We left Iraq yesterday at 2016hrs local time. We are heading home.
These are the long days. The long days of waiting for our turn to fly to the United States. These are the days that test our patience and challenge us to fill our hours with whatever we can.
We left our base just after sunrise on Wednesday. I took a last look around the compound and made sure that I was the last one to get on the trucks that would take us to the airport. Most of the base hadn't woken yet and slipped out with no fanfare or notice whatsoever.
Looking at Iraq for the last time in a long time - maybe, probably, forever - I had no desire to absorb any more in and fell asleep in the seat. I was awoken to a machine gunner in the turret with an anger management issue because he was yelling at all of the traffic. Really? On the last day? I guess there are still some who didn't get the message that Iraqis are now in charge and can drive along side of us. Sigh.
We unloaded at BIAP and stacked all of the gear in one place upon learning that our flight wasn't for another thirty-six hours. I hate waiting but this was one reservation that I could not rush or "push to the left."
There isn't much to do when you have limited ability to do anything. I worked out. One hour there. I logged on in the internet cafe, another hour there. I took a nap for forty minutes and ate. And there was still a whole day to go!
Of course, we did leave. A cheer went up throughout the plane as the wheels left the runway. And we did arrive in Kuwait. We arrived for more waiting (where I am waiting now). I finally go the opportunity to call Lisa and let her know that I was okay. So far I have repeated everything I did in BIAP with the exception of finding a washer and dryer for my dirty clothes. And there is stil a whole day to go!
I discovered that some of my Soldiers could apply for a position of mattress tester or professional sleeper because given the opportunity they can rack out for hours. I am not so lucky and stare at the bottom of the bunk above me. I remind myself that these long days are just the required steps to get home and that the trick is to set the example.
Of course, all is well. I have been reunited with my brother in arms and there is a family reunion atmosphere in the air as people are connecting in person for the first time since October.
We still need to go through Customs and of course there is the twelve hour flight to the United States, but the fact is that we are on our way.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
Last Thoughts
The pictures are packed and mailed home. The room is empty of the television and DVD player; both sold to my replacement. My bags are packed. Tonight we held the official transfer of authority to our replacements. It’s time to go home.
I go home as I did in 2005; with hope that all of this isn’t for nothing. All of this: a year away from my family, a year away from our lives, the loss of over 4,300 servicemen and women, the death and destruction of Iraqi lives. All of that shouldn’t be for nothing.
I am both enamored and annoyed with Iraq. The people of this country want to succeed and for that I am excited for them. They want to have stability and security and the prosperity that comes from having the second largest oil reserves under the ground. They want peace within their borders and respect from their neighbors.
However, greed and anxiety that those in power won’t “get theirs” leaves a nation in the lurch as the powerful grab what they can with no eye on the future except their own. It is the shame of Iraq. Laws go unwritten. Corruption is still a daily part of doing business. Budgets are still not dispersed. All of this to the detriment of the people.
It’s frustrating that they can’t get out of their own way.
Iraq is certainly a lot farther along than it was four years ago which gives me a reason to believe in Iraq. Iraq is not dead, nor will it ever die, but its old Soviet style governmental structure needs to.
No one can predict the future. Last November a man ran an agenda of “hope and change”. I have hope for Iraq that is can change into something new and different from the last forty years. In forty years I’d like my children to come to Iraq and be welcomed as guests. I would like to think that they’d be welcomed when it was learned that their father was here and that his contribution meant something. Maybe they’ll visit the Babylon Ruins and stand where dad (or granddad) did and stand in front of the lion statue.
“This is the same place my dad stood back in 2009!”
“Aww, mom, can I get a soda now?”
I hope it's something like that.
I go home as I did in 2005; with hope that all of this isn’t for nothing. All of this: a year away from my family, a year away from our lives, the loss of over 4,300 servicemen and women, the death and destruction of Iraqi lives. All of that shouldn’t be for nothing.
I am both enamored and annoyed with Iraq. The people of this country want to succeed and for that I am excited for them. They want to have stability and security and the prosperity that comes from having the second largest oil reserves under the ground. They want peace within their borders and respect from their neighbors.
However, greed and anxiety that those in power won’t “get theirs” leaves a nation in the lurch as the powerful grab what they can with no eye on the future except their own. It is the shame of Iraq. Laws go unwritten. Corruption is still a daily part of doing business. Budgets are still not dispersed. All of this to the detriment of the people.
It’s frustrating that they can’t get out of their own way.
Iraq is certainly a lot farther along than it was four years ago which gives me a reason to believe in Iraq. Iraq is not dead, nor will it ever die, but its old Soviet style governmental structure needs to.
No one can predict the future. Last November a man ran an agenda of “hope and change”. I have hope for Iraq that is can change into something new and different from the last forty years. In forty years I’d like my children to come to Iraq and be welcomed as guests. I would like to think that they’d be welcomed when it was learned that their father was here and that his contribution meant something. Maybe they’ll visit the Babylon Ruins and stand where dad (or granddad) did and stand in front of the lion statue.
“This is the same place my dad stood back in 2009!”
“Aww, mom, can I get a soda now?”
I hope it's something like that.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
What Becomes of the Tokens to the Dead?
The war in Iraq is slowly coming to an end. In a year it’s projected that the last combat troops will leave Iraq and that a year after that, so too will go the advisory units to the GoI (Government of Iraq) and the Iraqi Army. In their wake we will leave behind the memories of 4331+ Soldiers, Sailors, Marines, and Airmen who made the ultimate sacrifice. We will also leave behind thousands of plaques, portraits, and memorials in their honor.
What happens to those items?
What becomes of the sun bleached photos of Civil Affairs Soldiers who died four years ago conducting operations out of FOB Kalsu? There photos are arrayed on the wall outside our day room. Their stories are now lost to anyone on the FOB; 2005 was a long time ago and I can only guess in what context these men died. Since we are the last CA unit to occupy this compound who is the caretaker to these items? What happens to the photo memorial of one of the youngest West Point graduates (and a high profile death) when the base medical clinic closes its doors? How do you decide to throw it away? Isn’t there something sacred and reserved about each and every memorial?
I thought to take down what I could – all the portraits in our compound – and find the families of these Soldiers and send it to them. Is that right? Does a family want to receive another (painful) reminder to a terrible event that they have spent years trying to recover from? Then if not the family, does the military have an obligation to maintain or store these items?
Leaving it for the Iraqis is out of the question; I do not expect them to respect our dead in any manner. In fact I expect the opposite.
I think about the Vietnam Memorial and all of the items left there. They are cataloged, stored, and kept as if they were as hallowed as the names on the wall. I imagine we could to the same here; take it all down, give a ten digit military grid location where it was taken from, protect it, pack it and ship it home. Then what? Maybe one day we could display it on The Mall in D.C. in “our” own unique memorial.
We remember the uniformed men and women we never met and only see staring back at us in a still photo. Whatever the outcome, we remember the dead.
What happens to those items?
What becomes of the sun bleached photos of Civil Affairs Soldiers who died four years ago conducting operations out of FOB Kalsu? There photos are arrayed on the wall outside our day room. Their stories are now lost to anyone on the FOB; 2005 was a long time ago and I can only guess in what context these men died. Since we are the last CA unit to occupy this compound who is the caretaker to these items? What happens to the photo memorial of one of the youngest West Point graduates (and a high profile death) when the base medical clinic closes its doors? How do you decide to throw it away? Isn’t there something sacred and reserved about each and every memorial?I thought to take down what I could – all the portraits in our compound – and find the families of these Soldiers and send it to them. Is that right? Does a family want to receive another (painful) reminder to a terrible event that they have spent years trying to recover from? Then if not the family, does the military have an obligation to maintain or store these items?
Leaving it for the Iraqis is out of the question; I do not expect them to respect our dead in any manner. In fact I expect the opposite.
I think about the Vietnam Memorial and all of the items left there. They are cataloged, stored, and kept as if they were as hallowed as the names on the wall. I imagine we could to the same here; take it all down, give a ten digit military grid location where it was taken from, protect it, pack it and ship it home. Then what? Maybe one day we could display it on The Mall in D.C. in “our” own unique memorial.
We remember the uniformed men and women we never met and only see staring back at us in a still photo. Whatever the outcome, we remember the dead.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Unplugged
Unplugged; as in unplugged from the Matrix. I completed my last unofficial duty the other day by holding a conference on the regional governance and economic issues that confront the military and Department of State reconstruction teams. It was a great vehicle to bring the new guys into the current state of the issues in Iraq and hand off the reins to them for their tour. At the end I thanked my team and everyone for coming to the sound of applause.
And then there was nothing.
My relevance diminished along with my purpose and place on the team as someone else became the “belly button” to press for questions regarding civil military operations. Actually, my relevance is acting as the resource for my replacement to go to for questions. Everything else is fluff.
There are a few more formalities; sign over equipment, conduct a short transfer of authority ceremony, one or two final meetings (as an observer) but, for the most part, I am done. The big machine of the war/reconstruction/withdrawal of Iraq is continuing without me.
It’s an odd feeling made odder still by the fact that I still have over a week to go here. If I’m not needed then why stay around? Of course I know the answer is that I need to remain available for my replacement and, oh-by-the-way, our flight is a fixed date that can’t be moved.
Staying unplugged won’t last forever; soon we’ll all be back on US soil and I will plug back in to the Matrix to get all of my folks through demobilization and home to people who love them.
Until then, I’m okay.
And then there was nothing.
My relevance diminished along with my purpose and place on the team as someone else became the “belly button” to press for questions regarding civil military operations. Actually, my relevance is acting as the resource for my replacement to go to for questions. Everything else is fluff.
There are a few more formalities; sign over equipment, conduct a short transfer of authority ceremony, one or two final meetings (as an observer) but, for the most part, I am done. The big machine of the war/reconstruction/withdrawal of Iraq is continuing without me.
It’s an odd feeling made odder still by the fact that I still have over a week to go here. If I’m not needed then why stay around? Of course I know the answer is that I need to remain available for my replacement and, oh-by-the-way, our flight is a fixed date that can’t be moved.
Staying unplugged won’t last forever; soon we’ll all be back on US soil and I will plug back in to the Matrix to get all of my folks through demobilization and home to people who love them.
Until then, I’m okay.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Rock Star
Lisa,
I cannot begin to imagine what the last twelve months were like with me away. This year has tested you beyond what you ever expected. I never realized, and never will, the weight that you had to carry nor the sacrifices you made for this family when I left last August.
Being the soldier in this relationship is easy. I pack up and go off and leave everything behind with the expectation that it will be there when I return. That’s a lot to expect from your partner. I get to bury myself in work, my Soldiers, and the day to day routine of living on a FOB while you are left with running the house and doing the work of both of us. There is no void here where you used to be. I can sleep in a bed, or on a cot, on the floor without having to roll over and miss you in our bed. I share meals without you and I have food prepared for me when for so long it was me doing the cooking for us. An entire year of not having to mow, shovel, or take out the garbage – but all of those things got done anyway.
You have been both parents to TJ – all boy – playing with boys toys and dealing with “the terrible twos”. That’s dozens of times watching “Cars”, hundreds of diapers, and a few, “wait ‘til your daddy gets home!” statements. My home coming was supposed to be different, wasn’t it? We should have our daughter, and you and the kids would have welcomed me at the airport. I’d spend the next few weeks at home trying to get her to recognize me, maybe even get a first smile. My brief time home in February wasn’t enough to mend that hurt.
I cannot imagine the worry you went through. Even though Iraq is much safer than 2005 it is still a dangerous place and every CNN announcement of more US forces wounded or killed must have made you tense up just a bit. The role of the military spouse is always underestimated.
I can spend a long time trying to understand the stress, pain, and long days alone that you went through but I’d fail. Thank you for being my wife and the center of the universe when I needed it. Words elude me except to say; I love you.
Cue the music; take the spotlight, all the applause is for you. You are a Rock Star.
I cannot begin to imagine what the last twelve months were like with me away. This year has tested you beyond what you ever expected. I never realized, and never will, the weight that you had to carry nor the sacrifices you made for this family when I left last August.
Being the soldier in this relationship is easy. I pack up and go off and leave everything behind with the expectation that it will be there when I return. That’s a lot to expect from your partner. I get to bury myself in work, my Soldiers, and the day to day routine of living on a FOB while you are left with running the house and doing the work of both of us. There is no void here where you used to be. I can sleep in a bed, or on a cot, on the floor without having to roll over and miss you in our bed. I share meals without you and I have food prepared for me when for so long it was me doing the cooking for us. An entire year of not having to mow, shovel, or take out the garbage – but all of those things got done anyway.
You have been both parents to TJ – all boy – playing with boys toys and dealing with “the terrible twos”. That’s dozens of times watching “Cars”, hundreds of diapers, and a few, “wait ‘til your daddy gets home!” statements. My home coming was supposed to be different, wasn’t it? We should have our daughter, and you and the kids would have welcomed me at the airport. I’d spend the next few weeks at home trying to get her to recognize me, maybe even get a first smile. My brief time home in February wasn’t enough to mend that hurt.
I cannot imagine the worry you went through. Even though Iraq is much safer than 2005 it is still a dangerous place and every CNN announcement of more US forces wounded or killed must have made you tense up just a bit. The role of the military spouse is always underestimated.
I can spend a long time trying to understand the stress, pain, and long days alone that you went through but I’d fail. Thank you for being my wife and the center of the universe when I needed it. Words elude me except to say; I love you.
Cue the music; take the spotlight, all the applause is for you. You are a Rock Star.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Welcome to the End
I stood in front of the filled room and said, “There are two great moments in a deployment. The day you arrive and the day you leave. Everyone in this room has that in common.” And with that we welcomed our replacements.
It’s the end of the deployment for my Soldiers. It’s also the end of the war for our replacements. Although I have no idea how many more Civil Affairs units they are going to send and for how long after 2011, I know that it’s common knowledge that most combat forces will be out of Iraq by this time next year. Don’t get wrapped up in the semantics of what a “combat force” is or isn’t. The bottom line is that the draw down will happen on my replacements watch.
I don’t envy them. Most of them have never deployed before. It’s like showing up at the party after all the good stuff has happened and you end up helping the host clean up. Not that combat is fun by any stretch of the imagination, but it does pass the time and makes for good bullshit at the local VFW (“So there I was, knee deep in hand grenade pins, with nothing but a bayonet between me and two dozen bad guys.”) Our replacements will learn an important lesson of, “expectation management.”
It’s good that all of this is coming to a close. The Iraqis prove time and time again that they want to be in charge and don’t want our help. They need intellectual, strategic, and monetary support, but they certainly don’t want that of the cost of MRAPs driving through their towns emasculating their military, police, and protection forces with our arrogance and, tempered as it is of late, attitude of being able to go wherever we want, whenever we want to. Let the State Department take over (instead of partner with the military) and assist (instead of take charge from the Iraqis) in rebuilding Iraq. I still care about this country. After two tours here I want them to succeed and I still feel an odd internal pull to want to stay and see what happens next. But that feeling is becoming more and more fleeting.
This is the end. I find myself disengaging more and more from work despite the big project I have this coming week. I am thinking of home and actually being there for longer than two weeks and getting to know my son and show pride in my daughter. I drift off to green trees and baby blue skies without dust and think about holding my wife again. I feel the energy being sucked out of me after a year away and I think about my own bed...
Welcome to the end.
It’s the end of the deployment for my Soldiers. It’s also the end of the war for our replacements. Although I have no idea how many more Civil Affairs units they are going to send and for how long after 2011, I know that it’s common knowledge that most combat forces will be out of Iraq by this time next year. Don’t get wrapped up in the semantics of what a “combat force” is or isn’t. The bottom line is that the draw down will happen on my replacements watch.
I don’t envy them. Most of them have never deployed before. It’s like showing up at the party after all the good stuff has happened and you end up helping the host clean up. Not that combat is fun by any stretch of the imagination, but it does pass the time and makes for good bullshit at the local VFW (“So there I was, knee deep in hand grenade pins, with nothing but a bayonet between me and two dozen bad guys.”) Our replacements will learn an important lesson of, “expectation management.”
It’s good that all of this is coming to a close. The Iraqis prove time and time again that they want to be in charge and don’t want our help. They need intellectual, strategic, and monetary support, but they certainly don’t want that of the cost of MRAPs driving through their towns emasculating their military, police, and protection forces with our arrogance and, tempered as it is of late, attitude of being able to go wherever we want, whenever we want to. Let the State Department take over (instead of partner with the military) and assist (instead of take charge from the Iraqis) in rebuilding Iraq. I still care about this country. After two tours here I want them to succeed and I still feel an odd internal pull to want to stay and see what happens next. But that feeling is becoming more and more fleeting.
This is the end. I find myself disengaging more and more from work despite the big project I have this coming week. I am thinking of home and actually being there for longer than two weeks and getting to know my son and show pride in my daughter. I drift off to green trees and baby blue skies without dust and think about holding my wife again. I feel the energy being sucked out of me after a year away and I think about my own bed...
Welcome to the end.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Happy Birthday Samantha!
Samantha,
Wow, twelve years old! Where did that time go to? I still remember a time when you were a cute three year old jumping on the Cornell big red track mat with a big gap where your tooth got knocked out. I remember the trip to Disney World where you asked to stay in the Magic Kingdom until it closed only to give up and plead to go back to the room early. I remember the first time I touched you and your tiny hand grabbed my pinkie. The strength I felt that day, twelve years ago, is still in you today.
You are off at camp in North Carolina making everyone who loves you so proud of you. You made the Rifle Team and then went down the road and beat the boys - on their own turf! I wonder if you remember the first time I took you shooting when you were seven. You handled that .22 with ease and shot bullseyes the first time. I have taught many Soldiers and Cadets to shoot - you were the fastest learner.
You also made the Sailing Team which made Lisa very, very proud and a little envious. That is an achievement no one else can claim in your family. Bravo! I hope your sailing skills will help me learn to sail. You can teach me and I hope to be a good student. I know Lisa will be anxious to show you off to her friends!
You are growing so fast amid a world where you are presurred every day to assume more maturity than the world ought to give you. And I realize I am sounding old when I say it, but twelve year olds don't need to know how to Twitter, Facebook, or omg txt msg lol bff. In my heart I wish there was a way for you to stay younger and enjoy the last of your childhood, as fleeting as it is, before adolesence and young adulthood intrude.
However, I see the woman you are becoming. Its always been there; independant, smart (and sassy), artistic, musical, a bit of the drama queen, and a kind hearted champion for the underdog. You will achieve things your mother and I never had and maybe never imagined for you. I need to remind you that you are not alone on this journey. You have been, and always will be, surrounded by parents, a brother, uncles, aunts, and cousins who love you very much. There is no end, and no measurable depth for our love for you.
Enjoy you day! HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I will be home soon.
Love,
Daddy
Wow, twelve years old! Where did that time go to? I still remember a time when you were a cute three year old jumping on the Cornell big red track mat with a big gap where your tooth got knocked out. I remember the trip to Disney World where you asked to stay in the Magic Kingdom until it closed only to give up and plead to go back to the room early. I remember the first time I touched you and your tiny hand grabbed my pinkie. The strength I felt that day, twelve years ago, is still in you today.
You are off at camp in North Carolina making everyone who loves you so proud of you. You made the Rifle Team and then went down the road and beat the boys - on their own turf! I wonder if you remember the first time I took you shooting when you were seven. You handled that .22 with ease and shot bullseyes the first time. I have taught many Soldiers and Cadets to shoot - you were the fastest learner.
You also made the Sailing Team which made Lisa very, very proud and a little envious. That is an achievement no one else can claim in your family. Bravo! I hope your sailing skills will help me learn to sail. You can teach me and I hope to be a good student. I know Lisa will be anxious to show you off to her friends!
You are growing so fast amid a world where you are presurred every day to assume more maturity than the world ought to give you. And I realize I am sounding old when I say it, but twelve year olds don't need to know how to Twitter, Facebook, or omg txt msg lol bff. In my heart I wish there was a way for you to stay younger and enjoy the last of your childhood, as fleeting as it is, before adolesence and young adulthood intrude.
However, I see the woman you are becoming. Its always been there; independant, smart (and sassy), artistic, musical, a bit of the drama queen, and a kind hearted champion for the underdog. You will achieve things your mother and I never had and maybe never imagined for you. I need to remind you that you are not alone on this journey. You have been, and always will be, surrounded by parents, a brother, uncles, aunts, and cousins who love you very much. There is no end, and no measurable depth for our love for you.
Enjoy you day! HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I will be home soon.
Love,
Daddy
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Click, Click, Boom
Two tours, over 600 days in Iraq, and finally fired my rifle for the first time today. (Of course it was on the rifle range)
C’mon, you think I got out from behind a desk and was in c-C-COMBAT?!
I went to the range to qualify with my rifle. It’s an annual requirement, and one I want to get ahead of before I take my team home. If you remember way back to September of last year I discovered to my mild surprise that I needed glasses for distances. I wore them for a while here but just found it easier to sit near the front of the room than remember to bring them everywhere. Oh, vanity! I did, however, remember to bring them to the range.
My Army issue sunglasses allow for optical inserts so I can see without squinting into the sun. But they’re awkward and dust can get between the two sets of lenses. At least I could see the target clearer!
C’mon, you think I got out from behind a desk and was in c-C-COMBAT?!
I went to the range to qualify with my rifle. It’s an annual requirement, and one I want to get ahead of before I take my team home. If you remember way back to September of last year I discovered to my mild surprise that I needed glasses for distances. I wore them for a while here but just found it easier to sit near the front of the room than remember to bring them everywhere. Oh, vanity! I did, however, remember to bring them to the range.
My Army issue sunglasses allow for optical inserts so I can see without squinting into the sun. But they’re awkward and dust can get between the two sets of lenses. At least I could see the target clearer!
Iraq, Ft Dix, Ft Drum - every range looks the same!
I fired and qualified even though the glasses gave me trouble focusing on the front sight post of the M-4. I ran into trouble in the kneeling position when I brought the weapon sight close to my nose. The instability of the kneeling position set me off balance just enough where the rear sight tagged the bridge of my glasses leaving a red abrasion.
(Note: Never, EVER, try to get your significant other’s sympathy over a boo-boo with an email that’s titled, I Think I’ve Been Wounded!)
So while I am no longer too dangerous with a rifle, I dare any of these kids to outdo me in making PowerPoint slides! HA!
We also brought along an AK-47 for fun.
“This is the AK-47 assault rifle, the preferred weapon of your enemy; and it makes a distinctive sound when fired at you, so remember it.” - Gunny Highway.
I had never fired an AK before. What it lacks in style and accuracy it makes up for in sturdiness and stopping power. I learned why we attribute the term “spray and pray” to the weapon and the men who carry it. On full auto you have to muscle it to keep it in front of you and not let it push you backwards as your rounds drift high and right; it's like a small jackhammer in your hands.
And if you can't shoot great at least you can look great shooting.
Speaking of movies and things that go Click, Click, Boom; I did, as promised, sit down with the chaplain to watch The Godfather. I even printed off a cheat sheet of the characters so that he’d know who was who. Have you ever shared what you think is a universally cool thing – like, say, The Godfather – with another person and watch it have NO effect whatsoever?
I suppose the whole superimposed baptism/retribution scene was a little more than he was expecting. Sigh. So I am going to redeem myself with him by watching Casablanca. He’s never seen THAT movie either?! Ugh.
And in return I am going to his service on Sunday. It’s not personal, it’s just business.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
This One Goes Home. This One Goes to 5000.
August 1, 2009, we depart Iraq sometime this month. Insha Allah. The first day of August came like any other day lately. I found myself up before I needed to be, but rested enough not to fall back asleep. I poked my head out the front door of my CHU. The mornings are cool lately. Two days after a big dust storm and the really bad heat hasn’t crept back in from the southwest; at least not yet. I get my shower, dress, and go to breakfast. For the past two months I rode to breakfast with a guy I worked with. Since he went home last week, I find it more pleasurable to walk the quarter mile to chow.
Breakfast is joined by the usual suspects; the Chaplain, the Information Operations officer, the Fire Effects warrant officer, and some of my guys. Good coffee, eggs or French toast (with strawberries), and more coffee. We try not to talk about work like it’s an unofficial rule of the club – we break it often. With an unannounced acknowledgement we all leave together for the 0800 Battle Update Brief where we’ll officially start the day.
On my way I stop by my office to start up my computers; one for unclassified information and the web, and the other for classified to secret information. There, on the desk, is my calendar underneath some other papers. And I realize as I turn the page, this is the last month I am spending in Iraq.
Bam. A tingle of elation. Lisa, Sam, TJ. Wow.
I have enjoyed writing for the fifteen months. Even though there were longer periods without entries it was only because the war is getting boring – and that is such a good thing. This blog has had over 4,500 visits. I would like to shoot for 5000 because I am vain like that.
In the home stretch tell your friends and send them the link. Because there is a lot happening now I will try to post more often. For example, tomorrow night I am sitting the chaplain down to watch The Godfather for the first time.
I will write right up the day I walk in the front door.
Breakfast is joined by the usual suspects; the Chaplain, the Information Operations officer, the Fire Effects warrant officer, and some of my guys. Good coffee, eggs or French toast (with strawberries), and more coffee. We try not to talk about work like it’s an unofficial rule of the club – we break it often. With an unannounced acknowledgement we all leave together for the 0800 Battle Update Brief where we’ll officially start the day.
On my way I stop by my office to start up my computers; one for unclassified information and the web, and the other for classified to secret information. There, on the desk, is my calendar underneath some other papers. And I realize as I turn the page, this is the last month I am spending in Iraq.
Bam. A tingle of elation. Lisa, Sam, TJ. Wow.
I have enjoyed writing for the fifteen months. Even though there were longer periods without entries it was only because the war is getting boring – and that is such a good thing. This blog has had over 4,500 visits. I would like to shoot for 5000 because I am vain like that.
In the home stretch tell your friends and send them the link. Because there is a lot happening now I will try to post more often. For example, tomorrow night I am sitting the chaplain down to watch The Godfather for the first time.
I will write right up the day I walk in the front door.
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