A Day Collecting Abandoned Weapons, Exocet Missles in Iraq, Al-Tuwaitha Hazards and Soldiers

27 October, 2003

“You don’t gotta help dem ‘coons corporal,” Kilpatrick said to me as I helped our Iraqi laborers load 60mm high explosive rounds and loose fuses. There were also 4 missiles that needed to be loaded up. They would go in another truck. The only reason I had to go to this former gun and missile position to get old ammunition from the war was because I’m the only one with a 5-ton license. I didn’t mind going though – it was an opportunity to get out of the command center and it was a beautiful day. Of course, the downside of being able to get out of the command center is that you could very well get killed.
I thought about what Kilpatrick, a country boy with a heart of corn, said to me. ‘Coons,’ I thought, ‘are Iraqis ‘coons? Na, that doesn’t apply to Iraqis. Hmm, Kilpatrick doesn’t know any better.’
At the gun site, rounds were laying around everywhere. 4 missiles too. The EOD (bomb squad) was there with us.
“These won’t blow up easily, they are stable. But, you should handle them carefully,” said the EOD sergeant, who spoke in a manner that hinted a sense of clarity and intelligence. I was so thankful for his information and manner, just because he was a NCO of rare quality. He went on to explain how fin stabilized rounds and rifle-flight rounds are themselves and how this Russian ammo has a two-way safety mechanism and American has 3-way safety measures. So, I was reasonably convinced I would not be blow to bits for moving the rounds.
The gun site was on the eastern outskirts of Baghdad in the countryside. The site was on a large dirt hillside, with gun positions carved out of the earth. There was an Iraqi house near the site, and the owner was grateful that the Americans were there to pick up the explosives. We had some of our Iraqi workers there and a translator. The soldiers we had there were not to do work, but to watch. I looked around the site.
“Did you see those NBC (Nuclear, Biological, Chemical) pants laying around?” Sergeant Daniels asked.
‘Yeah, actually I did,’ I responded. I was surprised he noticed the few pairs of dirty and discarded protective trousers laying around partially covered in dirt. I thought that was a bit unnerving. I also thought they could be gunner’s pants, something less sinister.
“I don’t like that shit man,” Sergeant Daniels said. “As for these rounds, I guess if they explode – they explode! Nothin’ you can do. Oh well, fuck it.”
Sergeant Daniels is crazy. He’s country, part Indian (or so he believes, but he believes it so wholeheartedly that you can’t deny him this claim), and an overall good guy – but wild, crazy – howl at the moon wild. This is his second time in Iraq. The first time was in Gulf War I (for lack of a better name).
I went to the back of the 5-ton truck and the Iraqis were already collecting the rounds and fuses. Some sheppards came up with their sheep and goats from the countryside.
“Ishtah! Ishtah!” (rude way to say get lost) Kilpatrick yelled. Kilpatrick was quick on the attack, a well trained ‘coon dog. The sheppards didn’t leave, because they lived there and their sheep were grazing. So, his choices were to shoot them or tolerate them. He chose the latter and actually started joking a bit with them.
Our workers were disorganized loading the truck, so I showed them how to make a chain and soon the truck started filling up. Sergeant Daniels reminded me that I didn’t have to help. I figured they get paid $4 a day, and I get around $80 a day – so I should help out. A lot of these same rounds are picked up by children and explode – killing them. All these rounds laying around also supply the crazies with bomb material so they can kill or wound us in our convoys – or blow up places like the U.N. So, I didn’t mind helping out, or doing my part – because it benefited Americans as much as Iraqis. The soldiers just looked on.
“Corporal, you don’t have to do that,” another soldier said. I didn’t feel like explaining myself, so I just said,
‘I know, it’s OK.’
“Well, whatever you want,” Kilpatrick said.
Once the truck was loaded up, the other 5-ton was loaded with 4 missiles. The Iraqis brought me a bread wrap with palm dates inside. It was very crude and simple. The farmer on the land there gave the workers something to eat. “Hey dawg, I wouldn’t eat that if I were you,” Sergeant Daniels said. I had doubts myself about eating the thing. “Hey, it’s your call, you gonna get the shits!”
‘I think my immune system is built up now,’ I responded unsurely. I ripped a piece of bread and used it to pick up a gooey date and ate it. It was actually good! There was a seed in the middle of the date, and I spit that out, but it was good!
“Man, I’m starving! I wanna eat, but not in front of these guys,” Sergeant Daniels said.
“Go ahead, sergeant. I told dem dey ain’t eatin’,” Kilpatrick – Private First Class said.
‘Come on, give them 5 minutes to eat and we can eat too,’ I said.
“They ain’t eatin’; we ain’t got time,” Kilpatrick said. We decided Kilpatrick was determined to dutifully oppress our “coons” so we told the Iraqis to eat on the way to the drop off site. That was an hour drive away.
The drive went well, but it’s always dangerous. You never doubt that you’ll be attacked. You expect it, you just know when it happens, you’ll know. In fact, the entire time you are scanning the roadsides and overpasses. The route we took took us past BIAP and into new territory. Along the way, we noticed Iraqi police on the overpasses and below the bridges with AK-47 rifles and radios. They were at nearly every overpass along the way. This was comforting, as there’s the very real threat of bombs or falling grenades at these points. There was also new construction going on all the bridges putting fences – tall and with barbed wire – on all vulnerable areas and areas with over road access. It’s about time someone did that. It takes time. They are also painting murals on the concrete supports in bright colors depicting the Iraqi flag and doves and images of peace. That was nice to see.
Driving out to west Baghdad, out in the country, reminded me so much of Germany. The day almost felt like a fall day in Germany – big blue sky, lazy clouds, sunshine, flat land (reminds me of the west of Heidelberg) and tall grass. I could pretend I was at home, and it was refreshing. Only you weren’t there by me! It was however good, even though the truck was loaded with explosives.
Our destination was in the main ammo dump out near the north side of the airport. When we turned from the highway to the road leading to the ammo dump camp, the little children came out to greet us. They’re always so cute, in their brightly colored clothes and big, genuine smiles. They look like little gnomes. We arrived at the camp and started downloading shells. Again, I helped organize the download while the other soldiers (except for Sergeant Daniels) kept their distance. The Iraqis were tossing some of the shells, so LT Kid ran over.
“NO JOB! You have no job, no more job, money, with U.S. Army if you throw!” The Iraqis apologized and went back to work. Some shells we had to download at a different part of the explosives yard. We drove to the other side of the yard and saw all kinds of missiles, rockets, bombs, everything. I went to look at all the captured munitions while the Iraqis downloaded more ammo. You learn in Iraq that ammo tells a lot about who supported Saddam. I walked to a set of missiles labeled “Linkpanzerabwehr” made in Germany. They were manufactured in 1982. They are HOT missiles (anti-tank) made for the MB-105 (I believe) helicopter – also sold to Yugoslavia. I also found plenty of Russian (rather Soviet) missiles of all kinds that could travel over 90 miles – I believe that to be the restriction set by the U.N. Laser guided missiles could be found. Air to air missiles, cruise missiles. All the Soviet missiles I knew from building model airplanes as a kid. All of these weapons were in brand new condition or still in crates. China, eastern bloc, France, Germany – all sitting there to see. Several crates of Roland missiles, looking very new. The EOD sergeant in charge pulled up in his Hummer. He was a big, bulky black sergeant wearing a helmet and shades – looking like he just stepped out of a Vietnam movie. He and Sergeant Daniels started talking.
“You got any SCUD missles?”
“Yeah, those are SCUDs, and over there,” the EOD sergeant pointed to some missiles. “Those over there are the Chinese version.”
“Find any weapons of mass destruction?” Sergeant Daniels asked.
“No, and we never will,” the EOD Sergeant responded. I was surprised at his answer. “We don’t think they have it. Even all this stuff is old. We only have one rocket that may possibly be chemical. I tell you though, everyone had their hands in this cookie jar – France, Germany, China, and Russia. Hell, even the U.S. Everyone was making a little money on Saddam. The U.S. gave him a lot of stuff for the Iran-Iraq War. Saddam just had us thinking he had WMD,” the sergeant said.
One of the mortar soldiers and I found a large metal case, in gloss white, slightly open. We tried to open the case so we could view the contents. The lid was too heavy though.
“You need a crane to open that,” the EOD sergeant said.
‘What is it, sergeant? It looks brand new,’ I said.
“It’s an Excocet missile from France,” he said.
I looked inside and saw the brand new missile – glossy and neat. The case had a placard on it, and I was able to place its date of manufacture as 1990. It was strange seeing the Aerospatiale logo appearing so clean and civilized. It looked as if the French company made some money from Saddam too. An Exocet missile? That’s the world’s best anti-ship missile. The only real ships in the Persian Gulf at the time were U.S. ships. So you can draw your own conclusions. I thought of Pope John Paul II’s words about arms trade being immoral, and it’s true. Arms are sold for money, and once sent out into questionable parts of the world, can do all kinds of harm. And someone in France, Germany, Russia, China, or the U.S. is making money on the sale of these weapons – sitting comfortable at home, paying for their kid’s college, driving a luxury car, and enjoying life. All this when young people are being killed and maimed around the world. It’s on the same par as international drug trade.
We got all of our cargo downloaded and were quick to head back to our camp clear across Baghdad. On the way out of the countryside and back to the highway, we went over a railroad overpass. On the way to the compound earlier, a passenger train was passing below as we crossed. I waved and it honked its horn a few times in return. I didn’t even know passenger train service was restored. It was added to the German feel to the place. I was happy to see the railway functioning, it’s a sign of life returning to normal.
As we were leaving and passing some homes, the children ran out in their school uniforms to greet us and cheer. One kid held up a dead pigeon with its wings spread out and its head missing. I imagined this to be a typical boy displaying something “cool” to us or showing off – or some Arabic warning we don’t know of. You never know here. We arrived safely back to camp, and I went straight to work at the command center.
It turned out to be a busy day. The Al-Rasheed hotel was attacked successfully in a rocket attack. I go there all the time – it’s a luxury hotel. Luxury surrounded on all sides by filth and lawlessness. It’s no wonder it was hit. One night, Conroy and I were sitting on the top of our Hummers and I was looking at the stars and listening to AK-47s shooting nearby and singing “I say a little prayer for you” over and over again.
“Shut up! You’ve lost your mind,” Conroy said to me grinning. “I wonder if you could hit the building from here,” he said.
I had been wondering the same thing. It was dark, so Conroy got his rifle so that we could see if anyone was near their window. His rifle has a sight on it. Sure enough, on the 10th floor or so, you could see a man pacing by his window.
“What an idiot,” Conroy said.
We had the guy in our sights, our friendly sights. Had we been terrorists, that guy would have been killed. In this morning’s attack, one colonel was killed. It’s an example of wishful thinking that you can sit in such plain view of Baghdad in a high rise luxury hotel and not get shot at.
During the day, there was also several suicide bomb attacks in Baghdad, including the International Red Cross. It makes no sense. Baghdad is divided into several zones. Our zones are 14, 23, 11E, 70. One interesting thing happened. One suicide bomber attacked our police station in zone 23, BUT was shot and wounded by the Iraqi police. The bomber tried to drive the car, loaded with explosives, into the police station. He failed because we put up concrete barriers around the station. So the bomber crashed into a wall, got out, threw a grenade, and was then shot and wounded. It was the only failed attempt in Baghdad – and it was in our battalion’s zone. We’ve been so lucky in our battalion – very blessed. The bomber is believed to be from Yemen – and that would indicate outside influence from Al-Qaeda. That would explain why these bombers are killing Iraqis in these attacks too.
The bomber was taken to our American hospital for surgery and the FBI showed up. They are now investigating. So, in our sector, we have had amazing luck. Our units also conducted a raid last night that resulted in the capture of two brothers who were stirring up trouble at a local mosque in zone 23. Well, it turn out detonators were found in their homes and evidence of Al-Qaida membership. So we may have foiled another attack. The local Iraqis tipped us off – so that is encouraging. We’ve had some problems in sector 23 since one of our soldiers shot a teenage boy in the leg. The boy threw a rock at the sergeant (a big rock) and hit him in the face and chipped his tooth. The soldier actually shot at the ground and the bullet ricocheted into the kid’s leg. Since then, the battalion has been visiting the kid and talking to the parents. The father wasn’t angry about it. Since then, our patrols have been pelted with rocks and dirt clods as they pass through the area.
Later tonight our Bravo Company reported they found a dead body shot twice in the face and once in the neck. It was an assassination. The initial call reported it was the mayor of Baghdad. Baker and I sat there and looked at each other, as if to say, “There goes another one,” while shaking our heads. As minutes passed, it turned into the “self-proclaimed” mayor of Baghdad. Hedger got up and walked to the front of the map board,
“Attention in the TOC, I am the new mayor of Baghdad,” Hedger announced proudly. All 4 of us in the TOC stood up and clapped.
“Mister Mayor, may I have your autograph,” CPT Diamond asked joyfully.
‘Congratulations, your honor,’ I yelled. Baker took a bow,
“Thank you, thank you!”
It was a moment of theatrical joy, almost spontaneous, that seemed so funny – even though a man lay in the street shot to death. Laughing about this was the only way to handle the insanity of the whole situation. It wasn’t funny, just unreal. How many times are you just talking to someone and get interrupted with, “the self proclaimed mayor has been killed.” Just another day in Iraq.
I talked to Tariq about progress in Iraq. We talk a lot in the afternoon or when he and I are translating Arabic police reports. Tonight we talked about freedom, the schools, Iraqi police, etc. We also talked about his love situation.
He and his cousin are in love, and want to get married. I am mentioning this to show how tribes work. It’s a lot like the book Things Fall Apart, only modernized. He said he and his cousin want to get married – but her father won’t approve or disapprove one way or the other. He said the tribal leader won’t approve it, because she is reserved for someone else! He said sometimes the couples aren’t in love, and the man can take 3 more wives. The woman can’t divorce – because no man will take her. He said he thinks all of this is stupid and primitive (actually a lot of Iraqis have told me the same thing). I don’t believe Americans understood the role of tribal life in Iraq.
I joked with Tariq and told him they should flee to America. He started laughing. We also talked about new freedom in Iraq, about the Baath party. He said the people aren’t afraid of the new Iraqi police. He also said many of the students at his college are threatening teachers, verbally assaulting them, or showing totally no respect. Many teachers are former Baath.[1] He also said freedom means doing and saying whatever you want without consequence. This is their understanding of freedom. Of course, that is not freedom as we see it in an American sense.
He talked about Baath Party too. Even teenagers were involved. It seemed to be a discussion society though for young people at the lower level. Talking about social issues, politics, and the greatness of Saddam. Not everyone was “party,” but later in life you’d have to display some contact with the party to get privileges. Just like in East Germany. Finally we talked about the teachers getting rocks thrown at them. A lot of people in authority or part of the old system are associated with Saddam – so venting some frustration on teachers has become a bit commonplace.

Going to the weapons dump reminded me of a curious incident that happened almost as soon as we got to Baghdad. There was a nuclear facility south of the city in Tuwaitha. It had already been damaged by Israeli air strike in 1981 and again in 1991 by coalition forces. We called it the “Yellow Cake Factory.” It was surrounded by a high earthen wall. Some of our units were at the nuclear site earlier in the deployment. There was a report of a Nuclear Biological and Chemical expert – a young Army officer – and his enlisted counterpart becoming ill after coming too near to the contaminated site. They were both rushed to Landstuhl, Germany for “ear infections.” Several days later, remote controlled bomb squad robots were sent into the factory to conduct reconnaissance with their cameras. The first robot malfunctioned once inside of the facility. A second robot was sent to recover the first robot. The second robot failed as well. This was due to the large amounts or radiation. Perhaps the wildest twist to the story is that Iraqis from surrounding villages entered the compound and looted the facility. Little did they know they were exposed to lethal radiation. It has been documented that locals actually emptied barrels that contained yellow cake uranium and used them as water collection barrels in their homes. There were reports of many local Iraqis showing symptoms of radiation poisoning.

[1] Tariq explained that many of the teachers who once preached the goodness of Saddam had a difficult time conducting classes in new Iraq. Some were stoned or assaulted while others were verbally disrespected.

A Day with the Iraqi Civil Defense Corps (ICDC), Wounded Soldiers, Ministry of Oil Mortar Attack, Iraqi Officer Dreams of Returning to Europe

25 OCT, 2003

It’s been a few days since my last journal entry. I’m feeling the most depressed I’ve been since getting here. You’re in Spain, so I can’t talk to you about it, and calling you only makes me frustrated because you’re so hurried and worried about the cost. It’s only because you’re gone though. You’re not like that at home. So, I am a little grouchy.
I got to work this morning after a good night’s sleep – and it felt great to sleep in. As soon as I went to see what was going on in the operations center, I noticed the captain was on the radio. This meant too much radio traffic for the enlisted guys to handle. Well, sure enough, there was an IED explosion along Canal Road that took out one of our Hummers. It was our Apache Troop attached to us from 2nd Armored Cavalry Regiment. It happened just right up the road. 4 people wounded pretty good. Shrapnel to the legs, ribs, and face. I filed through the reports and saw reports of metal stuck in knee joints, in faces, in a rib, blood leaking from the ear holes, lost hearing. A mortar round was made into a remote controlled bomb and exploded as they drove past. I was just at the site a day before driving to the Ministry of Oil, as did everyone driving that day. These were additional wounded to our count – the last wounded in action being the mechanic that was hit by grenade shrapnel in the hand on my convoy. As of now, it sounds like the guys attacked today are going to be sent home to the U.S. or Germany.
A few days ago, the Ministry of Oil was attacked (where our headquarters company is) in a mortar attack – a very accurate mortar attack. The front of the MOO has been transformed into a fortress, tall barriers, blocks, wire. It really is a sight. We expected an attack, because the MOO was being shot at pretty frequently. Our guys would return fire across the way – so we knew something was up. So up went the barriers. We didn’t want another U.N. situation.
“If the Ministry of Oil went up, we wouldn’t have a reason to be here,” Major Ramirez said. He was right too, it’s the most valuable building here. Yesterday I went to the MOO with a truckload of Iraqi Civil Defense Corps recruits – mostly raggy young men. One African was among them. They had to go to the MOO for medical screening.
“Some guys are missing fingers, toes, testicles,” CPT Beck told me as we were getting ready to leave. I had a laugh at this. Before we left our camp at Rustimiya (Al-Rasheed Airfield), I ran up to my room to get some water and my CD walkman. I’m trying to listen more to music to break this depression spell. When I got back to the truck, I climbed inside the cab with my tiny bottle of water.
“Mister! Give me water! Give me, please!” one of the raggy looking young men asked through the back window of the cab that connects to the flatbed where the load of 20 or 30 men were.
“ICDC don’t beg,” CPT Beck yelled at them. “All these guys do is beg and lie, I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said like a man given a 500 pound gorilla to care for.
We drove to the MOO and dropped off the ICDC guys. CPT Beck led them into the medical building. I drove off to the command post to visit Kerry, a guy I’ve know since 1998 or so. I also wanted to see the damage done by the mortar attack. I went inside the small building and noticed holes in the map board against the wall behind the radio desk. Holes were ripped in the paper map. I asked Swafford, who was sitting behind the radios, what happened.
“I was in my room, and the explosions started going off – sending shrapnel through our door window in my room. Over here, the guy on radio watch ran into the supply room, but realized he would get covered in debris if the roof came in. So he went under a desk and put a Kevlar on.”
I went outside and noticed a piece of shrapnel stuck in the radiator of an air conditioner. It was square, jagged edged, and black. About the size of a piece of dice. And to think hundreds of these pieces fly through the air in an attack! The first impact was dead on – and the roof of the mechanics’ building had a blackened hole on its metal roof. That was where the first round exploded. Then another hit near a truck and flattened the tires. The next one hit right next to the building (HQ). The accuracy of the fire was incredible. The accuracy was too good. They think someone on the inside may have paced or gathered data on the distances from inside. That wouldn’t surprise me. At any rate, they were lucky no one was wounded. Around 7 rounds landed in all – not all exploded. The launchers were later found abandoned. They are now in our office on display, sitting alongside the large mortar launcher the Iraqi police found the other day – as some men were about to fire it. The IPs probably saved some U.S. lives that night.
I went back to my truck to pick up the recruits from the medic station. As I pulled up, they would wave and smile. I thought about the future, and how these men have a role to play in that – even though they were dirty, ragged, and wild eyed. They then came over to my truck to talk to me.
“You want hash?” They got all excited and offered to get me everything from beer to pills. “I get it for you,” they all said, totally believing I wanted what they offered.
‘No, no, I don’t want it, no good,’ I said. They shrugged their shoulders, but didn’t lose their energetic appearance. They got in the truck.
Before we left, Hassan, now an ICDC 1st Lieutenant who used to be our translator, jumped up into the cab of my truck because he was going to ride with CPT Beck and me back to the camp. His uniform looked sharp, professional. When talking to him, I make sure to say ‘Sir’ just to show some respect. He deserves some for taking the job as an ICDC officer. He could be killed just for working for us.
“These men are shit,” he huffed as he climbed into the cab. “It’s crazy, you know? Too many drugs and whiskey.”
I thought to myself, ‘Hassan, it’s like that everywhere – even in our army.’ I really wanted to talk to him about some issues I needed answers to – from an Iraqi. I always use opportunities to speak to trustworthy Iraqis to figure out what is really going on here. He told me a lot.
“You know we have freedom, but it’s too free. Everyone says or does what they want, it’s not good. You see, Arabs all yell and talk at once. In America, one person talks, and people stop and listen. Arabs are crazy. Now religion too? Saddam said he’s a Muslim, Osama Bin Laden, and Arafat all say they are Muslim. But all these people are violent. Sadr’s father was killed by Saddam in the street after prayer at his mosque. Not until after the war did anyone hear about his son (the one who’s giving us trouble now). Now he wants power? Where was he all of this time? Freedom and religion are no good here, it’s dangerous. It’s like a new Saddam is here.” He seemed to grow immersed in thought as he spoke, and almost sad. I sensed it would be best to stop talking about it – because it seemed understood that Iraqi is in serious trouble – and that is a frightening thought.
‘Hassan, I’m pretty sure all will be OK. The U.S. will stay as long as it takes so Iraq can be OK. They really want the best for you,’ I said, trying to believe in what I was saying myself. I hope it’s true.[1]
“Yes, I know you are trying as much as you can,” he answered understandingly. “After 1991, Saddam had no power, so he created the Fedayeen to scare the people. Now these people are running around killing anyone. Before 1989, Iraq was beautiful – wonderful – very nice actually. Now, I don’t know, I don’t know.”
I felt bad for even talking about Iraq.
“I love Paris, I was there in 1988. It was snowing! We were saying, ‘What is this? Can we eat it?’ My brother is in Munich – it’s beautiful.”
‘Will you go back to Paris?’ I asked.
“Yes, yes, I would love this!” he exclaimed.
I thought to myself, ‘He is a pilgrim in an unholy land. He’d probably be better off in Europe.’
“Here, everyone is crazy. No respect for others, no helping each other, no peace,” he continued – back on a negative topic. I couldn’t help but think he would be a good Christian! Because of the ideals he spoke of. I do wonder sometimes if that is a problem here, Islam. I don’t want to think that, but sometimes I do think that is the problem.
A few days ago, the employees of the MOO staged a protest which caught the eye of Al-Jazera and Al-Arabia TV. ICDC had to be brought in and razor wire put between the workers and the soldiers. Al-Jazeera and Al-Arabia reported that a soldier threw a copy of the Koran from a woman’s purse during a routine search. It was a lie, of course. Lying seems to be a part of everyday life here. Anyways. The people at the MOO were angry about the bomb dogs sniffing their belongings. Dogs here are considered dirty animals or wild. So it’s like a giant rat sniffing them. They have to be searched though, there’s no other way. Al-Jazeera was airing video of a soldier punching an Iraqi. It was old footage.
“Call the MOO and see if anyone threw a copy of the Koran on the floor or punched anyone,” LTC Jagger said to me. I called the MOO, and CPT Russo confirmed nothing like that happened.
‘Sir,’ I said, just realizing something, ‘No soldier would even be able to tell the difference between the Koran and a pocket planner – because none of our soldiers can read Arabic.’ Hassan was there and told me,
“Al-Jazeera and Al-Arabia were there and I saw with my own eyes what happened! And they lied, no truth, not even a small bit. Saddam gave money to Al-Jazeera so they tell lies. The woman who made the complaint is always a problem, she complains always – and tell lies to get support. She does not like Americans.”
It was something to hear all of this from an Iraqi, and not FOX news. Hassan loves the west though. He was arrested by Saddam’s secret police for having a satellite dish. He was in prison for 3 months. Whenever we would go to regiment HQ (that used to be the secret police HQ), Hassan would smile because the main building was blown up – a huge gaping hole in its face passing through the center. It seemed like poetic justice to see him on that compound with us.
Well, as I am writing this, there is a demonstration of about 100 people gathering around our back gate.
‘Attention in the TOC, there is protest going outside of the gate,’ I said.
“Fuck ‘em, just ignore them and they’ll go away,” Major Ramirez said. The guards called up again and seemed concerned. These people, many of them, used to be our friends – but since our new leaders came in, they don’t talk to the Iraqis at all.
“Na, thanks. I already had my cigar today,” said LTC Jagger. All the people in the TOC were talking about cigars, sitting back, relaxed. No one cared about the people. I sat there amazed. Then the tower reported to me,
“There are now 150 people with banners and flags.”
‘Roger,’ I said, ‘continue to observe.’
We just got a report about the injured guys from this morning’s bomb attack. They are all going to live. I believe one may be going to Germany.
Some platoon leaders and the Apache company commander came in asking about a good time to conduct their raid.
“2100 is the time to do it,” Major Ramirez said. He leaned back in his chair self-satisfied.
“May I ask why,” asked Apache 6. He continued before Major Ramirez could answer. “We would like to do it around 0300, or 0200. When we go at 2100, there’s a very likely chance no one will be home.” Apache 6, CPT Peters, has conducted many risky raids since we arrived in Iraq. He’s in the know about this kind of work. Major Ramirez came from division or corps (I can’t recall) and got to our TOC after our earliest major operations. He acts like he knows what’s going on here – like when he almost got us killed at the underpass.
“Well,” responded Ramirez in his own funky arrogance, “If they ain’t there, then they ain’t there. You leave.” He seemed a bit challenged. The toothpick in his mouth bobbed up and down.
“Roger, Sir. Well, we’ll figure it out,” CPT Peters said. The look on the captain’s face said it all. The lieutenants looked on. CPT Peters has been in the fight, knows what’s going on, and I felt sorry that he had to stand in front of a lounging Major P-Diddy-Ramirez – who’s often scared to leave the gate. But – you must listen to him because of his rank.
I remember a conversation where Major Ramirez was teasing Sergeant Daniels about Sergeant Daniels being a scout. There is a lot of rivalry between tankers and scouts. Then, Ramirez said, “How many confirmed kills you have? I have eight.” I know that is part of Army life – the machismo and the fantasy – but bragging about how many people he killed in the first Gulf War seemed so wrong. If you really think about it, it’s insane. When I heard him say this, again, I thought about the look on his face as we got attacked in Baghdad – a terrified, big eyed, trembling man. Now, here he is bragging about the people he killed. Then, he was the hunter. In Baghdad, he was the hunted. There was no bragging about that. It’s poetic in a way, or karma, or whatever you want to call it. Boasting about killing isn’t right. What I’m trying to say, is that he boasts of killing, but in the Gulf War, he was in a far superior force, in a near invincible tank, killing people who couldn’t really kill him. I don’t agree with the Iraqi army taking Kuwait, but don’t celebrate death! It’s so animal, so shallow, so evil, so wrong. It’s a matter of principle. When we got attacked in Baghdad, he was outnumbered, not in control of his surroundings. Sometimes you notice the general attitude here, even among the educated soldiers, that Iraqis are conquered and should pay tribute. Or, Iraq is ours, or they should do what we say – regardless of if it makes sense or not. It’s the “Fuck ‘em” doctrine. You see this in Germany too sometimes. Here, you see right is determined by might. The problem is that this attitude only lives as long as the people allow it. If one day they decide we don’t understand them, or haven’t brought new life to them – they may reject us. It’s confusing, because the evidence shows Iraqis are happy with their freedom, scared of their freedom, and still want to be free. So, what is freedom? Time will tell. I think the solution for Iraq lays in a different approach to these people. We should get away away from treating these people as if they are alien, or subjects, or animals. We need open partnerships, active cooperation with communities. We can do that. We can afford that. Something isn’t working though – and there’s a reason for that. We came into Iraq with leaving as our goal, and that attitude has infected many, and that coupled with a lack of motivation has produced a negative effect. Iraq can be salvaged. Our goal should be to rebuild Iraq. Only after that should we discuss leaving. For now, “leaving” should not be a part of our American vocabulary. We should encourage a relationship between the U.S. and Iraq, an involved, hand in hand cooperation. That would benefit both the U.S. and Iraq and the world. There is so much opportunity here, but the opportunities shrink everyday. We will never have another opportunity to bring about so much positive change in the Middle East as we have today. This is a tremendous moment in history – it can spell peace or disaster for years to come depending on how we handle it. We need to think of a realistic future, a good future, and work backwards from there in finding waypoints. It’s possible.

It was at this stage in the conflict we were facing that motivation, sense of purpose, and sense of urgency really began to wane. I remember hearing varying opinions about the state of Iraq and the role we were playing in progress. Many of those comments were negative. It seemed that people lost interest in helping the Iraqis, or fell into the attitude of, “Well I’m here, now let’s go home.” I found it amazing that this very critical time in history was being treated so casually. We treated it like a training rotation to the field. Everyday that we waited to fix a problem was another day lost. Over time, this created a decrease in momentum. This owing to wishful thinking on the American side, and lack of strong initiative on the Iraqi side – although you could argue that the Iraqi leadership was not there because they didn’t have the time or resources to organize. The ones who did organize and take the initiative were ironically the resistance fighters, or more aptly, terrorists. Why they didn’t channel that energy into the political system, I have yet to figure out. I do think many groups set out on vendettas against the Americans to extract revenge from collateral damage related deaths.

[1] Terrorists attempted to kidnap Hassan’s daughter months after we had this conversation. Retaliation against the translators and new Iraqi armed forces emerged as a large and vicious problem, often manifesting itself in the form of a knock at the door in the early morning hours.

"Starving Kids" Pass Up Cake, The Major Distances Himself from Lonely USAID Woman

18 October, 2003 1900

What a day. It actually rained. I went on a good run too. I’ve been blocking out all that chatter about “finding motivation to run through finding females.” It was cloudy and cool, overcast and grey, raining lightly. It was great! It reminded me of Germany with you in the fall time. Just the color and coolness was enough for me to feel like I was in Germany for a few minutes. I love you Nora. I woke up this morning and had an awesome dream of us being reunited. We were embracing and kissing so much, and it was so real. We were at a restaurant too, I think in the States. Everywhere we went, we were hugging. Like we do when it’s winter and waiting to cross the road, and we cuddle so close. Nora, it’s so beautiful, I love you so!
I called you this morning too, you were somewhere in Spain, stopped at a rest stop. I wish I was there with you. I won’t be long though.
Today I gave some bears to the Iraqi workers here. It was only after they hassled me. A few weeks ago, I gave each person a bear, and told them, ‘one each.’ You have to do this because they’ll say one person got one more than the other. Well, sure enough, they started pouting and begging for another additional one. So I let some get another out of the box. One tried to hide one, and take another. I stopped him, and he immediately insisted he should get two. Then he said I wasn’t his friend, even though I had already given him one earlier. Some of these Iraqis are like that – ungrateful and pouty. Some behavior is uniform with these people. I remember one boy asked for cake. So I brought him a cake from our rations – the type he asked for. I gave it to him, and he just tossed it on the ground when he saw it was pineapple flavored and not vanilla.
“No mista! No good, give me cake!”
I looked at the cake sitting on the ground across the razor wire. ‘Are these people really starving, or are they just lazy and picky?’ Of course, you have to remind yourself that these squatters are on the lower end of the ladder socially, so not all Iraqis are like that. Anyways, with the bears, I told each to take one – and sure enough, later they would beg and bother about getting another one, even though I explained to them one means one. It began to make me angry because I’m trying to be nice, and they’d stop me on the way to work (they don’t understand we have to work too) and say,
“Give me dog,” they mean bear, “I gave the one you gave me to my cousin.”
I’d go ask his cousin, and the cousin would say he got no bear. So someone is lying. You have to learn to be strict with these people, or else they get out of control. They’ll be nice until they don’t get what they ask for – then they call you a liar and say you aren’t a friend anymore. A lot of them are like that, so you just give them things once and a while. And no means no. Again, not all are like this, but a lot are.
I gave one bear to one guy I know well, because he said his girlfriend had a birthday. Well, I found out Sergeant Ramos took the bear from him. Now Sergeant Ramos already tried to take bears I have for children from my boxes. I caught him trying to sneak some. When I asked him, he started laughing nervously and said,
“Ah, come on, I need something to send my kids.” This horrible NCO is making thousands of dollars a month here, and he’s trying to steal from me presents for poor people. So, when I heard he had taken a bear from the Iraqi, I knew something was wrong.
‘He probably took it from him to send home,’ I thought. So, I found Sergeant Ramos and asked, ‘Did you take a bear from one of your workers?’
“Maybe,” he answered.
‘Well, that was a gift to him, and he needs to get it back.’
“Well, I threw it away. I don’t know where it is,” he said with a look of defiance and with his usual obnoxious voice.
‘Well, you better find it, and he better get it back – I am going to ask him later. If he doesn’t get it back, I am going to talk to someone about it,’ I said very matter of fact. I could just see him packing that bear he took the Iraqi up in a box. As soon as he told me about the bear being in the trash, I knew he was lying. I told him again, ‘You will find it, give it back – or else I will make sure someone hears about it.’ I walked off and left him looking nervous. The Iraqi got his bear back, and I went later in the day to ask him if he got it back. He said he did, and he put his hand over his heart and gave me a warm thank you for getting the bear back for him. I got frustrated just thinking about Sergeant Ramos doing what he did, and I could see right through him.
Not everyone is bad though. It is a mix, as with anything in life. I remember a few weeks ago, we were talking to Major Stanton about the USAID woman who was trying so hard to get close to him. He would see her sometimes, but never completely in private. It was sort of entertainment for us to poke fun at him over this American woman just throwing herself at him. At one point, we all wondered if he would actually pay her more attention and meet privately with her. It never happened though, and he explained it, after we went to the Al-Rasheed and Miss Borders and he ate at the restaurant at a distance from us soldiers (Conroy, Peterson, etc.), he said,
“I told her it wasn’t right that we meet and eat out, when my own soldiers can’t go out on a date,” (or something to that effect).
“Aw! Sir! You’re crazy! You could be getting laid on a regular basis,” some guys in the TOC said.
“Na, don’t need it. There are consequences for everything – there’s a price for everything. You may not see it now, but there is a cost.” Major Stanton! Actually practicing and preaching self control and even a hint of morality! Hooray! Not that he is immoral – he’s not, he doesn’t show any signs of being immoral. Other people do though, and it disappoints you because they are in leadership positions. I had to grin, actually pretty wide, and happy that Major Stanton scored a point for the good guys. A ray of light in a morally cloudy place. I don’t know him or his past well at all – but he’s pretty alright by me.

The Internal War: What Happens When There is no Clear Mission

17 October, 2003

I love you Nora, so much! MUAH! Well, it’s getting cloudy in Baghdad, and it reminds me so much of Germany with you. Ah, we’ve got to talk a lot lately too.
Today started at 0530 and some of us guys wandered up to the newly renovated weight room. It’s where the pregnant Iraqi lady and her clan used to live, but we evicted them for security reasons. Now it’s a pretty nice weight room full of quality equipment and mirrored walls – complete with satellite TV. We went into the weight room, half awake and the TV blaring loud music over a music video channel. It was super sexual and full of naked skin. It’s such a shame, it’s all just to sell music or get ratings. I can’t believe the total lack of respect these women show themselves and show young women. It troubles me that we send the message that you have to be almost naked, have a “perfect” body, throw yourself at immoral men, be an object, and be sought after and used. It’s disappointing that we make this impression on our youth. Growing up is complicated enough. So seeing this kind of culture upsets me because we should teach self respect and trust. That doesn’t sell commercials though. So we are all standing in the gym and everyone is glued to the TV and going nuts over scenes of flesh like animals. I just wanted to start exercising! But, I had to wait for everyone to break their trance. After some time, we got started. We started our exercises, but then our sergeant said, “hold on, turn facing the TV so we can see this bitch.” I didn’t even want to be there. I love you, and I can’t stand being around men like that. So I looked at the ground and did my exercises. I tried to block all the music and images out. You are so beautiful to me, and my eyes and mind belong to you Nora.
As the day went on, it was the same ol’ stuff in the command post. The chaos in here is great, and it’s because of the people we have working here.
‘We’ve got a report of a large crowd of people marching in sector 30. About 1,000 or 2,000 people marching peacefully,’ I announced after receiving a report from regiment’s aviators. All of a sudden, everyone starts shouting and I hear the battle captain say,
“Sir, we’ve got an uprising in sector 30 – 2,000 people!” I couldn’t believe this, information being twisted or exaggerated. Then that creates confusion, and I have to correct everyone before the info becomes totally false. It seems the quality of the people here has declined beyond repair.
Yesterday Major Ramirez and some of the NCOs were being loud in the TOC, laughing it up like boys back on the block talking. “I’d give her the smoked sausage, yeah boy!” He was talking about some woman on TV. He (Major Ramirez) got up out of his chair and totally lost his bearing and started acting like he was humping like a dog with his leg in the air.
‘An officer and a gentleman,’ I thought to myself. It’s unreal. A homeboy in gentleman’s clothing. It’s the principle of it all. I know people aren’t perfect, but this isn’t acceptable. The standards have gone down so much – even since Sergeant Pullman.
FOX News is on our TV all time now. The battalion spent $500 to get several satellite receivers so we can get American TV (actually it’s $500 per receiver). We used to have several cheap receivers that allowed us to get BBC and other channels. So, now we get a 24 hour feed of American news into our command center, along with several news magazines like “The Early Show” and other low quality shows. So we’ve got a show about the dangers of taking Viagra, or a hyperventilating Ken or Barbie doll on FOX spouting off opinions full of stereotypes, hype, and unqualified judgments. So all through the day, this crap is on. BBC was never so repulsive or irritating. Perhaps it was because they actually had content. Man, American news is so hyper and base.
Anyways, all the dogs are gone – even the puppies I got to see grow up. Some unit went around and collected them all. They were put in a trailer and then taken to the helicopter landing pad area where the MPs shot them with a shotgun. They didn’t bother using the M16s, because the bullet doesn’t kill. It just passes through and injures the dog. Remember the dog Sergeant Major Pappy shot? It lived. So lessons in life, and now death. Just like the watermelons grew, and then were killed. It’s the Iraq experience.
Some good news though. I got a package from the Ministry of Sound from London! That was great! About a month ago I got on the internet and listened to their London radio station live. The DJ announced the studio e-mail address, so I sent a quick e-mail asking for some “junk CDs” and just to say hello. Minutes after sending the e-mail, I got an answer on the radio. It reminded me of being in London at Leicester Square on a weekend, and the DJ giving shout-outs at the club. I love London! Not just for the fun, but the learning, the experience. Well, I listened to the answer on the radio, full of excitement, “We got a special e-mail from Dan Thompson. He’s an American soldier in Iraq. Greetings mate! Station’s putting together for you as we speak! Keep up the good work!” I got up and jumped around when I heard this! It was great, and I told everyone about it. Well, they did send me a package! I got 3 double CDs and a card with a message on it. That was great! It just shows again that if you ask, and you ask the right people, you most likely will receive. That is true!

Soldier Finally Snaps and Asks to Quit, My Manner Changes on Patrol, Sergeants Joke About Hooking Female Soldier Up With One of the Guys

2200 12 OCT 03

Another day of confusion and dismay. It seems to get worse and worse at work. Today Lee quit. He said he couldn’t take it today, so they took his rifle away from him and kicked him out of our office within an hour. So much stress, and it’s all so childish and plain crazy. More on that later.
On the business end of matters, for the past few days, things have been heating up in Baghdad – more attacks on U.S. soldiers – including our own here. Yesterday the Camp Marlboro came under mortar attack, injuring 3 soldiers. 3-62 AR also came under mortar attack. During this time, I was put on notice to go with Sergeant Major Sanders to check out the camp. Oddly enough, I got to drive the scout Hummer gun truck. That was interesting.
The feeling of being out in Baghdad is changing from “new experience” and “peace keeper” to combat zone. I’m not waving so much anymore, and I feel bad for it, so I try to shake off the cautious attitude. You can’t though; you can’t be 100% soldier and 100% diplomat at the same time. You’ll get killed – because some jackass will take advantage of your friendliness and kill you and ruin it for everyone. It’s true, and now I know. So, now it’s serious stuff, and I’m protecting my life. It’s difficult in Iraq. You want to believe everyone loves you, and it seems that way sometimes – and then people in the same neighborhood you thought was friendly are ambushing your buddies and killing them – and all they’re trying to do is keep the street safe.
The Shia leader Sadr issued a Fatwa (issued guidance) to kill all Iraqi police force in Sadr City. He should be arrested! But what should you do? Maybe they should disappear.[1] I don’t know. Why these people though, the people we helped?
Today, it was a cloudy, unusual day. I thought it would rain, and was almost excited for it! I promised myself if it rained, I would run outside in the rain. It hasn’t rained since a minor shower on the first day since arriving in Baghdad. It would be great to have a cloudy day! I miss that some days!
During the morning, the usual gripes were being tossed about, when a large “BOOM” rattled the windows. Then I got that familiar feeling in my stomach – when I know a bomb went off.
“Knight X-Ray, we just had a large explosion go off near Ministry of Oil,” said CPT Powers on the radio to me.
‘Shit, I hope the MOO didn’t go up,’ I thought. The MOO has been targeted a lot lately. Even last night, a large Yugoslav mortar tube and all equipment and nine 81mm was spotted being set up by three men alongside a busy road called “Restaurant Road” by the Iraqi police. The men ran off after being sighted and shot at by the police. It was determined they were pointing the tube towards the Martyrs’ Monument. Luckily they were caught. Well, the tube and equipment at any rate. Now the odd things are sitting in our command center. Had the attack gone off, it would have spelled disaster for us, for it would destroy the monument and a big landmark.[2]
I called the MOO on the radio, ‘Knight Rear, did you have a large explosion?’
“Negative, but guards on the barracks roof are reporting smoke and a building on fire near the Palestine Hotel,” the MOO reported. We called that info to regiment command center. Then, on our television, CNN broke into programming and had live images of the Baghdad Hotel. It had been bombed by a suicide bomber. It was just another bombing. This one in 3-9 Infantry’s area. They’re our infantry guys from our small base in Friedberg. CNN was showing images of helicopters flying around the scene, and I was listening to the same helicopters (Palehorse 16) Kiowa OH-58s speak to our regiment on the radio.
I was taking down the details and preparing our units to provide aid in case it was requested. We all knew what to do since the U.N. bombing. Everyone knew what to do, except the NCOs who were in the command center. Sergeant Newsome started freaking out and asking ridiculous questions that were obviously intended to save his own ass from SGM Walker’s interrogations instead of helping the present situation. At any rate, it was true. Another large bomb. Everyone gathered around the television and watched CNN, where we incidentally got more information than from own guys. Then we saw Colonel Jackson, our brigade commander, talking to news cameras on TV. Behind him was a LT I knew from Friedberg who used to work in my office and spoke some German. I remember passing him a few times as he sat outside his apartment during lunch break on the main street in our village of Friedberg – now I saw him with a flushed look on his face and eyes flashing around, his face aged by years, as he and his security team stayed around the colonel as he gave his interview. And he was gone after a few moments. We never sent anyone from our unit to help, as it wasn’t needed. As I watched the building burn, I realized that the new “front on terrorism” is Baghdad and will be for some time – if not decades. From a cold-hearted logic – it makes sense. Go to the Middle East and have terrorists come to you in Iraq, instead of in the U.S. Have Americans die in Iraq instead of the U.S. Have terrorists spend their money fighting you in their backyard instead of the U.S. The problem is the chess board isn’t ours. It’s Iraq’s, and what happens when they get sick of being used as a front and the people snap? Not an absolute impossibility I think. A lot of people are waiting for the city to spontaneously combust, and sometimes you feel that underneath this huge city, something is waiting to explode.
Despite all of this, mindlessness still rolled along in the TOC.
“Hey, who’s that hot blond chick you got in your unit?” Sergeant Newsome asked one of our Psyops[3] sergeants as he walked in. “I want to hook her up with one of my soldiers as a reward,” he said, hinting he meant me. I got pissed off, because I don’t even like jokes like that because I’m not like that and I love you. So I blew him off.
‘You must be talking to someone else,’ I said. So he continued, but shifted his reward recipient prospects to Carter, our new guy.
“OH yes! But she’s married,” said the Psyops sergeant, “but you can try – you never know! Her husband is in Iraq. I think they’ve been together 4 years.”
‘God! Just shut up! Can’t you have a normal conversation?’ I thought. It seems like this is all the guys talk about – sex, cheating, and sex. Sergeant Choy talks more about his ex-wife than he does his present one. CPT Pervert is always talking extremely perverted in every situation to the point of betraying a mental problem.
“Yeah, she’s a real flirt! She spilled some sauce on her gym shirt and took it off to show her sports bra – it was sweet,” said Newsome.
“I’ll warn you though before you try,” the Psyops guy said, then in a hushed voice, “she’s bi-polar!”
I tapped my pen on the desk and listened to it tick, like a clock.
“Tick, tick,” soon I’ll be gone and far away from these people. I really don’t belong here. I’ve got idiots at one side, and a bleeding country on the other. I wonder if we are intelligent enough to win this war. So many times I look at a brain damaged soldier gazing half retarded at the ground with glass-looking eyes – raised on video games and marijuana. Almost everyone. Here is our “finest,” better our rejects, enforcing our “fine” strategies across the globe. I do respect some of these soldiers though. I’ll go more into that later.
Nora, I love you! We are going to make a better life – I know it. You are with me tonight. I love you endlessly!

[1] I sometimes pondered the legitimacy of assassinations and kidnappings as a weapon in Iraq.
[2] In fact, the weapons would not have destroyed the monument.
[3] Psychological operations

One of the First Sadr City Incidents, Stress Explosion, A Discussion About Morals and Islam

11 OCT 03

I woke this morning, along with everyone else in the room, at about 0530. As every person got up and wiped their eyes and muttered either “Goddamnit” or “FUCK!” I looked out the window.
‘Wow. Everyone is miserable – completely miserable,’ I thought. It was amazing that such words of discontent were muttered genuinely – and the first words to come out of everyone’s mouths. The first. I thought, ‘God, I am miserable, absolutely miserable.’ It is true though. Everyone else is miserable too. It seems our leaders (mostly NCOs) are getting more and more absurd. Sometimes you think, and you feel the misery, like molten lead going through your veins and stirring inside. Pure stress. It’ll be so amazing to be home. You’re just miserable here. You don’t have family or real friends – it’s not just me – but everyone. After the first 4 months you grow tired of those around you and long for the things that you love – because the persons you had a high tolerance for begin to run out of novelty or personality. Also, everyone is getting tired-looking and simply exhausted. It’s all about who you work for – and the people we work for are so abstract in their thinking and impulsive that it drives you insane. Now that we have SGM Walker, everyone is scared. Scared to appear weak, or to appear to be uninformed. It’s a real fear. So the NCOs are scared for their careers, and seem to believe that pushing us around will compensate for all the face they’ve lost. SGM Walker is good in a way though, because he chews everyone’s ass – NCO or otherwise. So there’s no favoritism. He is difficult though too because NCOs are so frightened. It’s stupid.
Anyways, I was up tonight talking to Tariq and a Kurd at the internet room next to my office. We were sitting around relaxed and eating dried pumpkin seeds (you crack them in between your two front teeth and bottom two front teeth) and all of a sudden some LTs and platoon sergeants ran in excitedly and told some of their soldiers to get ready to move out. The time was about 2100 or so.
1LT Kenny ran in, “Hey! Get your shit on and let’s go! He was getting his crew off the internet computers with only mild success. “I SAID NOW!” In response to his sternness and sense of urgency, his soldiers got up slowly. “He’ll pay you later!” he said to the Kurd who was working as cashier that night.
“What’s going on?” Tariq asked.
‘I don’t know. They looked excited though.’
“Maybe something is wrong?” he asked.
I went over to the command center – and sure enough, we were on high alert, also called THREATCON Delta. Our regiment was under attack in Sadr City – formerly Saddam City. It was a heavy attack. I walked over to Nixon and looked at our log. The command center was bustling and I saw some of our key leaders in the room, so I knew something was going on.
‘What happened?’ I asked.
“A patrol was in Sadr City and there were reports of road blocks being set up by the people, some armed,” Nixon said. He continued, “THEN, some Hummers got ambushed with IEDs, RPGs and small arms (AK-47).” Then he said something chilling, something I hoped would never happen. “There are 300 reported armed people and the mosques are telling people to arm themselves and protect themselves from American aggression.”
I couldn’t believe it, especially in Sadr City – because we “freed” these Shiite people. They used to be oppressed by Saddam, now they are attacking us? I remember in Germany, pondering this, a power grab by the majority Shia – who also happen to be very religious and perhaps ignorant. It seems a lot of what I thought would happen is slowly coming true. Sadr City going bad is a horrible thing, because they are our friends.
“Several wounded, two confirmed dead,” was the count given to the BBC the next morning. No news people even reported the ambush that night , even though it was a major event for us. Our soldiers were attacked and killed – duped. In an area “liberated” by Americans. Freedom has enabled them to preach lies and (the clerics) use religion as a tool to collect political power. A stab in the back. This all started when a mullah or cleric’s guard was arrested outside of his mosque for wielding an AK-47 (which is illegal without a permit). They went on to promote violence against Americans. He was arrested, and now things are becoming aggravated between us and them. The Sadr City attack is dangerous though, it offers a glimpse into what could happen across this country if cards are not played wisely. But should they be allowed to preach anti-U.S. messages? What is the solution? Of course, if we were doing so well here, it would be difficult to demonize us.
I came back to Tariq and the Kurd and gave them a de-classified version of what happened. Tariq said,
“Saddam, Osama Bin Laden, King Hussein,” he said as the Kurd looked on with great interest, “are all no good.” We talked about Arafat too. They don’t like Arafat either, it seems. But they don’t like the Israelis either.
‘Yeah, Osama is crazy,’ I said.
BUT, they said: “Not crazy, they think they work for God. There is a real reason – not just crazy.” I thought that was interesting.
We talked about Islam, because the Kurd asked, “What religion are you?”
“Catholic,” Tariq answered for me. The Kurd looked surprised and said,
“You want to be a Muslim?”
‘No,’ I responded carefully, but honestly, ‘I don’t.’
“If you are Muslim, you can take 4 wives, Allah says you can have 4, it’s good,” said the Kurd (an Iraqi version of Noel Gallagher of Oasis). He laughed. Tariq rolled his eyes in an amused way, propping his lanky frame against the wall.
“You have a wife?” the Kurd asked.
‘No, but soon. My girlfriend and I are together for 3 years,’ I said.
“You have more girlfriends?” he asked.
‘One, only one girlfriend,’ I responded seriously.
“You have only one? You don’t want more?” he said with a grin.
‘No, no. One is all I’ve had and all I want. She’s my best friend. I don’t care about having women. I have her, my one love.’
He looked a bit surprised and gave a huff as if to say, “OK, no exciting controversy here!” Tariq is the same way though as me.
‘How can you love more than one woman?’ I asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t agree with it, it’s stupid,” Tariq said. I still can’t believe this about the Middle East. They were saying some men have over 30 kids. And I see all these little kids running around dirty and hungry.
‘How do they provide for their kids?’ I asked.
“Allah!” the Kurd said laughing. Then getting a bit more serious, as if he understood how that could be confusing. He got a look that said, “No, I’m serious, it’s crazy, but true!” Allah takes care of everything. I believe that to an extent, but I also believe it takes some initiative too though. No wonder Shia are the majority.
The night was so eerie outside of all this conversation. Both Tariq and the Kurd seemed very moderate for Arabs. Perhaps most Iraqis are like this. You get the feeling they are more mainstream than even Kuwaitis in their outlook on life. You get the feeling this is because the religious folks have been kept at bay.
As for Islam, I can’t accept a religion that offers sexual rewards for belief in God. God is something more to me than a man patting me on the back for being good and saying, “Here’s four women you can have with a clear conscience!” Sounds like a man wrote that one. What about the woman, can she take 4 men? Man as animal, or man as human being? Hmmm. More on this later.
Nora, I love you so dearly! I talk about you all the time with my Iraqi friends. Tariq is Muslim, but he and I share more in common than most of the people I work with. We share a lot of values. Nora, I miss you so much. I LOVE YOU!!! Your love is everything good in my life. I’m serious. I would die without you, I really think that. It’s going to be so good to get home to you and start our life the way we want it. We’ll do great! I LOVE YOU in the deepest part of my heart.

Iraqi Child Selling Porno CD; Explains How Friend's Father Was Killed in the War

October 8, 2003

It’s another day. 1530, and I’m about to go on shift. I just talked to you on the phone. It’s so great to hear your voice! Really! Today I lay in bed and listened to “Leaving on a Jet Plane” and looked over at your pictures next to my bed. I began to cry – seriously. No matter how strong – it happens. I love you so much.
Well, I was going to call on the free phone, but some higher enlisted sergeants showed up and “hustled” their way in front of the line – that whole black brotherhood thing still shining through. It happens in lines when you’re in the Army, so you’re used to it and let it slide.
Nothing much happened so far today. Yesterday I was on a guard tower (we all have to do that at some point – regardless of our duty position). There was a lot of gunfire, and it got closer and increased in volume as night fell.
From the tower, I was joking with the kids below. One boy, called “Donkey Boy” showed up trying to sell porno CDs, but I told him I was going to arrest him unless he put it away. I asked how much for a donkey. He thought I was serious and said, “Two, zero, zero!” $200. Then he said, “You want donkey? I bring you donkey!” So he ran off and brought back a real donkey. I had to explain to him that I didn’t want the donkey, and it was only a joke. “No good mista!” he said. Then we both laughed.
I’ve got a cold now, and a pretty good fever. So does Peterson. We both woke up with it two days ago. No sick days here! You go to work no matter what. This morning Sergeant Rush got all the guards together for a meeting. He was late to his own meeting, and then lectured us on how to load and clear our rifles. Then, how to use our night goggles. That is so simple, it needs no explaining – so we all stood around looking at each other as if to say, “Hurry up Rush, you’re wasting our time.” Then a girl came out to wash her hair, probably 16 years old, and he reached for the binoculars trying to hide what he appeared to be doing against his own will.
“And the bino’s work, but be careful with them, and – um, hello there!” He kept his bino’s on the girl and you could see his eyes go up and down – he was in a momentary trance – taken in by the sight of this poor, but feminine creature. I dropped my head and kicked a pebble with my foot, and continued to stare at the ground.
‘Any day now Rush, pop out of your boyish trance,’ I thought to myself. The whole point of these meetings was to instill professionalism, and here is Rush showing no self control.
2100 – I am going to bed, but I’m going to wake up early so I can talk to you. The line for the free phone is ridiculous right now, and that will only lead to arguing. I got your letter too! I love you so much! Your encouragement about writing really matters to me! Who knows, maybe this book will be on a shelf!
Well on my last shift tonight, a wedding began just across the fence. People were playing drums and singing and dancing. The bride only looked about 15 at the most. It was neat how all the villagers came to the sound of the drums, but the girl’s age made me a bit sad. The girls were dressed so nice, but I knew that contrasted with her future of living in trash, having 7 kids in 7 years, and doing manual labor while her husband looks on. Sometimes it seems like the men lack all initiative. One little girl came to the fence to wave to me. Her dad was a soldier, and killed in the war. Little DeJaJa (chicken), my Iraqi friend explained:
“Father, ba ba ba bew! America – AHHH!” he motioned he got hit by airplane gunfire from above, grabbed his stomach, then played dead. He was explaining how this girl’s father died. But, they love us anyways. Strange.
“Saddam Donkey!” he said.
‘Yes, Saddam Donkey,’ I replied.
“Yes! Good Mister!” he smiled.
As I sat on the tower, there was some more gunfire close by. It’s so routine. I love you Nora, so much!

Dusting Furniture After Getting Attacked, Nonsense and Office Politics When We Need it the Least

4 OCT 03

Today was a strange day. I don’t know why exactly, but it was. I went with Sergeant Siegel outside of Baghdad to the east and to the desert. I was driving. The landscape while driving out there this morning was surreal. I saw a lot of farms and many homes. They were all nice. Some of the land even looked like it was from South Carolina, except when we got to the desert part.
Out in the desert, they’ve constructed a firing range and it looks pretty permanent. It’s just a flat wasteland, and numerous wooden houses that we’ve built (the Army). When we returned, we passed so many dirty little children – all of them waving and smiling. I reached under my seat and grabbed an MRE to throw to one along the way. ‘Hmm,’ I thought, ‘this is jambalaya. It has pork in it, I wonder if I should throw it? Well, I’ll do it anyways, it’s all I have.’ So I threw it as I passed two skinny boys. I had to toss it so Sergeant Siegel wouldn’t see. He wouldn’t want me to give them anything.
As we got closer to Baghdad, we saw some kids coming back from school. They were so cute in their uniforms, and all excited to see us. ‘That’s why I’m here,’ I thought. They were carrying their new books and brand-new notebooks, probably given to them from the U.S. or from outside.
We got back to camp and everyone was on edge because the brigade sergeant major was coming to our office. They get so stressed out over it. SGM Walker was yelling at everyone. Actually, everyone is terrified of him. I just do what he tells me. He had Sweeny go around with his rifle tied by a rope to his wrist – like a pet or something. Sweeny left his rifle on top of his Hummer last week, and as he and sergeant major left regimental HQ, the rifle fell off the top of the Hummer and the sling got stuck on the end of the barrel of one of a passenger’s rifle pointed outwards. So, Sweeny’s rifle was hanging, but saved from falling onto the rushing pavement below. Thus, his rifle must be attached to his body in some way.
Anyways, the TOC was nervous. I went around gathering trash from the floor – little bits – just to stay busy. I placed them in my right hand (little bits of plastic and paper). Right then, the brigade sergeant major walked through the door and there I was. He grabbed me and shook me. I thought it was funny, like a kid being jostled around by his grandpa. It happened so fast.
“You hard at work? OR workin’ hard at nothin’, corporal?” he laughed. He went to shake my hand, but it was full of trash! So I tried to rest it on my arm (the trash). It must have looked funny, he gave me an amused look and went on to greet the others. My greeting was so informal and loud. I found all the stress and fear in the TOC to be laughable. Then, I left the command center.
I went to call my mom on the satellite phone, as I hadn’t heard anything from her since the hurricane. My dad, a veteran, answered and I told him about the grenade attack. He seemed a bit confused. Again, he and my mother are so supportive of the military – but he never got shot at in 18 years of service. No wonder they love the military. Then I told my mom, and she didn’t seem to realize how serious it was. She went straight to talking about her trip to Cleveland to drop off Kaylie with Nicol and her husband. So, I lost interest in talking to her, and she was using a cold tone of voice, so my 10 minute limit was a welcomed restriction. You and I got to talk for an hour or so! That was good! I feel so melancholy though. It’s just today though. Conroy and I talked some more about the grenade attack today. It seems only us that were there can relate about how serious the attack was. Everyone has heard about it, they even are amazed we were in the attack. They called our retreat to CPA “The Mogadishu Mile” after the movie, “Blackhawk Down.” It was no joke. It’s still on my mind, the explosion and the emotions – keeps flashing in my memory. I heard some gunshots today from a firing range, and it made me nervous. I just wanted it to stop. It seemed so senseless. It got on my nerves. I also feel a bit different since the explosion. There’s a frankness I feel inside. I don’t know. It will all pass. It’s difficult to relate the experience to anyone though.
Yesterday, when we returned from the CPA HQs, Sergeant Newsome came up to me and had the nerve to ask why I didn’t pick up breakfast for the TOC that morning. No one ever told me to pick up chow, and I haven’t done that in 150 days! These sergeants are so idiotic.
‘I don’t give a shit about your fucking breakfast! You got it?! I got a grenade thrown at me, so you keep your chicken shit to yourself. You get a schedule made up for breakfast pick up if it’s so important,’ I said to him. I can’t believe these people. Even when we got attacked, I had to control the situation along with my two captains – while Sergeant Albert ran around scared and confused, then later unable to keep up with our retreat across the Tigris River because he’s so overweight. Then, they needed help cleaning glass shelves only hours later for today’s visit. SPC Baker and I were laughing to ourselves over how absurd it was we were cleaning glass shelves in a combat zone, and only a few hours after almost being killed.
“I wonder if we’ll get a medal for cleaning this shelf? Haha!” we laughed.
Then, Sergeant Rush came up. “Did you finish those things I asked you for?” I was gone all day. See, Sergeant Rush likes to give me his work to do for him, as if I work for him. Like laminating and cheese work. So I did one book for him just to be nice and copied some other things.
‘No,’ I said calmly, ‘I didn’t finish it.’ I gave him a look that said, ‘Go to hell.’ He walked away, resigned to the fact that he would have to do the project himself. He’s one of those, “I’m so busy doing nothing” people. Then I looked around and noticed I was surrounded by scared men, men not scared or even touched by combat – but rather scared of looking bad for not having something small and insignificant done in an office. Men who hardly ever leave the building. I noticed too my hair is starting to fall out again. It stopped falling out for some time. I think it’s because of stress. We had such a good time before I came here, and it didn’t fall out! No joke! Ah Nora, I love you – I miss you so much.
Today, Major Ramirez said, “Get you some eaters and shitters,” (people who are just sitting around) to help me out carrying some things to another room. He spoke to me like I was stupid. When I came back upstairs, I saw him and Major Stanton playing chess in his office while he puffed on a cigar. He was trying his hardest to play the part of a playboy. I saw him move a chess piece, and thought,
‘You love playing that chess game with your subjects – but if you were such a genius in strategy, you wouldn’t have led us into an easy ambush situation yesterday.’ I remember clearly in my head images of him looking terrified, and then rambling like a lunatic about his 5 year old son wanting to be a soldier one day, and he punching me in the arm after we got to CPA to let me know he was proud of us. This was the same man who almost got us killed, and his cavalier attitude got us in a royal mess. Over the past week he’s talked about getting in the pants of the chemical officer girl at regimental headquarters (that’s why we sit outside even longer after meetings now – so he can flirt). He’s a homeboy in gentleman’s clothing. He said something very telling though. He said,
“The art of life is the art of hustling.” I was so deeply moved by his philosophy. It’s time to move on from the Army. It’s getting worse – even in the officer corps. It’s really important to have good leaders – exceptional people, people that draw you towards them. These people just repulse me. I need a good profession to seek. I would love that. I’ve been thinking more and more about teaching.
Lee just came in and told me there was a bombing near brigade. The MPs took some casualties. Absolutely horrible. I heard some .50 cal machine gun fire a little while ago too out of my window. Now we’ve got windows in our rooms (our barracks have been renovated), so I don’t hear as much gunfire. Spatzi, I love you! I miss you! I need you so much. I keep thinking about homecoming and getting back to normal again. You are my happiness – and I want to be successful for you Spatzi, build a home for you. I love you –completely. I cannot wait to hold you again. I thank God for your love, and all I’m learning.

I Finally Get Hit With a Grenade in Downtown Baghdad in a Tunnel

October 3, 2003

Today was a day I will never forget all of my life. It was the day I hoped would never come. I was in a five vehicle convoy with our operations major, Major Ramirez and CPT Russo (officer in charge of the Ministry of Oil). We were going to Saddam’s Palace for a meeting at CPA (Bremer’s office) about transferring authority for Ministry of Oil security to the Iraqis. We missed our meeting.
We were in the heart of Baghdad in dense traffic trying to get to CPA.[1] We approached an overpass and got out of our vehicles to hold up traffic until traffic in the tunnel passed and we could get through without getting stuck in the tunnel. The method used is to hold up traffic, let it push through the tunnel until clear – then we gun our engines and rush in and out of the tunnel. The point is to avoid bombs in the tunnel or falling grenades. Well today, Major Ramirez (more about him later) decided he wanted to check the entrance of the tunnel for bombs – ON FOOT! We ended up boxing ourselves in, being looked down on from above. I remember walking alongside my truck (a Hummer) going towards the tunnel. Two busses were behind me, and I was signaling them to come forward – that they didn’t need to keep so far back. They wouldn’t move though. Just a few minutes before they were close on my bumper – but all of a sudden they stopped. I waved in a friendly way to them – but they just starred back at me with an indifferent look on their faces (the passengers too). It makes you frustrated. You try so hard sometimes to be nice to these people, and some just give you a dumb look or pout. Anyways, I guess someone ran down and told them (people were all over) an attack was about to happen, or someone on the bridge signaled them. I turned around and saw fist sized rocks being thrown from above on the overpass down on CPT Russo. I automatically got behind my truck’s rear right corner, got on one knee, put my rifle on fire (for the first time ever in my time in the Army other than on the firing range), and aimed at the area where the rocks were coming from. I couldn’t believe they were throwing rocks at us! I felt betrayed – but stayed calm and kept my sights on the crowd. Then, I heard what sounded like a glass bottle break right to my left over my truck. I can’t fully explain what happened next, but just thinking about it makes me want to vomit. So I know I am suppressing some trauma deep inside. Now, hours later, I feel somewhat normal – but all the time, it was true horror for a few moments. I went to the other side of the trucks to see what was going on, when a huge blast exploded only a few feet away – right before my eyes. The POP I remember so well, the grey dust, the ringing, the echo of the pop and explosion as it went in the tunnel, the debris, and the eerie silence. In reality – it was not quiet – but all I remember following that was silence and shock, ‘Please, no second explosion! Get in the tunnel – BUT what about a bomb in the tunnel? Leaving the tunnel? No, we stay there, inside until we can call for air cover, then leave.’ (This was all happening lighting fast.) Then I looked along the wall for bombs (I thought the blast was from a roadside bomb). You felt evil descending on you like a killer ghost – as if you entered its arena, as if a phantom was dancing about you. I felt angry, I felt boxed in, I felt violated, I felt fear, death – in such a genuine and pure form one can only know from such an experience – to be the one hunted. All these thoughts and emotions happened within about 10 seconds. I knew someone was trying to kill us – I just didn’t know how elaborate their plan was. Their motivation, the drive, the hate was around me like a ghost – like Satan – like a spirit, yet the person was unseen.
‘How many casualties?!’ I yelled.
“One man down – not severe!” CPT Russo yelled as he came towards me while picking up an M16 off the pavement (one of our guys was hit in the hand by the grenade shrapnel and dropped his rifle). By now the adrenaline was rushing. There was the sound of silence – like a fog with soldiers’ yelling voices reaching through.
‘Silence – keep the silence, hold it – hold fire – silence,’ I thought. I was about to fire warning shots at the concrete wall near the rock throwers so they would run away – but gunshots would have created chaos. Silence was the key. I looked back and saw the Iraqi busses, and the people inside were crouching down – I remember seeing the driver trying to hide on his side, and the women in veils with horrified expressions fumbling around for cover. After 10 seconds, my mind was clear, and I controlled my thoughts and went on the offense. I felt duped, suckered. Sergeant Albert ran back towards me looking confused.
‘Sergeant Albert, your sector of fire is from there to there!’ I yelled at him and gestured to a section of area I needed him to scan. I placed myself so my back was at the Hummer’s bumper. ‘My sector is from here left – scan your sector!’ I yelled and took a knee again and pointed my sights at anyone who looked over the wall at us – that was enough to frighten away onlookers and identify attackers. CPT Russo ran up to me, ‘Sir! I’ve got two sectors established, we’re secure!’
“Got it T! You ready to start moving?! We’re going to cover the rear! We’ve got to go on foot!”
‘Roger, Sir! I got it!’
“GET A GRID! Send a grid up to X-Ray!” someone was yelling saying to get a grid to our command center.
“WE’RE MOVING! MOVE, MOVE! MOUNT UP!” We jumped back into our hummer and drove through the tunnel and exited on the opposite side, then had to jump off the truck again because one of the four trucks in our convoy was hit by the grenade – blowing the tire and rupturing a transmission oil line – so we had to push the damaged truck back (drive it slowly). Several of us walking, running, sprinting, in over 40 pounds of equipment, in the middle of Baghdad in the afternoon heat. I had the strength to sprint and keep going.
“GET BACK, STAY BACK!” one soldier was screaming trying to keep curious Iraqis away, some were laughing, but I kept my rifle aimed at anyone who came onto the street until they retreated. My sunglasses were off, and I was fair, but did not hesitate to point that rifle. I communicated with my facial expressions with the people though, and they seemed to understand. I wasn’t even mad at the Iraqis, not at all. I was walking backwards through this huge traffic circle downtown FULL of people – and you felt like a sitting duck. A man with his family inside his car was driving along side me at my speed walking backwards. He asked me, “BOMB?” He looked scared. I needed to keep my eyes scanning, so I looked over and gave him and his family a concerned smile,
‘Yes, a bomb.’
“Sir! I’m so sorry! We love you! We love Americans, we want you here! So bad, these people. These people are not Iraq! They are crazy! They drink! Thank you mister! Thank you!” I accepted this and nodded to him to say I understood and appreciated that. We continued to run down the street then.
“GO! GO! GO! Cover left! Watch the back!” you heard.
CPT Smalls was going between CPT Russo and me helping security – staying pretty collected. We were going to have to go another kilometer on foot, across the Tigris River on the very bridge I saw tanks on on CNN during the war. It was surreal. We started crossing the river bridge on foot – keeping traffic blocked. CPT Russo, SGT Albert and I started bounding to the rear. One would face backwards, then say “GO!” and I would turn to replace him and face backwards so he could run forward. I was sweating so much, my eyes were burning, the heat was intense. I noticed on the bridge a man walking towards me who looked like Ayatollah Khomeini, a cleric of some sort. In the midst of all this craziness, I wanted to leave a good impression on him – especially when we were most stressed or under attack. I lowered my weapon, ‘Al-Salam’ and placed my right hand over my heart. His cold, condemning face immediately disappeared through a curious, but grateful smile. Respect is so important, so undervalued, overlooked.
We finally made it to the CPA HQs entrance, exhausted – but relieved to see the U.S. soldiers at the gate. They heard the grenade explode from 1.2 kilometers away.
“Was that you who got attacked?” one private asked.
I entered the gate walking backwards so CPT Smalls and CPT Russo could run inside the camp gate. I walked in, and everyone just looked at us like we were walking dead men.

Later that night, after the attack, Conroy came in to tell me something he overheard. He heard Sweeny on the morale phone telling someone that he was in a grenade attack, and barely escaped alive. This was an absolute lie. He was never there, was never close to it. I learned to distrust Sweeny, and despise his lack of character.

[1] Coalition Provisional Authority headquartered at the Green Zone

"Who Are You? The Fucking Pope?" Baghdad Bishop Gets VIP Treatment by U.S. Soldiers

October 2, 2003

It seems my package has been lost – everything. I have been sick to my stomach for over a month over this package and all the love I put into it. Having mail lost or stolen has to be one of the worst things to happen to a soldier (other than the obvious discomforts and dangers). I am determined to re-create my journal though, and since I read and reread it over and over again – it shouldn’t be too difficult. So I am going to work towards recovering my efforts before my memory fades. I learned some important lessons though. Don’t mail anything important, and don’t get too depressed – work to recover. I need you Nora, and I’ll recover our journal.

“Who the fuck are you, the pope?” I heard a soldier say directly to a bishop today in Baghdad. The bishop arrived at a District Advisory Council ceremony in full dress. When he stepped out of his car so that he could be searched, the soldier guarding the gate at this high level function spoke the nonsense that I quoted above directly to him. The bishop (I believe he was a bishop – he had a scarlet skull cap) responded in English to the soldier,
“I do not think this joke is funny.” The guard dismissed this with a laugh – but suddenly stopped paying the bishop any attention. I was on the verge of telling the guard to get his act together and cut out his disrespect. It’s no use though.
I was with the brass today at the District Advisory Council. It was actually the grand opening of the community center. Paul Bremer showed up too – with his convoy of GMC trucks driving wildly, screeching around corners – each SUV crammed full of kaki-clad bodyguards. There were also 2 armored trucks (Army Hummers tagged along). Several other VIPs showed up, along with Iraqi community leaders. 2 helicopters also flew in. I went into the compound and immediately noticed the high security (American snipers in civilian clothes on the roof and surrounding ground areas). I looked past the catering tents to hear some Iraqi children singing and wearing colorful costumes. The setting was like an outdoor elementary school fair in the middle of a maximum security prison courtyard. It’s a start though, and the security is needed. Just to illustrate the point, gunfire was going off very close to my position, and several bursts rang out very close. I just looked around and made sure I wasn’t being shot at. You get used to the gunfire.
At the end of the meeting, we loaded up in our trucks and left for our camp. I’ve decided to wear my sunglasses less so I can make eye contact with the people. So far – the response has been good. Before, they seemed nervous around us when we wore glasses. I heard a colonel on NBC saying he doesn’t wear sunglasses for the same reason. Something small like that makes a big difference! Nora – I love you! I am going to bed for a few hours now – then I’m going to wake up and call you. I LOVE YOU SPATZI!