers. We continued towards the Saddam parade ground. By now, it was dark. I noticed we passed our turn. ‘SGT, that was our turn – we’re going the wrong way!’ I yelled getting angy.
“I dunno, keep following,” he said (Albert).
‘We need to turn around before we get even more lost – they don’t know where they’re going!’ I shouted. We kept rolling down dark roads and neighborhoods. We were then turning and the lead vehicle stopped. You never stop in traffic. We would come to a fork in the road and you could tell the lead vehicle was clueless because they would swerve one direction, and hesitate, then go into the other direction. Not good. We were lost, and I was pissed as never before. ‘We’ve got a god dammed Sergeant, a 1st lieutenant in the lead vehicle to go down a simple route, and they get lost! Then, they keep going and going – not even back tracking! Too proud to find some Americans to ask! This is how people get killed – because of stupidity! I know exactly how to get back and I’ve only been there once! It’s not good to be rolling around lost here. Just have faith Dan, God is taking care of you – trust that,’ I thought as we drove 55 MPH down the city streets, past yelling people. Are they yelling or cheering?
I looked over to the left, and saw people walking along and sitting on a river wall. It was the Tigris River. They were all looking at us and yelling, again didn’t know if it was good or bad.
We continued winding through the city, and I grew furious, because I knew we were lost and Sergeant Rush, a complete idiot, was leading the way. We ended up going past some G.I.s guarding a gate. I winded through the concrete barriers with the truck and pulled over. Sergeant Rush pulled over too. I looked around and saw what looked to be a country club. Of course, this was at night, but you could still see the tennis courts and well trimmed hedges. We looked on the map and figured out where we were. We were right in the middle of the OCPA
[2] HQ at the main presidential palace. I looked to the right and saw a tiny bit of shrubbery and a cheap chain-link fence and the orange glow of lights from middle class homes just meters away from Saddam’s palace. The massive gates to the compound were impressive, but I couldn’t see them too well in the darkness. My headlights were growing dimmer. I went to the lead vehicle and 1LT Orr and Sergeant Rush where trying to figure out where we were. I had to swallow my anger and see if they had found a route. It appeared they had figured a way to base, but it would take us through the city. At the compound, where Paul Bremer stays, there was a fleet of expensive Cadillac SUVs or GMC Suburbans or other vehicles. There were also workmen, all American civilians, with Tennessee moustaches and Harley-Davidson hats. You know the type. Some of these people were at BIAP too. Well, we got in our trucks and started off again, and out of a gate, through its massive exit. A skinny black soldier stood there in the open – all his gear hanging on his fragile-looking frame, his helmet tilted to one side. He didn’t look glad to be alive, or standing out in the open, as I have seen soldiers doing before. Just as I thought we were on the right path, we came to a complete stop, in the middle of a traffic circle with a statue (I think) of Saddam with two revolutionaries. We sat there for minutes, before taking a turn left. There was a bridge (a closed bridge I last saw in a picture in Time magazine with Paul Bremer standing on it to “prove a point.” What point would that be?) we used to cross the Tigris River. I began to recognize where we were. We were one bridge south of the bridge I first crossed and saw the Palestine Hotel, with the left corner of the building blown out by a tank round on the 16th floor, I estimate. I watched that live on Fox as two tanks on that very bridge sat, and then one fired. Anyways, we got into the city and made a mad dash through the roundabouts. We were barreling down the roads, my 5-ton growling and coasting with a momentum that would crash clear through any car that got in the way with devastating force. We then linked up to the highway that leads to our base at Al-Rasheed. “Canal Road” is full of IEDs too, many having gone off on this road. At first you are looking all around, at every bit of debris. Then, you realize you can’t look at everything. You still try, but realize if someone decides to explode a 155 mm artillery shell or shoot us with an RPG, there is little we can do about it other than react. So, you think, “If they are going to blow something, I can’t do anything about it, so drive fast and don’t think about it. Trust God.”
We arrived back to base without incident. I parked my truck. “Good driving T,” Sergeant Albert said. I stepped down, got all my gear, and went straight to the phone with a splitting headache to call you. It was so good to hear your voice, and tell you I was safe. I looked to the night sky and kissed you. I love you endlessly. Ich liebe Dich!
[3]

Sergeant Edward described the Fedayeen complex after spending a week there compiling data that would lead to the arrest of many Fedayeen members. There was no doubt that they were a terrorist organization, a sadistic, even Satanic group of rabid thugs. He described a room within the complex with red tile all around. It was called the “red room.” In the center of the room was a simple hole for collecting fluids, one may safely presume. There were also several Japanese katana swords with serial numbers inscribed into the blades. For every sword, there was a log. Within that log was a tally of mutilations, be it the beheading of someone, or cutting off a hand. Everything was documented. When the Fedayeen fled during the invasion, they forgot to take their records with them.
It was also during this time that one of the engineer companies were out on Canal Road to secure a possible IED site. Someone alongside the side of the road shined a laser pointer at them while they were parked. They opened fire with grenade launchers on orders from a lieutenant towards the direction of the laser pointer.


[1] British rock group
[2] U.S. office of Coalition Provisional Authority (the Green Zone)
[3] I love you!

Monday, July 14, 2003

Remembering London and Confessions of a Sergeant Major

14 July, 2003

Another day, another dollar – or so they say. It’s one of those nights, lonely. I tried the phone tonight, and it doesn’t work, but I’ll try again. This morning I got up and listened to BBC. Heard about an attack on a police station here in Baghdad. Well, I went into work and found out it was one of our police stations, Alpha Company’s actually. It was a landmine. I guess a taxi drove over it and blew it up. One man killed, the driver is sitting in our jail right now, pretty banged up. He’s Palestinian, so he’s suspect as well. I wonder how much of this war was for Israel’s security? How much do they pay the U.S. for our help? Nothing, I’m sure.
Last night, I read some pages of my book to Foley. He really enjoyed it. Almost everyone does. I’ve got a hunch that I could get it published. We’ll see. Well, today I watered my watermelons and wrote dad and mom. I relaxed a bit, then studied German for two hours. Nicols came by to see me. He told me they are stretched pretty thin in the north of Baghdad. He started talking about our trip to London back in August (I think it was August). We were laughing so hard! All the new guys and LT Orr were standing around listening to us talk of the “old” days of S3, when we had a pretty competent staff.
“Remember that guy singing in the traffic cone?” he said.
‘Or that guy telling us his life story!’ I said
“Yeah, me ma’s from Derry, like, and she lives down there with a real prick of a husband!” the streetman said. “You fancy some coke, yeah?”
“Fuck no! What the hell?” yelled Lambert.
“Hey! To hell with you! Fuckin’ bloody nite assholes!” the streetman yelled. It was hardly out of place Leicester Square at 3 in the morn.
“Or the time we got lost for 3 hours trying to find Kensington?!” Nicols said, talking about when we walked back from the club that night. Royalty was all “I KNOW THE WAY!” and at one point stepped on a pile of someone else’s puke. We were all a bit drunk – it was one pound Vodka shot night at the Hippodrome.
When we got back to Hotel St. Simeon in Chelsea, the guys heard someone in the bathroom adjacent to our room. So they snuck to the door and started giggling and holding back what would have been massive laughs. We listened, and it was soon clear a man and a woman were in the bathroom. Well, it was a prostitute and a man! We were like, “What?! What the hell?”
“Are ya’s gonna come or ain’t ya? I think yer drank too much!” came faintly through the door. We laughed out loud uncontrollably. All you could hear was a half-awake man babbling back to her. We were dumbfounded. Worst of all, our room had a window shared with the neighboring room. I went into the room of ours shaking my head. The guys were laughing with tears in their eyes. In our room, you could still hear the pair trying to do their thing, and the prostitute’s frustration and coaching of the drunk. “You’ve had too much to drink, can yer get it up? Neh, ain’t workin!” said she.
We couldn’t believe it. I was still shaking my head. We were on the floor rolling. They had to of heard us laughing. Then Lambert tried to look in the bathroom window, and slipped and fell onto some trash below, and immediately bolted back into our room.
“Oh my God! That is so nasty!” Lambert said. Then the pair left, and you could hear them talking as they went past our room door. Royalty had gone upstairs earlier to use the other bathroom, and accidentally intercepted the pair in the stairwell.
“Guys, I saw him, and her. You should have seen him! He’s drunk for sure! Looks sick. The girl looks like 80 years old! AHHH NASTY!” Royalty said with an air of disbelief.
Nicols and I sat there laughing today, something I needed badly, to say the least. I looked across at him and thought, ‘What’s happened to the Army? He’s a good friend, or was before he moved to another company. It’s time to get out, but I’m glad to of had friends like him at work, it made it better.’
We didn’t all hang out too much, except for our S3 lunches at the Irish Pub in Bornheim for fish and chips. When we did hang out, it was pretty good. It was a good group of guys, and there was never a perverted conversation and they never acted morally wrong. I could trust them to do the right thing, and I know I would never be in a position contrary to my morals. That’s a good friendship, even if it was small. Everyone had girlfriends, Royalty was just married, and they were pretty mature, and no one was looking for or at girls. I liked that! So it was just us guys hanging out, just enjoying our own company in London.
I missed Nora though, that goes without saying. I just kept thinking, ‘It would be more fun with Nora! I want to bring her here!’ There was always that desire when I’m away. ‘I wish she was here!’ The guys and I had a good time in London, and I was even happier it was morally good. I need that reassurance and it’s refreshing to enjoy life without guys being all SEX, SEX, SEX! I don’t know what sex is, just love with Nora, and for that I feel so blessed!
Well, Nicols is leaving in September. He’s lucky, but I’ll be leaving here soon too. Another memory! It seems like eternity before I’ll come home, it truly is the most difficult thing I have ever, or will ever have to deal with. I know it’s that way for you too Nora. There is so much I want to do with this time I have like an unwelcome present. Read and write! Poems too! I just need to focus, and that is a bit tough here. It will come around though.
God Spatzi, we were talking over the past few days, not as happy as usual because I get upset when I call and you are out. It’s just that I want all to be quiet and still when we talk. I can’t talk when there’s a party or something. There is no party here in Baghdad, and it’s hard for me to share in the happiness and joy when life here is very serious. I don’t want to control you though! It’s tough, but I know you understand. That makes it all OK. I LOVE YOU! I miss you so much tonight! Every night actually, I feel imprisoned. It is a very strenuous ordeal. Sometimes I can’t imagine me here for 1 year, I really can’t. I pray it won’t be that long! I pray the Rosary so much Spatzi, it has always seen me through. The longing for you is so enormous. I live for you Nora, I really do. I love you!
Well, Fleischmann is gone now, off to kiss ass elsewhere. Before he left though, a few days ago he said something that made me think:
“Thompson is powerful. When Thompson talks, people listen.” He actually said this to everyone who was in our office. It was weird, but he meant it. He had also said last week, “Thompson, you are a radical, a left-wing, communist, socialist, environmentalist, a radical!” I always thought that was funny some people thought this! I don’t know why people think this.
‘Sergeant Major, I’m not left or right-wing. I’m Catholic!’ I said. His jaw dropped and said,
“OH! We’re going to have to talk about this one!” obviously amused. I wasn’t disappointed with his response. He tried to discuss my beliefs, like a father to a son, and soon his conversation turned into a confused monologue and he backed out of our conversation. Then he said, “Well Thompson, I don’t consider myself a military man.” That confused me. I just finished telling him that the Army requires useful brutality, of which I have none, not out of protest, but rather, a natural reaction to maturing. For me anyways. For this he had no answer, and then told me what I quoted above.
He’s gone now, off to 3-62 AR in the north. They were attacked in a mortar attack a few weeks ago. 18 injured. I hope he fares well, despite his ego that hangs like a sour stench around our office. I won’t miss all the speeches or lectures. He sized me up all along, but in the end, I still had my dignity, and maybe even his respect. I just lost respect for him more and more as time passed. Well, he’s gone now – end of story.
Well, it’s time to retire for the night. I dream of you and yell out to the sky for justice, for me to come home soon. Yes, this is an important time in history, but then again, what period hasn’t been? Our history, you and me, is the one that will matter most. We’ve been given this time and space to live together in, as other couples have in the past – through war, through turmoil, but also through happiness. We’re going to make it, and I want to live this lifetime with you. You are extraordinary, I feel so lucky to have you by my side, now more than ever. I love you! A million times so!

Saturday, July 12, 2003

Tensions Between Soldiers Start to Show, Man Arrested for Wearing Saddam Hussein T-shirt

12 July, 2003

It’s been an ordinary few days, and an extraordinary period of longing for and missing you. I’m caught between extremes of setting adrift on that grey sea and dark sky of loneliness so familiar to me now at times of depression, and then absolute ecstasy of talking to you on a good night, of getting excited over a letter or package. I love putting some music on and writing you – I actually feel as if we are together then, in heart. I see the day I come home clearly, and I’m so happy! So it’s a balance, but I’m getting more stable over time. It’s not that I don’t miss you, I’m just finding ways to deal with it. All of those ways have to do with staying positive and writing you. I love you so dearly, it’s so real, and it will not only survive, but grow while I’m in Iraq.
I’m looking for a creative force to take hold of me – kinda like looking for a lost good luck charm in a messy room! I know it’s there, but I have to find it. The Army makes you dull, these people make you dull, and it makes you tired. So with all of that in the way, I am trying to write better and with dedication. We’ll see.
I’ll go over what happened only this morning, then work back a bit. SSG Choy was already ranting and yelling. His problem this morning was my room (it is usually with someone or something). My room was completely clean and very nice. He’s jealous of that, not to mention a childish loudmouth with a Napoleon complex. He looks about 3 feet tall, a little flexing ball of tiny masculinity with a close-cropped haircut and shaggy shave. He is always yelling. He is always stressed, and he targets things arbitrarily to attack. Unpleasant as of late, but he turned on me. That was a mistake. So, this morning he said he was going to write me and Foley up. I asked him what was wrong with my room. He couldn’t reply. Then he (just to add drama to his act) asked 1LT Frasier to act as a witness. I then said, as was reasonable, he was only stressed and should learn to handle his stress and not make me a victim of his madness. He said, or yelled, that I could go see the chaplain. I said, ‘No, I want to talk to a business man.’ I meant someone who could tell him he was wrong. He continued his nonsense until he said the word “court marshal.” That was when I knew he lost his little hot-head. So I said, ‘Sergeant Choy, I need your information so I can report you for animal cruelty.” He shut up and got nervous, probably regretting that he had even asked for a witness. I have been too nice to SSG Choy, ignoring his faults because I felt sorry for him, but he kept attacking anything in sight.
‘I am going to report you for injuring Knight (our dog), for throwing a puppy out of the second story window, for slamming doors on dogs, and for pouring boiling hot coffee on dogs – sending them yelping like tortured children,’ I said. He is notorious, and people here despise him for it. All of this is well known, as well as his tangents, so I told him I would report him. He is also big on pornographic videos that he downloads from home, I suppose, instead of talking to his children. His wife must be a saint, she must hold that whole family together. Anyways, I suspect he’s distributing porno video disks here too – porno is something I despise. So I told him this, and he said, “Get out of my face!” He was miffed, and I called his bluff. If I’m wrong, I’ll admit it, but if I am unjustly treated because of someone else’s lack of character – I will defend myself fully. Hopefully he will chill out and shut up. I don’t really like him anymore, for reasons that have always been present, but reasons I can no longer stomach.
The same is true of Sweeny, who I’ve come to find is an absolute creep. Constantly lying and talking about sex like a sick animal. I don’t get good vibes from him – something is not right. He was caught on guard two nights ago masturbating when he was supposed to be watching our perimeter. Just another creep. When we were in Camp Udairi, I had to back the truck up. A soldier came along the side of the truck and talked to Sweeny really quick and left. I told Sweeny, ‘Get out and guide me back.’
“That one guy is back there, I see him, he’s backing us up,” he said. I thought he may be lying, but I decided to trust him. I started backing up.
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!” said a medical officer to us.
‘Our guide is back there, Sir!’ I yelled over the noise of the truck, and past Sweeny’s face, he looking straight ahead, as if thinking of something in the distance.
“No one is back there!” the medic said. Immediately I knew Sweeny was lying again, and had flat out lied to me, we could have killed someone, and it would have been my fault. So I said, ‘GET OUT! GET THE HELL OUT!’
Since that time, and after, he’s been buying animal porno from Iraqi kids, I’ve decided to completely cut him off and keep him away. The people I socialize with are limited to Conroy and Foley and 1LT Orr. I think more than ever that you should know evil in order to be able to identify it, but keep company with good people – always. Keeping people of questionable character in tow can only lead to your demise. Charitable works should be practiced, but prudence is essential.
In other news, yesterday we were rocked by two explosions that caused paneling in our ceilings to come crashing down on our office. All you could see were shattered plaster panels lying about and a plaster dust cloud. It wasn’t an attack, it was only our own guys blowing up trees with C-4 explosive. It unleashed an amazing force. It also unleashed an amazing mess, and an ensuing fire near our barracks. To add to this, some trees were wrongly blown up, while the problem trees (the ones posing the security risk) remained standing. Windows were also blown out. Seconds before, someone ran in and yelled, “THERE’S A KID OVER THERE!” then BOOM! and down came the tiles. If there was a kid there (both explosions going off near squatters and their army of children) he would have been killed. I got sick to my stomach. Some soldiers ran to the explosion site, but found no body. That was a relief.
Well, the very large trees ended up crushing our perimeter wire in some places and one large tree destroyed our brick wall (an obstacle between us and the road). It also blocked the commercial road used by Iraqis on the other side. So in short, we created a mess. I consider it a metaphor for everyday events here. Good Plan – poorly executed. Or Bad Plan – bad execution. I just asked, ‘Why didn’t we use that huge bulldozer out front?’ There is a massive, armored bulldozer here, the kind you see demolishing houses in Palestine. Everyone looked at me and shrugged. Then a colonel, no, I think he was a major, from our neighboring unit came over fuming.
“What the hell are you doing?! Why don’t you use the bulldozer?!” he said. I had to chuckle to myself.
After the great tree demolition, a man was brought in for wearing a Saddam Hussein t-shirt. He turned out to be a translator working for the Army at another camp. I went to see him for myself. He seemed a bit effeminate and skinny, his trousers pulled up over his nonexistent belly. He acted impulsively, and it was clear he was not “normal.” Well, he spoke good English, especially when they told him he was going to jail. “FUCK! FUCK IT ALL!” he yelled. Then I went to the reporting sergeant who asked,
“What should I put as his offence?”
I thought, ‘Well, they are “free,” as we are in America, right? That is why I am here, right? Well, I’ve seen worse t-shirts worn in the barracks or people on the street. Shirts like “FUCK YOU” in bold white on black, or even one when I saw a young soldier father holding his young child in Taco Bell along with his wife wearing a t-shirt saying, “THE HEAD FOUNDATION –please give generously.” That’s not too nice.’ Well, what to do with him? What to charge him with? SFC Smith showed up, ready to judge our queer Iraqi (no pun intended) and hand out justice – especially since he was the highest ranking person as everyone was gone eating dinner at a restaurant. “OFF WITH HIS HEAD!” I expected to hear. To be honest, the shirt looked funny, everyone else thought so too. The funniest part for me was seeing everyone scratch their heads trying to come up with a charge.
“Umm, what should I put? Being a dumbass?” asked the sergeant. I thought,
‘Well, I think you could get him for Baathist propaganda.’ I didn’t say anything though. After all, Iraq is free now. I didn’t agree with the shirt, and if humor was its aim, I could taste it a bit, but it’s just not the right time for that humor. I guess that makes me a true American. Foley made me laugh when he said,
“Well, he is a college student!” That seemed to explain everything.
I went up to one of the guard towers the other day to see the kids and the new location of the “tower” (a corner of our barracks). Some lazy soldiers were up there, with a bunch of loud, demanding kids on top of the building only a few meters across from them. The guards were one black kid and one white kid, big and fat. He was sitting behind his machine gun talking to the kids in English. “No chocolate. Throw a rock and I’ll shoot!” he said (on a bullhorn), as if talking to himself.
“Mista, Mista, YES! GIVE ME!” the kids were yelling.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP! Bring me your sister!” the guards chuckled. “Hey?! You know Knight 6 said we can shoot anyone who throws rocks, right?” the white guard said. I wasn’t convinced that was legit, and figured he said it just to help time pass.
There was one lone kid, about 8 years, on the ground below (as opposed to the rooftops). He was yelling at us with his hands on his hips, obviously very angry because he hadn’t gotten anything from the guards. He screamed and threw rocks.
“Here you go!” said the black guard. A cigarette, lit, fell from his hand and floated towards the ground. The kid ran and picked up his treat. “Smoke! Like this!” the soldiers yelled. They made a smoking gesture as the kid looked up, holding the cigarette between his thumb and index finger of his left hand, upright like a candle. The kid put the cigarette to his lips, and the end of it glowed brightly. He then quickly threw the cigarette away from his face and resumed his pissed-off posture. The guards laughed. Right as I began to walk away, one of the fathers came out and shouted at the children, and they all immediately scattered. He then looked up to us on the roof and smiled and waved, “Hello! Hello!” I left.
Last evening, as kids gathered to watch the fire department (yes, the fire department, complete with lime green truck) fight a fire caused by our explosive tree cutting operation. I dropped them some pens that my mom sent. That was nice of her. I notice the price of sending a package is outrageous. Very expensive, it is. It’s nice though, and I think the kids enjoy the stuff though.
Well Foley and I are sitting here trying to figure out why the guy on the shift after us wrote Foley’s name on a notepad, surrounded by Gothic scribbling and a sketch of a dead girl. Then it says, “Kill Your Parents” and “I stand alone inside” and “I put my trust in you.” What the hell? There are some very strange people in the military – most are very strange, or hide something inside that reveals itself at times. It happens in the Army, you think you know someone, and then after a long time of knowing them, they say something or confide some type of desire or belief. Hmm, a sick little society this is. Well. Today is Sunday, church day. I would really like to go to Mass! I miss it. All I can do is read the Bible and do my own “Mass” from a book. I guess that is better than nothing. That is really a source of peace for me, especially here. The more you understand Catholicism, the more you see why it is structured and taught the way it is, why its standards are so important. You may not be able to change the world, but you may be able to be part of the process of change. Real change comes slowly. So one may think, “Na, that’s too idealistic!” or “That is out of date!” but it’s not. The only reason it may seem that way is if you have more faith in the world. You can’t have faith in the world if you don’t have faith in God. God is love, and love spreads, it heals. Faith in the world is only an abstract dream viewed from afar. Have faith in God, and you’ll never be let down – even when you think things are all wrong. See it through. See it through another day.

Monday, July 07, 2003

Mindless Collateral Damage Discovered and Beer Incident

7 July, 2003

Another journal, another group of stories to tell. With this journal, I want to tell the experiences of Kuwait and the days leading up to deployment. There is still a great deal that is untold. I don’t have much time tonight. I will tell of a young man who was caught by one of our patrols for making a threatening gesture with a homemade pistol. He also had coolers full of beer and liquor. All of this was brought to our headquarters along with the 18 year old. The ice cold beer seemed to have fallen from heaven! But, it had to be poured out, all of it – about 100 assorted bottles of liquor and 100 cans of beer from England and Holland. I grabbed my video camera and filmed the catch of ice cold beer. Mouths were watering all around. Jasper decided that all the beverages would be poured out in front of the foolish teenager. And so it was, he was placed before his stash on his knees, as soldiers poured out his inventory into the dirt. One idea was to put his face in the general area of the cans, but he said smelling or touching alcohol was against his religion. So, even though there was much jesting, his beliefs were respected, and he was allowed to maintain his distance. He was barefoot, so I poured some water on his feet. He seemed to appreciate it. I then put the bottle of fresh water (a real commodity here) to his lips, and he tried to drink. As he went to drink, he yelped, sensing the heat of the water. It was hot, but I drink water that hot all the time. He continued to refuse, so I gave the jailer his water. “These people were released by Saddam from jail before the war. This boy should be in jail,” said the Iraqi store owner who runs Johnny’s Market in our building. That I could not deny. He had pointed a gun at our troops – so he was lucky to even be alive. The boy could even have fully and legally sold the alcohol he had in his possession. Had he not pointed the gun, his pockets would be full right now. You see, it is a constant question of what is wrong and right. It seems we were right in this case. The boy was released today after 2 days of confinement. By U.S. Army standards, he should have been in jail for two weeks. He had to carry all his empty bottles and cans with him in a box, as he was dropped off at our gate and let free. Justice was done, and I found little fault in his punishment – considering how bad it could have been.
In other news, we’ve discovered that a few days ago, a convoy of support vehicles opened fire with heavy machine guns in our sector of Baghdad. Bullet holes riddled buildings for a city block. 3 dead, many injured. We are still trying to find out what happened. We didn’t even know about this until some community leaders came to one of our camps and demanded an explanation. I must say, CPT Powers of Alpha Company, a man I strongly disagreed with over terrorizing prisoners, is showing more signs of thoughtfulness and brotherhood with his Iraqi community. He is demanding and personally conducting an investigation on the shooting – seemingly (as I also believe) uncontrolled and mindless act of self-defense (if it was even that) by a group of trigger happy support pigs. I’m pleased to see CPT Powers coming around, or so it seems.
There are very real problems here, and I hope for the best – and I trust in God. I will try to improve the quality and scope of my writing. It’s tough, but I’ll try. Nora, I love you so deeply. I am coming home to you!


Learn more at http://www.american-interrupted.com

Reflections About Keeping a Journal

7 July, 2003 Still in Baghdad

Ahh, another hot night with the constant drone of helicopters in the background at the landing pad. Feeling a little better now that I got a letter from you and a postcard. We also got to talk for almost an hour night before last, and that was wonderful! I feel more alive again! I love you so much Nora, and I’m dreaming of you so much. We’re both here in my dreams, and sometimes in combat. I love you though! Well, I haven’t reported much over the past two days. A lot has happened though. More death, more explosions, and more conversations. As I get to all of that in the next volume, I am going to focus on things I’ve left out in this book. It is difficult to keep a journal, but so necessary. It’s also difficult to keep a good writing style under this stress, but that is something I must focus on in order to convey the proper images of this experience. Some things I have learned in the course of this volume: nothing is stronger than true love – it always overcomes your greatest fears. Man is powerful, and life fragile, and God’s love is the only hope for peace inside yourself and in the world. Men without God can be dreadfully cruel. Ignorance is extremely dangerous and to be feared and fought tirelessly. Long-term change is the solution. Surround yourself with trustworthy people – mentor those of dull character. Do what is right, you will not fall. History will sort out bad men, friends will remember the good men. I love you Nora!

Friday, July 04, 2003

4th of July and Friendly Fire(works)

4 July, 2003

Tonight was the 4th of July, and the only fireworks I heard was the negligent discharge of Fleischmann’s 9mm pistol only feet away from where I was sitting. That’s right, Mr. Perfection accidentally fired his pistol before coming in the door of my office. After hearing the shot fired, I knew it was a gunshot, and right outside the door. I would have never guessed it was him. The only thing that I could think was, ‘I hope no one got hurt.’ This is a serious offence in the Army, normally resulting in punishment. I can’t say I feel sorry for him. Earlier in the night, he had arrested another child for throwing rocks. Luckily I was able to film some of this, even though I missed the worst parts. So the kid, who I know, was sitting in a chair blindfolded. Later, Fleischmann came in, like a cat having found a mouse, and puffed his chest out and chewed his bubble gum in a cocky manner. They really enjoy scarring rock-throwing kids. I made sure to videotape all I could. Later, some people told me they were glad I was recording some of what is going on. One officer said, “They were acting weird because I refused to yell at the kid!” Going back to the other child who was arrested, Barton told me he was giving the terrified prisoner candy and comforting him when an NCO or officer would step out of the cell. When one of the cats would come back in, Barton had to act sternly towards the mouse. I’m just glad I got some of this on tape, just to show it is real. Fleischmann ended up getting a “black eye” in a sense tonight, and child prisoners seemed so trivial compared to a dangerous and mindless firing of a pistol around all of us that work for him. What goes around always comes around.
Today we drank fake beer and ate like kings. We deserve it. I’m thankful that we are being taken care of on such a holiday. I really don’t even know where today went. I just sat, wrote you, thought of you, dreamed of you, felt so close to you. This day I just left my body and stayed with you all day. Actually, this is the second day like this, I just feel asleep even though I’m awake. Everyday is the same, with the same idiot people, in the same messed up country. If it wasn’t for you, I would have lost my mind by now. I love you so dearly, SO MUCH! My thoughts are always on you and making the best of where I am. I know thought that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. That is important to remember here. I trust in God, and I trust he’ll take care of us – and that I do trust, that I know for a fact, especially after sitting by myself under the stars in St. Peter’s Square. I missed you so much that night, but I went there for us. I love you so completely Nora. I have never accepted a challenge so great as this, as I know you haven’t either. This is a labor of love so great, full of hope, happiness, and longing. I live for loving you Nora, and I look so fondly, and at the same time, ferociously on the day that I am set free and returned to you. All the energy I need to make a better life for us and make the best decisions with you, is building up inside of me like a blissful storm. Everyday, I fall more in love with you. I learn more about this world that will help us later in life, and I learn to make my own way amongst dull men. I appreciate life so much, but being here has made me realize how blessed I am to have you at my side with all of your love. I feel so lucky to even have the promise of our love together when I come home to you soon. Then most important thing in my life is you, and my proudest moment was asking you to marry me, and you saying yes. Nora, I’m so happy, overjoyed to have your love. I’ve learned here to value every step of mine, to love every sweet thought of you, to think of the future, our future always, and develop the vision and understanding needed to help guide us along safely in life, and to be a better man for you constantly. Nora, I am going to take care of you, you are my destiny. I am in Iraq, and soon I will be home – a better man for you, full of even more love and deeper appreciation for you. I am going to love you so greatly. I want the day to come when I am your loving husband, and you my loving wife. I will never let a second pass that I don’t let you know how special you are to me, how much I truly do live for you. When I come home, I am going to be so overjoyed because I’m not just coming home, I’m coming back to life, waking from a deep sleep once your lips touch mine again – and then I will be alive again. Everything that is happening here is happening for a reason, we may not know what it is now, but we should trust it’s for good. When I come home, we’ll be falling in love all over again, and this time I will never have to leave your side again. I LOVE YOU! My heart aches for you!

Wednesday, July 02, 2003

Bush Announces "Bring It On" Much to Our Dismay. I Decide Never to Reenlist.

2 July, 2003

It’s late at night, and it’s been a day of disappointment, as some families were removed from their homes. The good part about today was that I was able to fix a toddler’s cut foot and give him a pair of perfect fitting flip-flops. I’ve also taught the kids some manners and it is much easier to give them things now. They are learning “please” and “thank you” and how to wait their turn. This was after a few times of me going to give them things, and then walking away after they were rude. So there is hope for them. Any problem can be solved with the right technique or approach. It’s all in how you do it.
Tonight Sergeant Smith came to get Foley and I to help set up some razor wire and evict some families. So, I got me gear on and went to see what was going on. As usual, all the sergeants were standing around smoking cigarettes. I asked, “O.K. I’m here, now what is your plan?” They just kept talking, so I walked around to a dwelling where a group of people were standing with our Iraqi translators, Fleischmann, and some other military geniuses. As I made my way to them, all these little kids came up to me – they know me now – and I gave each one of them a piece of candy. I had a pocket full of candy, thinking I may still be able to keep the kids friendly even thought they were being moved out. One little boy pulled on my sleeve, and showed me an American flag on his shirt. Then he motioned that he wanted to give me a kiss. I was a little confused at first, but I bent down to the cute little man and turned my cheek to him. He reached under my helmet and gave me a little kiss on the cheek. Sergeant Ramos yelled, “HEY! BE CAREFUL!”
‘SHUT UP!’ I yelled back at him. The little kids were so happy. Others then gave me kisses, and I kissed their little cheeks too. It was really amazing. Then a little girl came up with a bear I gave her a few days ago. I was happy to see it was still in good condition and in one piece. I then walked over to the crowd, and as I was walking, a soldier in full battle gear was dragging a screaming boy past me, with plastic restraint bands on his hands. I went to the group and found our translators around Fleischmann, that arrogant bastard. I know the translator, and he said, “Dan, I feel like killing myself, this is horrible!” For the first time, our translator didn’t like what we were doing.
‘Yes, I know, you know I don’t agree with this. I’m sorry too,’ I replied. Fleischmann was talking out of his ass,
“That little son of a bitch is lucky we don’t shoot his ass! Find his parents! He was throwing rocks at us, now he tried to steal my sunglasses!” Apparently, they arrested the kid for being a troublemaker. He is maybe 11 years old. I was just so angry at how Fleischmann was talking – a disgrace.
“Hey Sergeant Major, I would put a fucking sandbag on his head!” a sergeant said.
Fleischmann was spouting off about this kid needing to get shot, or get a good scare. Then an Iraqi man said he could punish the boy, instead of putting him in jail. Fleischmann retorted, “YOU TOUCH HIM AND I WILL PUT YOU IN JAIL TOO! If you do that in America, you go to jail!” Then the father came, wanting his son back. He was afraid the soldiers would hurt him. About this time I just stood there. I wanted to witness all of this, so I could write about it. I want to see and hear it all, so I can share it in this book. How things really are here.
As I was standing there, a little boy came up and simply took my hand. His little hand was tugging on my finger tips, and it made me uncomfortable at first. Then I thought, ‘Imagine how he must feel, hearing and seeing all of this.’ He stayed close to my side, and so I took his little hand in mine. He stood there next to me holding my hand tightly, and I bounced my hand to let him know that everything was OK.
Fleischmann then began to talk to the father, “If your son was older, I would have shot him. He’s lucky we didn’t shoot him for slingshoting rocks at my soldiers! You are a bad father! Where are you all day while he’s doing this?! I’ll give your son back in three hours! We are going to teach him a lesson!” Exaggeration strikes again. It’s a constant demon here. I just stood there and listened to some scouts, “Fuck him, piece of shit! I would have shot his ass – he deserves it!” I know this sounds unreal, but it is true! I still can’t believe it. I stood there with the little boy and two others who huddled up against me. I then turned to see some women with babies in their arms trying to move their things. All you could see were belongings sitting in the street as the sky got dark. I looked at the mess, little kids running around, and babies crying. Hardly any men around – except for us soldiers, and they were too busy getting excited about punishing a child than putting up razor wire. All the men left. They left their pregnant wives, babies, and children behind. See, I was there when the men said they wouldn’t move. Well, yesterday, the Army paid each family $100. Well, the men took the money and left. One lady just had a baby yesterday, and she was already moving scrap metal in her yard today. Of course, you see that often. The women do all the work, and the men stand around and scratch themselves. It was a mess tonight. I found Foley and he was giving water to a woman and her baby to have. I was worried about the boy prisoner, and I was sick of being amongst Fleischmann and his bullshit. So, Foley and I went to the prisoner holding area. As we walked there, the S2 officer, the infamous and childish Captain Jasper, was talking to the translator. He said, “We hold, as a civilized society, certain core values, as Muslims and Christians, and we want to see those values in a new Iraq.” I almost gagged. It’s just a rowdy child! Here are all these officers and self-styled Iraq culture experts, spinning philosophy! Over a little boy. As I went into the prison, I found no one. Then Sergeant Mayer was in there wandering around. “Where’s the boy? I wanted to fuck with him!,” he said.
I kept searching for him still. As I came into the operations room, people were hooting and laughing like children. “Oh, you should have seen him crying like a little bitch!” said one. I went on the back deck and just listened. Sergeant Smith came out laughing. He said, as the XO of the BN stood outside smoking a cigarette, “OH SIR! YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN IT! WE CRUCIFIED HIM!” He really said this, Foley and I just looked at each other. The XO looked embarrassed to be there. “We faced him towards the wall, made him spread his arms out, placed his nose against the wall, and made him cross his feet! You should have seen it!” Sergeant Smith yelped like a half-retarded teenager. I looked over to Foley, ‘You know he’s divorced, right?’ I said.
“Well, did the kid piss himself?” asked the XO, looking a bit baffled. I could tell the XO was looking at me too, and my disbelief showed on my face. Then CPT Jasper came out, strutting his scrawny, frail, crooked little body – this little Napoleon, with an air of self satisfaction. He looked at me – he is always trying to kiss my ass for some reason – and said something to me while bouncing his head like a cool guy. I just ignored him, and he looked confusingly around, wandered on the deck as if looking for someone to pat him on the back for punishing the little Iraqi.
The XO tried to change the subject, then left us after he was unsuccessful. This is what happened to the boy after being “crucified”:
An act was planned. CPT Jasper planned it. One of the sergeants was yelling at the boy, telling him he was going to be in jail for 30 years, and an old man when he gets out. So, as planned, CPT Jasper walks into the cell, and guards snapped to attention, screaming “ROOM-ATTENTION!” as Napoleon walked in. They interrogated him, asking, “Are you Feda’yeen?!” They boy was crying tremendously. After a dramatic line of questioning and pretending to implant a tracking chip in his neck, they made him swear to God never to do anything bad again. How sweet. One young boy, who I forget to mention earlier, was outside of the fence crying, because his friend was afraid. I got down on my knees in front of him and tried to shake his hand. He wouldn’t though. I then gave him a piece of candy and patted him on the head. I got a translator to tell him that his prisoner friend would be OK. Eventually, I got the boy to smile and shake my hand. When this was happening, some tracer bullets went racing into the sky, like a fireworks show. I stopped talking to everyone. They seemed to be possessed by stupidity and childishness. It’s a shame that grown men act like this! Many of my theories about the nature of man are proving true here. There is so much being incorrectly done here. I call this behavior the “Kid with Magnifying Glass Syndrome.” Some kids that burn ants with magnifying glasses in the sun or pull the wings off butterflies grow up to be big kids that play games with people’s lives. This is a society of human filth. This Army, this Army of idiots. Just because someone is in power, doesn’t mean they are right. Tonight, the BBC is reporting the new E.U. president and an Italian PM said that a German E.U. parliament member would be a good actor for a concentration camp film about Nazi Germany. Another example of irresponsible and stupid people in power. Perhaps Berlusconi’s new friend George W. Bush is beginning to rub off on him.
Yesterday, our Bravo Company accidentally ran over a car with 4 people in it. All four were crushed and killed. It was at night in a narrow alley. The tank was rolling about 30 km/h and went head-on over the car. No big deal. (Gunshots just went off.) I also did one of my jobs today (other than kicking women on the streets), filling media spots for our battalion adjutant. Today it was the London Times. ‘Aggressor 6, would you mind entertaining The London Times this evening?’ I asked.
“Yes! Sure!” he said (the A CO. commander).
‘OK, I’ll arrange it. Be looking for them at 1900,’ I said. Hmm. War is hell. I would like to get interviewed once, I’d share a bit of my mind.
Ahhh, Spatzi! I love you! I whispered again to the stars tonight ‘I love you.’ I’m going to call you right now. It’s 0234. Late, ge! Don’t worry about me, I’m OK. You stay strong and dream of us. I LOVE YOU! MUAH!

It was around this time that insurgent attacks against coalition forces began to steadily increase. I remember being in the TOC one afternoon and standing with a group of people around a satellite television. We were watching Bush give a speech. Some soldiers who had just come in from patrol were standing around as well, in their many pounds of sweat soaked gear. I watched Bush as he spoke. He displayed his typical twisted, uncomfortable smile. He bobbed his head when he talked. He used the same unprofessional tone of voice he had used before. I didn’t trust him. Something deep inside of me, the innermost voice inside of me, the same voice that guides me along, said that something was not right about Bush. Then he said something that turned my feelings towards him from distrust to absolute disgust. “There are some who feel like that the conditions are such that they can attack us there. My answer is bring them on,” Bush said. “We’ve got the force necessary to deal with the security situation.”
As I stood there in the TOC, my jaw dropped. I felt so utterly insulted. As I looked around the room at the other soldiers, dirty faces stared at the TV in disbelief and shook their heads in frustration. I looked over at some friends of mine who looked me in the eye with a million unspoken words. This was at the height of Bush’s chauvinistic phase, which waned somewhat shortly before the U.S. presidential elections and thereafter. He insulted us, and I believe he insulted everyone else in that room. Here he is, a privileged person who had never been in danger or offered his service beyond the borders of the United States, sitting in an air-conditioned conference room in Washington D.C. talking bar room shit. He was trash talking on the international stage! Writing checks with his mouth that he’d never have to pay. WE were the ones paying, the soldiers and Iraqis.
“Bring them on? THEY ARE BRINGING IT ON YOU STUPID MOTHERFUCKER! GOD!” one frustrated soldier vented out loud and walked off. It was then that I decided I would not vote for Bush, no matter what, because he took my service and touted it in front of terrorists, like a carrot in front of a donkey. The terrorists in Iraq know what the deal is here. They know they can’t win militarily. I believe Bush said this for U.S. public consumption. He said it for his audience of sycophants and wannabe military types who never served in the military or never made it to any major conflict. He said it to bolster his image as the “common man” who needed to be president for another term, because of his straight talk and simple solutions. You ask the average soldier what they thought of the comment, soldiers walking around in 120 degree heat, wearing 30 pound vests, pounds more in ammunition and gear, wearing Kevlar helmets and drinking hot water while riding around in unarmored vehicles – ask them what they thought about Bush’s words. Bush was showboating, spouting off nonsense. That comment did more to damage my trust in the Bush administration than any left-wing protest on TV. I think it did more to reinforce the feeling among many soldiers that we were alone to finish the task, that we were the only ones who understood Iraq. George Bush and his uninspiring shit talking could go to hell.

Mixed Signals from Iraqis, Little Girl in Shock

1 July 2003 (Well now it’s 0115 2 July 2003)

I was studying German, and then heard a loud explosion. That was just a little while ago. I went down to the operations center to find out what happened. Another Hummer got blown-up outside our gate on the road. Two casualties evacuated for shrapnel. See, this is the second incident in the same place. Iraqis are taking artillery shells and rigging them with detonators by the sides of the roads. Army truck goes by – BOOM! There was just another loud explosion, but I don’t know what that one is yet. I need to brush my teeth. Conroy just came in and sat down. He needed to talk. He is getting worse and worse every day. I suspected this, but he hides his feelings in a stoic, country manner he probably learned from his dad.
“Thompson, there was a Hummer blown up tonight. I saw it. This is starting to happen more and more – and I don’t like it. We sat there for an hour waiting for a tow truck for the Hummer! Then people started to crowd around us saying, “FUCK YOU!” getting right up on us. Sergeant Daniels said I should go to the other side of the truck just in case someone shoots. But it doesn’t matter! Then they started playing music. Thompson (he looked really nervous), you and me don’t belong here. We need to be missionaries.” He didn’t really mean that, but I got the point – he’s scared. He’s getting shaken. “All I want to do is be a racecar driver. Good night.”
I’m starting to get angry with Bremer and Bush right along with the Iraqis. Then, today, some soldiers were around a little girl who was shaking in convulsions. Her mom and dad were there and Sergeant Smith and Brown the “medic.” The same Brown who likes flirting with little girls all day – makes me sick. So they think the girl has head injuries. But Sergeant Smith is moving her head all around and rubbing ice all over her. She wasn’t awake, but twisting around so much. Then Brown puts a needle in her to give her fluids, but the needle is too big. I took her pulse at 120 beats a minute. I realized what was happening:
‘Get the fuck away from her! YOU ARE PUTTING HER IN SHOCK!’ I yelled angrily.
“Calm down T,” Sergeant Smith said.
‘No, you get the fuck away, NOW!’ I yelled again. Sergeant Watu looked at me and nodded, I could tell that he knew what I was thinking. So I told Brown to get away from the girl. I threw the ice away and straightened her head and stabilized it just in case her spine was damaged. Soon, her pulse went down and breathing went normal. The Army ambulance showed up and took her away. They gave her an I.V. to get fluid in her system and she’s OK now. You see though, these Army people are stupid, they think they are heroes, but they are idiots! They could have put the girl in cardiac arrest. She ended up being dehydrated. You’re supposed to move the victim to shade, wet their lips, pat them with a wet cloth. The ice was causing her to shake! I was so angry and asked Brown if he even knew what he was doing. I didn’t even want to look at Sergeant Smith. When he rubbing the ice on her skin, he was kinda laughing saying, “Well, she can feel it! Hehe!” These people are so stupid, and they are in charge of a country?!
Foley just came in. It seems the colonel’s patrol came across a drive-by. One child’s lifeless body was laying in the street. So I guess it was a victim. They think they found the gunmen though. They are in our prison right now getting roughed up. There is also one guy there who was released from the hospital – the one who got shot in the ass after throwing a grenade at our guys. He’s laying all bandaged up on a stretcher. He’ll be moved to the prison center at the Baghdad Airport soon.
This place makes you hate war, makes you despise human nature, makes you constantly think about your life, and about death. I am ready to come home and get out of this Army, this society of death and stupidity. It truly is terrible. DO NOT EVER, DAN, LOOK BACK ON THIS WITH PRIDE, DON’T EVER SPEAK OF THIS WAR WITH PRIDE! This is a disaster, and I can do better than this – and I will!

Tuesday, July 01, 2003

Trouble Increases with the Locals and Kids Become Less Innocent

0304 1 July 2003

I just got off the phone with you. We talked for a long time, and I feel great now, even though I have to now write down some details of violence here. You graduated today! I’m so proud of you, Nora! Gunshots just went off! Ahhh, that is no big deal anymore. Night before last: “Did you pop one?” asked Pappy.
“No Sergeant Major, we shot him in the fucking ass!” responded a group of soldiers smiling and laughing. I heard this response and looked quickly to look for an expression of grief or remorse on a face, hoping. I hoped to see this type of expression to increase my faith in what we are doing. Well, what I saw was a young group of guys with wide grins and a sense of humor on display. Ahh, America’s young warriors. They looked like a basketball team at a high school that just won a championship – except they were in full body armor and surrounded by bullets and machine guns. They looked very happy, very amused to say the least. There was still a chance to find a sign of remorse or thoughtfulness – YES – look to the machine gunner on top of the truck! He was the one who shot the man in the ass today! So, my eyes drifted to him looking for hope. Well, not much hope here, he seems to think it’s funny as well – yes that is a genuine laugh he has. Hmmmm.
“So you didn’t kill him? You should have killed the son a bitch!” said Pappy, in his outrageous southern accent, squealing out of his small ball of pig-like flesh sitting on his shoulders.
I went into the building. So another guy got shot in the ass. And the company commander of A Co. (the same guy who bragged about scarring the shit out of prisoners) got shot while riding in a Hummer
[1]. The .38 cal bullet was stopped on his right collar by the bullet-proof jacket. So he got shot, but he’s just fine. They got out and shot the man who shot him, and then beat him. SFC Lopez, an old boss of mine, came into the office yesterday and told me, “Yeah, I was sitting right next to the CO when he got shot. We fucked that guy up, I think I broke his ribs!” He seemed proud of himself. It turned out that this guy thought our patrol was a gang of robbers, or “Ali Babba.” So he pointed his pistol over his wall and shot at random. As for the man who got shot in the ass, he had thrown a grenade at them.
Today – well yesterday – I went out to give some toys away to the kids. I have to be careful, because these people are going from begging to demanding. Then came Brown, the guy who likes to talk to little Iraqi girls, with a box of apples. Immediately, a swarm of kids came to the razor wire. Immediately kids stared pushing each other into the wire and getting cut.
I spoke to some boys and gave them bubble gum and crackers. They are getting very rude, demanding more food, even though their pockets are full. They also have learned, “FUCK YOU!” and “GIVE ME SOME HEAD!” from the 3rd I.D. soldiers, I presume. These are the soldiers who fought in the war and have a strange relationship with these people. There are suspicions of prostitution going on with these soldiers and the girls. Also reports of sex acts in exchange for money or bottled water. Our unit has sent out nightly patrols to stop this. I get very bad feelings from some soldiers who come up and call the girls (from 5 – 14 or so) by name and the girls hide or look troubled. There is also alcohol being passed over the wire.
Anyways, to these boys I gave each one a printout, laminated digital photo of their group of friends with a message on it from me. I wanted to do something cool for them, but a few began hoarding the pictures and saying, “Mister! Give me! Make more picture!” I’m learning that unless you have enough for all, nothing should be given out. I tried to give them a football, but they didn’t want it! They were afraid someone would beat them and take it. So you learn when dealing with the kids that you reward them, not just give them things – because now they are getting spoiled.
Then I went to a gathering of villagers who were talking to our S2 (intelligence officer). They are upset that they must move their whole families by Wednesday. Approximately 800 people must move with short notice. He was saying through the interpreter, “I am not at privilege to divulge that information,” when asked why they must leave. Then came other stupid lines such as, “You are better off now than living under a dictator,” “It’s a matter of security,” “We only fight Baath Party.” The people are squatters living in abandoned government buildings. The Army is afraid we are going to get attacked due to the proximity of these people to our buildings.
“You are just like Saddam!” they replied. “I can’t help that we lost our homes! We want to help you, and you kick us out! You are like Israel to the Palestinians! You’ll keep moving us until we are gone! I want to talk to my government! To Iraqi government! You have U.S. Army rules! I am not in the Army, your rules don’t concern me!” The man was saying this while grabbing his wife and daughter. He was visibly shaken, on the verge of losing it.
“We found you a new building. We will help you move,” the officer said.
“OK, but we will be killed! That is someone’s territory! They will shoot us!” he said (the Iraqi).
“No, only Baath party will be killed,” said the officer. You should have seen the look on their faces. They couldn’t believe what he was saying.
“I want to talk to my Iraqi government!” the Iraqi said.
“Paul Bremer and Coalition Forces are going to have a new government in mid-July.”
At this point, I turned and left, I wanted to be there so I could tell the story of it, but I grew ashamed. I could have handled the situation so much better. I know it. I tried to convey some sympathy in my facial expression as I left the men standing there. I tried to shake hands with them through the fence, but only a few did – on throwing the eviction notice he’d received from the Americans at me. As I turned away, a girl said, “Mister! Give me food! I’M HUNGRY!” I took a deep breath, rolled my eyes a bit, and got her some Doritos crackers that my mom sent, and some little candy for the kids so they wouldn’t get jealous. I walked to the girl and gave her the crackers as if she wasn’t there and gave the candy to the kids. “NO! CHOCOLATE!” they demanded.
‘I don’t have chocolate!’ I said sternly. They accepted this and smiled.
Conroy just came in. He got shot at tonight. I’m sitting here listening to AK-47s firing. I miss you Spatzi! I love you. The Nora Shrine will be burning bright tonight! MUAH, I love you!


[1] Some soldiers later said that he was not riding in a Hummer, but rather in an unauthorized civilian car. That created some confusion and resulted in the shooting when the Iraqi gunman thought the creeping car was a group of thieves. There were stories circulating among the Iraqis that bandits were dressing like U.S. soldiers and tricking Iraqis into opening their home doors.