Major Brown's Journal

Perspective

2009-09-10T18:21:00.000-07:00

So what? So here I am at the end of another year long deployment. So what; what does it mean, what is there to learn or take away?

I have no deep thoughts or introspection on what it all means. I can articulate what I know.

I know that we will not leave Iraq having to shoot our way out. Who would have imagined this two years ago? Certainly not three years ago. While the Iraqis might not have any parades in our honor as we leave most will realize that their lives are indeed better than they were under Saddam. They know this. We know it too. Anyone who says otherwise needs to shut up and go there and see for themselves.

Three years ago we all thought that Iraq was "lost" and that we'd have to fight our way to the southern border in order to leave. Death tolls were at their highest. But that isn't Iraq in 2009. Nor will it be Iraq in 2010. Our military will be able to walk out Iraq with a sense of gratitude from the Iraqis; both for what we have done for them and for leaving.The way ahead is going to be harder for them than under Saddam Hussein because the days of an "entitlement society" are quickly fading.

I know that the future of Iraq is far from clear. Iraq is far more vital to the region than most Westerners realize. Iraq is strategically, economically, culturally and religiously important to the Middle East and the world. There are many who have an interest in seeing Iraq go their way. Iraq will continue to be the center of a tug-of-war for all of the above reasons for generations to come.

I know that the hardest part of the deployment is on the family. Reconnecting, even in the strongest of relationships takes time and patience. We, as Soldiers, return home into a pattern established by the ones we leave behind. For a while we are intruders into the status quo. Establishing new patterns takes time.

I know that I am neither a great or terrible leader. Many times I tried to make the decisions for the team that were in the best interests of everyone. Other times I found myself having to yell at people for no other reason than they pressed my buttons in the right order. I also learned that leadership can be lonely. With very few peers around the FOB I had to choose relationships carefully. Although I would do anything for my Soldiers and defend them against abuse by "Big Army" I never got close enough to them to call any of them friends. I know that a majority of that was my doing.

Finally, we did our jobs. There are less heroes, but no one wants that distinction anyway. I cannot tell you that we worked hard because that simply wouldn't be true. None of my guys should feel that their time was wasted - although many could. There is a lot of down time in this "phase" of the war. The Iraqis are taking care of their own security and are reacting to critical incidents in their own way. As the army and police do the jobs that they have been training to do there is less of a role for us. In the next twelve months there will be a rapid off ramping of personnel and equipment from the country.

Iraq will cause confusion and consternation as they stubble into their future. Iraq - a deployment - leave an indelible mark on you. There are moments that are difficult to explain except to someone else who was there. I suppose, in closing, that this blog at least shared some of those moments.

That's all there is; no grandiose epiphany because I don't think one exisits . That's it. Thanks.

Welcome Home

2009-09-05T11:24:00.000-07:00

(The following are my comments from the welcome home ceremony yesterday.)

Three weeks ago my wife was called for jury duty for this week. When she explained that I was coming home from a year in Iraq and needed to come and pick me up the woman said, “I don’t mean to sound cold hearted, but can’t someone else get him?”

Sixty five years ago we were a nation at war. The war was a part of the national consciousness and everyone made sacrifices. Hundreds of thousands of families hung blue stars in their windows. Industry altered its production to support the effort and no aspect of daily life went untouched from gas rationing to war bond drives.

Forty years ago the nation was again in a war that again elevated to the national consciousness, although at times the battle seemed to be among ourselves as some openly challenged the system and the government because the sacrifice of the draft in an unpopular war was a bitter pill to swallow.

Today, we are not a nation at war. There is no sacrifice made across the whole of society and the events in Iraq and Afghanistan barely register the national consciousness. Right now the greatest sacrifice the nation has to pay in the global war on terror is having to take off their shoes in the airport.

While we are not a nation at war, we are an army at war. The greatest strength of this army is that we have volunteered for our service, dedicated to the preservation of freedom at home and even the establishment of freedom in a place called Iraq. Without the nation behind us and with only volunteers, we go off to war. And indeed sacrifices have to be made. Most of these sacrifices are borne by our families and friends during our deployment.

Soldiers can endure most anything; heat, dust, bugs, and long days with little sleep. When they do sleep it’s on hard cots, or in seats on 15 hour bus rides. Most times a Soldier will gripe, for that is our nature, but they’ll also be thankful, knowing it could always be worse. It’s easy for a Soldier to make sacrifices and endure.

What Soldiers don’t realize and never expect are the sacrifices our families and friends make every day that we are away because, for us, there is no void in the deployment in Iraq where our loved ones used to be.

For our spouses and significant others; you went to bed every night feeling that divot where we used to lay. You acted as both sets of parents having to be both the disciplinarian and the sympathetic shoulder to cry on. You managed the household; the bills, the lawn, the dishes, the snow.

For our parents; rhere was no end to your worry when the phone rang unexpectedly late at night. You hung your blue star with pride and prayed that you’d never join that exclusive club who turned their stars from blue to gold.

For our children; you played your games with one less fan to cheer you on. You played in the band with one less set of hands for applause. You turned a year older without us there and hoping for a fifteen minute phone call and a good connection.

For our friends; you went out with the gang on Friday nights minus one; the one who could be counted on for a laugh or a ride home. You missed that one person who you could vent to about your latest soon-to-be ex.

Many of you had joyous moments that you spent alone, a child’s first smile, a great promotion at work, or a great report card. You also anguished without us being there during moments of tremendous sadness; intolerable loneliness, the passing of friends, the loss of a child.

You carried all of these burdens; many times with exquisite grace. You not only kept your selves afloat but also managed to keep our spirits up – 8,000 miles away – as well. There is no depth of our gratitude and we cannot begin to appreciate what you have accomplished in our absence. Without a doubt, of the two groups, you mission was harder.

When the nation’s attention finally does turn to the Soldiers standing in front of you they refer to us as “heroes” – a title befitting to each and every one of us. However, we stand before you today to say thank you. We are indebted to you. We could not have done our job without you. We applaud you.

(We're home. It's done. All of my Soldiers are on their way to their families. One more post to go.)

Bring On Da Funk and Other Musings On the Trip Home

2009-09-01T15:17:00.001-07:00

We are back in the United States! First and foremost that is the big news.

The Odyssey

Our trip began in Iraq on Wednesday with a ninety minute convoy to the airport. We flew to Kuwait the next day. On Saturday we cleared our bags through US Customs, courtesy of the US Navy. Once a unit clears Customs it must wait in a "sterile" area without access to external comforts to include food and the PX until we depart. Our first plane broke down while we were waiting to get on it so we waited another day for another plane. That night was a long miserable night of sitting on a bus within eyesight of the plane only to drive the hour plus trip back to the base camp. We spent the day sitting on floors or chairs while the Kuwaitis turned the AC off and on in order to service the system.

On Sunday we finally got out to the second plane only to find out our flight was moved to the right (delayed) two more hours. Somewhere close to midnight on Sunday we boarded the DC-10 with just barely enough room to spread out with a space between people. The engines fired up - and stopped. Another delay. The engines started again and stayed lit. As soon as we were airborne I fell asleep for the first time in 20 hours.

We landed in Shannon, Ireland in the wee hours of Monday morning. Our hour layover was doubled as the mechanics tried to fix whatever was ailing this plane. However, the luck of the Irish was with us and we got airborne once again to the rising sun. Looking out the window at the green rolling hills of Ireland made me happy. We flew in the growing morning sun all day long and arrived in Atlanta, GA late Monday morning. It was then that we discovered that someone (not us) forgot to tell the military assistance people that we were coming. No follow on transportation was set up for us. Furthermore, there was only one person to process airline tickets for almost 100 people.

We came up with the best option for us; charter a bus from Atlanta to New Jersey. Yes, this was the best option. The bus was loaded and we were on the road by 1600. At 0645 we arrived in Ft Dix. We began work to DEMOB (demobilize/demobilization) at 0700.

Tonight will be the first time we've slept in beds, as opposed to floors, chairs, bus or plane seats, since Friday night.

Bring on Da Funk

The last time anyone got to shower in our odyssey was either late Friday night or oh-dark thirty on Saturday morning. The customs lock down area only had a set of sinks to wash up in. The the 120* heat began to take its toll. You couldn't help sweating just sitting still. By Sunday evening I knew that needed a new uniform but shrugged the idea off because I was sweaty, nasty dirty and putting clean clothes on a stinky body made no sense. That was Sunday. After the plane and bus rides, by Tuesday we were rancid. We tried to wash up in Atlanta. Imagine being a random traveler walking into the men's room to find a dozen soldiers all trying to wash their bodies in motion detector sinks.

You know it's bad when you can smell yourself and it's nauseating. You can feel the dirt in your clothes after they've been worn for as long as we wore ours. Times that by fifty other bodies.

We were given a half hour after we turned in body armor and weapons this morning and took a hot shower with lots of soap.

The Green, Green Grass of Home

What a world of difference being home from Iraq. Life is vibrant here. The green trees and grass; the blue skies with white puffed clouds; the cool air on your face - it adds up to a sensory overload, but one everyone notices. More that one rugged troop stood outside clearly soaking it in.

You would have to be there, in Iraq, or Kuwait, or Afghanistan - or any other arid, dusty, incredibly hot place for a long period of time to appreciate this feeling. Or maybe it's a phenomenon.

Welcome Home, Remember

We were met by our commander, my boss, with a big hug and hot coffee. People we haven't seen in a year were there to meet us. There was a moment of hugs and high fives as this particular Army family reunited.

Later in the morning we had another, semi-official welcome home where the installation commander gave us our unit's yellow banner that has flown with dozens of other yellow banners over the last year. I can just barely remember the ceremony we had hanging the banner in October 2008. The return of the yellow banner to us was symbolic of saying, "your job's complete, welcome home."

I found my cell phone and borrowed a charger. I haven't used my cell phone in a year and realized that I forgot what all the buttons do. Numbers. Send. That's enough for now.

I am trying to remember the other important things of being home. Things like; don't walk in the middle of street because traffic doesn't go 5 mph like on the FOB. Cold milk is awesome. Bugle calls on an active post means that you have to stop and render the proper military customs. Dunkin' Donuts coffee is a miracle. Calling my wife to say good night is so much easier without a seven hour time difference.

Jetlag is calling. My eyes are getting heavy. Good night from the East Coast.

The Long Days

2009-08-28T08:38:00.001-07:00

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.

Last Thoughts

2009-08-24T11:34:00.000-07:00

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.

What Becomes of the Tokens to the Dead?

2009-08-22T10:46:00.000-07:00

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.

Unplugged

2009-08-19T10:50:00.000-07:00

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.

Rock Star

2009-08-16T01:09:00.001-07:00

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.

Welcome to the End

2009-08-14T11:28:00.000-07:00

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.

Happy Birthday Samantha!

2009-08-07T10:57:00.000-07:00

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

Click, Click, Boom

2009-08-04T11:00:00.000-07:00

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!

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.

This One Goes Home. This One Goes to 5000.

2009-08-01T10:09:00.000-07:00

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.

Good News and Small Victories

2009-07-30T12:05:00.000-07:00

Our replacements are in Kuwait! I have waited almost eleven months to be on the other end of that message; our replacements are in Kuwait. I have one of my guys down there to help them, train them, and escort them north to Iraq sometime soon. It is a relief. They are the relief. It’s almost time to go home.

I count the small victories over the past year. None more so than the four Soldiers I just sent home early so that they can start college on time. It was the cause that I got wrapped up in and fought to make happen. It wasn’t my idea to take credit for, but once the issue was brought to me it was clear that it made no sense to keep these Soldiers around during the time that they should be enrolled in classes. If we had been here another month I would have probably turned them down but this was just a matter of a few days. The Army wouldn’t miss them, but college would. For one Soldier it was his senior year of school and missing the fall semester requirements for the spring semester classes meant another year lost to gaining his degree.

Of course the first responses were, “No.” No justification, just, “No.” The Army is a big bureaucracy and NO is usually the first line of defense. However, asking the right person, the right way, at the right time led to the paperwork getting approved. It only took three months.

Aside from all of my Soldiers coming home safely; having never been shot at or blown up or hurt, this is a win for the little guys. In each of them there is promise; one will be a great NCO, the other will go to do good things as a teacher, one may even decide to be an officer through ROTC. My hope is that they remember back to this moment until they are in a time and place when they can help someone else. Pay it forward.

Their departure and the arrival of the new unit signifies the beginning of the end of the tour. We are preparing all of our continuity books and writing our after action reports for the tour. Work has indeed gotten busier, but busier in a good way.

The Soundtrack

2009-07-26T12:29:00.003-07:00

In my free time I go to the gym, because, honestly, there isn’t much else to do. I lift weights with my First Sergeant just before lunch. We go in uniform and take off the cap, gun, and ACU top shirt to work out in our t-shirts, pants, and trousers – just like 75% of the other troops in the gym. Like anything that you stick with over time, it gets easier. It gets easier because I am getting stronger. But I have never been much of a “body builder.” I have always been a runner.

When I’m lucky I get in a good cardio workout at least three to four times per week. I bring the iPod that Lisa gave me, grab water from the fridge and head to a treadmill. Although I am an outdoor runner and loathe running in place, the weather and road conditions really prohibit running outside. Over the months I have found the set of music that as I get ready, pipes through my ear buds and carries me through the next 40 minutes.

I warm up and stretch out to Queen’s, Fat Bottom Girls, for no particular reason. For a longer stretch I add Metallica’s, I Disappear, before mounting the machine. I don’t particularly believe the pace the machine says I am running but it’s all I have to report on.

I start off at a 7.5mph pace to The Red Hot Chili Pepper’s, Dani California. I never got too into the group, but I loved this video. That gets the blood going for the first half mile. I turn up the pace to 8.5mph for AC/DC’s, Highway to Hell, and then right into, Thunderstruck. By now I am sweating. When The Doors, LA Woman, starts the tempo brings me to an 8.7mph pace that lets me keep in time with the beat. By now I am at least two thirds done with my run. I dial up to 9.1mph and instantly feel more sweat run down my forehead, off my eyelashes, into my ears. Depending on how I am feeling I finish with a little GnR, Welcome to the Jungle, and briefly imagine Lisa on Guitar Hero, or back to Metallica with either, Whisky in a Jar, or, Fuel.

My run's over and it’s time for the rowing machine. I added rowing about two months ago to include upper body movement to the cardio work out. By now my t-shirt is wet and I am slick with perspiration. I row to more AC/DC – Shoot to Thrill and Have a Drink on Me. The Back in Black album is one of my top ten, must-have-in-my collection. I have been able to cover 2 kilometers in the time it take to play both songs; a little under ten minutes. I am getting fast enough that I’ll add another song and another kilometer this week.

Now it gets tough. Now I am soaked through my shirt. If I were any other gym people might stare by now. Here I am just another person with a tough workout to get through and I am about three quarters done. I go to the decline sit-up bench set at a forty-five degree angle. I take a twelve pound medicine ball and hold onto it as Van Halen’s, Panama, starts. I take the ball and hold it over my head and sit back until I am lying on the bench and the ball touches the ground. Then I sit up. Sometimes I throw the ball in the air, catch it, and do a sit up. Sometimes I turn from side to side holding the ball. Sometimes I just hold it into my chest and do sit ups. Whatever I do, I do it for the whole song without stopping. Panama is three minutes and thirty one seconds long.

I get off the bench and go to the mat. The Black Eyed Peas, Pump It, starts and I finish my abs with crunches, leg lifts, scissor kicks, bicycles, and the like for the entire song. But at least I am now near the finish line.

I go to the pull up bar and turn on Aerosmith’s, Honkin’ on Bobo album. The band put out this blues-cover- tribute-sounding album a few years ago and it can really get me going. As, Road Runner, starts and continues into, Shame, Shame, Shame, I complete a set of two pushups for one pull up for five to six sets. I am up to seven pull ups. Seven times five is thirty-five. Fourteen times five is seventy. Sweat pools below me now. Still on the Bobo album I finish the workout with, Baby Please Don’t Go, with four or five sets of weighted abs.

And that’s it. Maybe a little Neal Young, Keep On Rocking in the Free World, as I head back to the office as wet as if I’d showered with my clothes on. There are times I leave the gym nauseous. I finish my daily report and go shower before dinner.

Most times the music is white noise to take my attention away from the other sounds in the gym. I can tune out the white noise and think. Othertimes the music carries me and pushes me when I would rather slow down or hit the stop button. However, I doubt I can hear any of those songs again without thinking about the treadmill, or the decline bench, or the hours I spent getting in the best shape of my life.

What’s Hot

2009-07-21T11:28:00.000-07:00

Iraq in the summer time tests the will.

It has been a mild summer so far. There have only been a few days where the temperatures have risen over 130°. Most days it gets into the upper one-teens and when we actually notice the heat enough to comment on it, it’s a sign that the mercury is over 120°. So how hot is that?

At 120°, when the wind blows at a steady five miles per hour, it gives the impression of being in front of a constant hair dryer. I haven’t needed a hair dryer in about twenty years when I wore a Don Johnson mullet; you know, “business up front, party in the back.”

It’s so hot here that we have no cold water. Ever. Our water tanks sit outside so they can be filled each week. The water is warm even in the morning because the temperatures rarely go below 85°. The midday sun gets that water over 100° and then when we turn on the faucet or shower after the gym the initial burst is scalding. Have you ever brushed your teeth with hot water?

It’s so hot here that sometimes metal is too hot to touch. The other Sunday I was doing a crossword puzzle outside at 1030 hours. I put my pen down to get something, got sidetracked for a few minutes and when I came back the pen was cooking. If I am outside for too long my pistol grip gets hot.

It’s so hot here that if you breathe through your nose on a hot, hot day it burns the inside of your nostrils.

It’s so hot here that if you are outside for a few minutes you clothes get warm to the touch.

It’s so hot here that I can hand wash my gym shorts and shirt, hang them up outside in the sun, and be ready to wear them again in twenty minutes.

We combat the heat with water; clear, clean, cool water. There are liters of it in every building. I can go through three to four bottles a day. We also have air conditioning, without which we’d all be extremely miserable. My office, room, and truck are all air conditioned. The MRAPs are air conditioned. The gym, dining facility, and coffee shop are all temperature controlled for comfort.

It’s possible to survive in these conditions; just look at the Iraqis. Arabs have existed and lived in this place for thousands of years. They farm this land, channel water for thousands of miles via canals, and manage the heat as they have learned from their ancestors. And while I cannot fathom why they choose to live here, I suppose after one “lake effect” winter in Syracuse, NY they would wonder the same about us.

The Fourth of July and Other Good News

2009-07-05T11:24:00.000-07:00

We hold these Truths to be self evident, that all Men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness –

This weekend we pursued happiness on the Fourth of July with a party to remember. A lot of effort went into the day’s festivities and I have to hand it to those who put it together – it wasn’t bad.

Our day started early with the July 4th 5k race. Half of my company got up with the sun and headed to the start line before the sun got to intense. Most of them just wanted the free t-shirt, but found out that they had to actually run first. The race had about 140 people come out and everyone seemed to have a good time. After the race I headed off to work because there was work to do. By 1500 (3:00pm) we were done with work and went back to the compound to change into civilian clothes. Yes, we were allowed to wear civilian clothes to the party.

The clothing was the biggest surprise of the day because day in and day out all we ever see of one another is ACUs or PTs (Army shorts and t-shirt). The freedom of expression in personal attire was interesting. There were Goths and punks, gangsters and cowboys, Hawaiian shirts and "wife beaters". And for the first time since they got here the women were allowed to let down their hair and wear make up – and did they ever. Let’s face it; guys look the same in uniform or civies. There’s not much you can do with the quarter inch hair. Women on the other hand just look different when they are not in uniform.

We all rolled out to the main brigade area, which we call “the quad” because it is surrounded by four long buildings in each direction, for a formation, a short speech and the start of the events. The quad had been transformed into volleyball courts, arm wrestling tables, RockBand contests, Near Beer Pong tables, barbeque pits, and the infamous Slip-n-Slide.

The slip-n-slide was put in late last month along with a thirty foot long, two and half foot deep wading pool. This is what they were making the day they cut the main power line to my building. The excavated dirt made up the ramp for the slide. The dirt was covered with a heavy tarp, then plastic sheeting, and then a coat of baby oil. Water was pumped through a 5,000 gallon water truck. It wasn’t pretty, but it was fun.

The party got rambunctious when water balloon and water guns were introduced into the fray. No one from the lowest Private to the Brigade Commander was immune to the random acts of water fight violence. Then, because all parties with a pool end this way, people were simply thrown in.

Of course the night ended with a bon fire and the obligatory fireworks which were handed out to the troops just like on New Year’s. And just like New Year’s it’s a wonder and a miracle that we didn’t burn any of the plywood buildings down.

In other good news we began to ship the first pieces of military gear back to the United States. It was loaded, labeled, lifted, and trucked to Baghdad where it will be inspected by U.S. Customs before being flown back to home.

Having less gear in my room is another reminder that “this” is coming to a close, that we will be home soon.

I wrote in my daily report that we are reminded on the Fourth of July that the freedoms we enjoy come at the price of eternal vigilence. I didn't make that up, its a quote that's stuck in my head. I went on to write that like millions before us we take up an oath with the full knowledge that we will go into harm's way for a people who can seem less appreciative than we expect, in a country inhospitable with heat and dust, and where complacency can can kill. We hope that one day the people of Iraq can celebrate their own independence as we celebrate ours.

Michael Jackson is Still Dead

2009-06-30T10:12:00.000-07:00

And American forces are still in Iraq. Surprised? The headlines, buried under the latest updates about the loss of the King of Pop, say that we have pulled out of Iraq. Well, not really. If that were the case I’d be sitting in my back yard drinking a cold beer instead of writing from eight thousand miles away.

As is often with the press, Western, Arabic, independent, or those owned by Rupert Murdock, the facts are often ignored in the message. It is true that on 30 June 2009, the coalition forces of the United States and, um, Texas, are leaving the cities. However, there are only twenty five major cities of Iraq across eighteen provinces (similar to states) that qualify for this distinction. For people like me, sitting on an old Iraqi radar station next to a corn field, there is no change to my “war” or my surroundings.

However, the celebrations are unfolding across the country. The Iraqis are parading in places like Karbala and Najaf where there haven’t been forces in over a year. In other words they are celebrating something they already enjoy. Or do they?

The other overlooked fact is that the resolution for us to move out of the cities is not binding. Not yet. The referendum that was supposed to go before the people this summer was postponed. In other words, we are honoring the intent of the Security Agreement even though it is not official yet.

This is good news for two reasons. First, it shows our intent and willingness to let the Iraqis control their own destiny. Second, it allows us to go in and support the Iraqis if they prove they can't.

It’s called “expectation management” and it means to prepare yourself and others for what the reality of the situation is going to be. For example; going to Disney World during Christmas week requires some expectation management – trust me on this one, I know from experience. We expect fairy tales come true, and Mickey Mouse, and FUN. The reality is that ten thousand other people are in line for the same thing. In Iraq some of the press is portraying this event as if we are never, ever going to be seen in a city again. Unfortunately for them, if you read the actual agreement, that’s not altogether true.

That means come the first few days of July everyone will be conducing “expectation mitigation” when the reality meets the expectation. The government of Iraq is already in front of the cameras explaining what will and won’t happen. Of course there are opportunists who will use this ambiguous situation to their own gain by blaming their own government for being weak when the first MRAP rolls through Mosul, or Basra.

In a few days we’ll celebrate our own independence. Independence earned many years ago with a clear victory in a place called Yorktown. Our enemy, in defeat, left our shores (only to become our greatest ally generations later). If only all of that were that easy here.

Love Stories from the Front

2009-06-24T11:00:00.000-07:00

First, let me say that I love my wife and I consider myself a very lucky man. Not a day goes by that I don’t count my blessings. Now that that’s out of the way, let’s face it; love can be strange. Of course, love is even stranger in Iraq. Here are two stories about finding love in Iraq.

Several weeks ago I was approached by someone in the chain of command I work for with a simple question that derailed me for the next few days. He asked, “Did you know your officer, Captain JP, is trying to get married to a local national woman; today; on the FOB?”

The look on my face gave it away that I had no idea what he was talking about. That look quickly changed to one that said I was about to go find out.

Captain JP had been seen for the last month or so talking to, and having dinner with a local national woman who works on the FOB as a translator. This wasn’t news to me and I didn’t have a problem with it. I was aware of it and made sure that I told him what was considered acceptable and unacceptable behavior in having a relationship with an Iraqi. My concern was from an operational security point of view. Because neither person was married a relationship, per se, wasn’t off limits but there were points with in General Order #1 that forbid physical relationships. Captain JP acknowledged all of this.

To find out that my officer had decided to get married – literally out of the blue – caught me by total surprise. To learn of it from outside the chain of command sent me fuming to go find him. But first, the details.

It turned out that at breakfast, JP asked one of his peers to attend the ceremony to be held later that afternoon. His friend strongly suggested that there may be some l-e-g-a-l issues surrounding a US Soldier marrying a local Muslim woman and that he had better check with the JAG. Once he went to the JAG office, my officer learned of the extreme legal hurdles in his way and demurred from his quest.

Then I got a hold of Captain JP and counseled him. He had the unmitigated gall to say out loud that he couldn’t understand what the whole fuss was about and why the Army might have a say in his “private affairs.” I recommended that the best course of action for him was to return after the deployment, apply for a visa for her, and bring her back to the United States. When I laid it all out for him I think it was a little clearer and the matter, for the time being, was dropped.

And while the idea of getting married may have ended for my officer the situation was far from over for me because I work with a group of world class ball busters and this was a perfect diversion from their work and the issues within their own ranks. They pounced.

I had two choices, take a beating at the expense of the others, or go along with it at the expense of Captain JP. I found a middle ground. I expressed my embarrassment as a commander and made certain that I would contact my chain of command, advise them, and officially counsel my Soldier. I also took part in creating an elaborate story that was eventually told to the big boss.

The only fact the story that followed was that Captain JP had inquired on how to get married that same day. The part about the woman being the niece of one of the most influential sheiks in the region; we made that part up. The part about Captain JP promising a huge multi-million dollar project to the sheik as a dowry; we made that up too. The part about want to have extra ammo for “celebratory fire”; we made up. The part about Captain JP getting married because he HAD to; we made up. By the time we got done spinning the story no one knew what the truth was which helped to diffuse the situation entirely.

The original title of this entry was going to be, “The Bride Wore Body Armor," becuase there was only one story. Then the love bug bit someone else.

I thought the story of Captain JP was a love story gone wrong until I learned another story that left even more of a mark. A young Soldier (not mine) shot himself clean through the calf while trying to impress a female Soldier. Why did he have a loaded weapon? He was guarding local nationals working on the FOB! Imagine that; trying to impress a woman in front of the Iraqis and you shoot yourself through the leg. Imagine those Iraqi workers going home at the end of the day, “honey, those Americans are crazy! Today one of them tried to show a woman how tough he was by shooting himself through the leg!” Years from now, what kind of story the Soldier will tell his kids about that scar he got in the “Great War on Terror”?

To quote the great Bugs Bunny, “Love; ain’t it grand?”

Father's Day 2009

2009-06-21T10:31:00.000-07:00

Happy Father's Day!

I have two great kids; Samantha and TJ. Being away from them on Father's Day is just another reminder that the sacrifices Soldiers pay is not merely paid out by Soldiers alone. There is a cost levied on the children, spouses, and loved ones too.

My Father's Day started almost like any other Sunday; first I opened my presents that Lisa and the kids sent. Cards, a picture frame with a photo of TJ and I hamming it up, and a "Life is Good" t-shirt. Then is was off to an early breakfast, off to the office, read through emails which included a really sweet email from my daughter, when the power suddenly went out. The power went out because someone dug up the powerline putting in the swimming pool; which is a story for another time. Since all of my war fighting is done with a computer I was out of action.

With no power I went back to the compound - where there was electricity - and conducted "tanning operations". In other words I sat in the sun and worked on a tan until its intensity drove me inside. I got my hair cut, grabbed some lunch and confirmed that the power would be out until dinner. Great.

We wound up watching the Lord of Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring, for the three plus hours it takes to watch it. And still there was time left in the day. It's moments like those, when you are not busy that you miss home the most. On Father's Day only makes it worse. I headed to the gym to burn up some daylight and get some miles in on the treadmill.

I miss my kids. At times I am so tired of Iraq. Tired of the mission. Tired of dust and the heat and the routine. Tired of being lonely for my family. I look at my countdown clock and wish it faster.

In closing I offer another unaltered picture of "red air" taken the other day outside of my door. I wrote on Facebook that "I went to bed on Earth and woke up on Mars." Indeed.

The Army Birthday

2009-06-14T10:48:00.000-07:00

Today is the 234th birthday of the United States Army.

We took an unofficial day off by not going into the office for more than three hours during which time we mostly caught up on emails. We also attended a parade put on by the brigade. Another sign the war is coming to an end is when you have time to have a parade, make floats for the parade, bring water guns, throw water balloons, and generally avoid work.

The parade showed the creativity of the Soldiers - although gladiators were a common theme. However, it was the flatbed truck with "The Village People" singing on it that won the commander's cup.

As usual, the dining hall did a phenomenal job of decorating and putting on tons of decent food and I put away my share of lobster tails and shrimp.

The day ended by being able to see Samantha, Lisa, and TJ from my computer with the help of Skype. Another day down. A good day all in all. Happy birthday to the one thing that I have been a part of for all my adult life.

Ikea, Junk Food, and a Flag for TJ

2009-06-12T04:07:00.000-07:00

We are in the long haul to the finish line. Most of my Soldiers have been home on Leave and the last of them are coming back soon. Our replacements will leave the US in less than sixty days. In the mean time we still work in the day to day comings and goings of being deployed.

Last week I noticed that there were cups, real, dark blue ceramic cups, in the dining hall. Since I arrived here I have had to drink my coffee out of a Styrofoam cup in the morning, so getting a cup of coffee in a real mug is a great touch of “home”. The cups are located next to the coffee machine and are stacked upside down from the dishwasher. One day I noticed the bottom of the cup read “Ikea” the high end Swedish furniture and house wares store that my wife would drive four hours to go to. Cups from Ikea; bringing a touch of class to the war.

The other day someone brought the contents of their care package to the office. Sitting on the common table where our coffee maker is were assorted lollipops, chocolate, and a tube of Pringles®; sour cream and onion Pringles®. I had two or three because I like them and it had been a while since I had eaten real junk food – the kind with zero nutritional value but one hundred and ten percent taste. The transfat hit my taste buds and I knew in an instant that the tube was a goner. Fat tastes good. I ate at least half – in an hour – before I made one of my Soldiers get rid of them. With all of the food available in the dining hall all of the time it is easy to stop counting calories and enjoy food, glorious food! Since I arrived here in October I have been careful about what I eat allowing myself to let loose only once in a while. The Pringles® reminded me how easy it is to just gorge.

Last weekend was my son’s second birthday. TJ is an energetic boy who loves his trucks and trains. He loved to play cars with me when I was home. He misses me although I am a weird apparition to him showing up for a few weeks at a time or talking through the computer. In fact if you asked him where I was he’d probably point to the computer screen. Trying to find the right toy for him for his birthday was a challenge for me. Lisa and I could agree on a present from both of us, but I wanted to have something for my children that would be a unique present to represent their birthday while I was deployed. Iraqi toys come from China just like they do in the US and souvenirs from Babylon wouldn’t mean that much in years to come. In the end the answer was simple, really. I flew a US flag in our compound in Babil on my son’s birthday. It will be folded, cased, and given to him to have forever.

The days are getting longer and hotter; a sure sign the end of the deployment is coming. I keep posting until I get home.

Around the World in 80 Days

2009-06-06T11:31:00.000-07:00

Today we crossed that intangible line in space and time that marks eighty days to go until we are released from our mission. Intangible is a good word to use because I won’t be leaving Iraq in eighty days, I certainly won’t be done with work eighty days, and I most definitely won’t be home in eighty days. However, eighty days is less than three months, a little over eleven weeks, and that suits me fine.

Everyone is talking about going home in part because we have to and because we finally can. We have to talk about going home because the process to plan and coordinate the movement of people, equipment, and other logistical moves takes months to arrange. Units enter into a complex system that plugs into a long calendar with various important trigger points along the way. Packing gear in huge containers. Clearing customs. Transferring equipment. Flying to Kuwait. Flying home. All of these things and more need to synchronized, and for any one piece not happen at the right time the entire system breaks down. My crew is paying very close attention to those trigger points! In addition to this there are administrative, personnel, operational, and other logistical requirements for us to redeploy. It will be a long summer in the office sitting behind a desk.

And we are talking about home because we can. I think it’s unofficially okay to talk about going home once you fall within the ninety day window; anytime before ninety days and you’re just pining away and homesick. And – the more days that get crossed off of the calendar, the more enthusiasm you can say, “I’ve got X number of days left.”

With all of this going on we have also hit an upswing in work. The operational part of Civil Affairs has gotten busier in the last few weeks. What had been a long dry period of work and creativity has turned a corner in the last few days and I have found a project or two that can really occupy my non-administrative time over the next few weeks. I am excited and looking forward to these projects turning my remaining weeks in Iraq as busy as the first few weeks when I arrived here in October.

My countdown clock reads 80 days, 2 hrs, 18 min, 49 sec until I can really look forward to going to the other side of the world.

Memorial Day 2009

2009-05-25T05:55:00.000-07:00

To those without sacrifice we say, "Remember."

To the families of the fallen we say, "Thank you."

To our fallen we say, "We miss you."

Leave, Part 3: The Heat Is On

2009-05-19T11:35:00.000-07:00

Almost immediately upon getting on the plane returning from Leave I was homesick. I missed my family, my dog, my home and fell into a mild funk. Getting back through Atlanta to Kuwait to BIAP to Kalsu was not going to be a treat.

The weather had changed here while I was home. It was now easily over 100° in the dust bowl of Kuwait. Bad weather set in wreaking havoc on all out going flights to Iraq. Bad weather in the Middle East means either dust or sand storms. I experienced both within twenty-four hours. While I am familiar with the “red air” syndrome of a dust storm, I had never sat through a sand storm before. The sand moves at the speed of the wind, which in this case, seemed to be fifteen to twenty miles per hour. If you’ve ever seen blowing snow, a sand storm has the same visual effect as it passes over pavement. The sound however, reminds you of a driving, pelting rain against a pane of glass. It can be intimidating.

Fortunately I was in the safety of a bus and did not have to go out in the storm. Within thirty hours of landing in Kuwait I was on another C-130 en route to BIAP. Trying to get a ride – anywhere – at 0330 in the morning out of Baghdad is impossible. I had been up for almost a day and was seven hours ahead of my body clock. When you are that tired you don’t care about where you are or who sees you. I sat in a chair, made myself as comfortable as possible and nodded off for three hours of broken sleep. My mood deepened.

I discovered that a convoy was heading to my base at 1130 so I spent most of the morning sitting in the shade reading. At about 1015 the sun was high enough in the sky to eliminate my shade altogether and the heat really beat down. In Baghdad there was no dust to block the sun and the temperature was around 105°. When it gets that hot your clothes absorb the heat radiates inward and your body feels like it is wrapped in a giant hot blanket. When it gets to 120° and higher it’s suffocating.

The ride back to Kalsu was uneventful. I looked out the window at the landscape going by. The heat had already drained all of the color out of the ground. I have never seen a place look so inhospitable.

And then it hit me. All of the travel, the homesickness, the heat, the jetlag, the Army – all of it all at once; I hate this fucking place.

When I got back to my room and back I reset my countdown clock that Lisa gave me. I entered the date that we’re supposed to leave Iraq. It read, 99 days. And suddenly the gloom began to lift. A new urgency crept into my brain – it’s time to prepare to go home! Upon entering my office and opening my email there were urgent requests to start the redeployment process.

And now the heat is on to start the checklists to go home. There are awards and evaluations that need to be written. There are movement plans to write. Packing needs to be done. There is coordination with the home unit. There is enough to keep me busy for the next three months. Three months seems like a long time when you arrive but it goes by very fast at the end.

Right now, Iraq isn't so bad. It's hot only from my air conditioned room to my air conditioned office, or the air conditioned gym or chow hall. The end is in sight for my team as we get out the countdown calendars and mark them off.

Leave, Part 2; Twenty-one Days

2009-05-17T04:23:00.000-07:00

Don’t let the title fool you. I was only home for 15 ½ days. However, I did enough in that time to fill up three weeks of great memories with my family. Think about that; most of us spend our time with our family and friends and lose the truly memorable moments of life among the daily tedium of work, chores, and routine. My Leave was full of those memorable moments.

Seeing TJ for the first time since February, I picked him up from day care. He was outside running around, saw me, stopped dead in his tracks, yelled, “Dadda”, and started to jump around in excitement. The joy in his face was priceless.

I saw Samantha at her school where I had been invited to speak (in uniform) to her sixth grade class. She paraded me around as if I was royalty – which is exactly how I felt. And then I returned the favor by getting her classmates to applaud her for being a wonderful daughter.

I arrived home just in time for spring. Everything was turning green and was beginning to bloom. I enjoyed the first mowing of the lawn for the season. I say enjoyed, because it is my favorite chore of my household duties. For some reason, the smell of gasoline and cut grass reminds me of my father.

By Saturday, my family was all packed and on a plane to Florida for our cruise. I sat next to TJ and read books and played with toys as learned how to work the window shade; up, down, up, down, up. That night I went to dinner alone with Samantha who caught me up on her friends, school, and the drama-drama-drama that is her pre-teen life.

On Sunday we were on the Disney Wonder for four days and nights of perfect fun. I could gush, but it’s sufficed to say that the cruise was truly in the Disney fashion, everything was top notch. The kids were great, the shows spectacular, the snorkeling awesome, and boat was beautiful.

We returned home in time for me to take Sam to her concert where she played clarinet for the 7th and 8th grade band. Although her head and her heart were still on the cruise, she played great and I got to attend at least one of her concert this school year as I was totally blown away by the band’s performance.

Lisa and I planted a rose bush in honor of our daughter, Rebecca, who was supposed to have been delivered to term during these two weeks and ran in the Mother’s Day 5k race. Rebecca, and all that could have and should have been, was never far from our minds.

For bonus points, I finished Lisa’s Honey-do list she had waiting for me.

I even spent half a day with the company commander of the unit that is going to replace us in August. Making that contact, in person, was oh so instrumental to getting me to think about the end of this tour!

I boarded a plane for Atlanta on a Wednesday morning. On the ride to the airport, Lisa and remarked all of the things we did and how blessed we are to be able to do them. Lisa and TJ walked me to the gate and in a hurried state, said our good-byes.

I believe life is made of little moments. For example, I don’t remember all of Samantha’s birth, but I recall the moment when she first gripped my pinky with her tiny little hand as clearly as if it were yesterday. I don’t remember all of the details of my first date with Lisa, but I recall the story of her father and the deer outside of her window. I don’t remember all of the day my mother died, but I remember what I whispered in her ear just before she left us. Metaphorically speaking, all of these moments make a sort of patchwork quilt, as it were, where lots of different pieces of fabric make a whole new thing.

My Leave was full of these moments with my family. They can't always be captured on video or digital camera. Not even writing about them here can articulate all of the details and feelings associated with them.

I suppose that when you are so far away from the people whom you love for so long it makes you appreciate them even more. I treasured every second I was home.

Leave, Part 1: Two Homecomings

2009-05-16T09:25:00.000-07:00

I am back from Leave and catching up on events from the last three weeks.

On April 25th I began the trip home for my scheduled Leave (read vacation) from Iraq. The day began with an hour plus long convoy from my base to Baghdad International Airport, or BIAP. BIAP sits in the heart of Victory Base, a sprawling complex that’s larger than a small city. I was manifested on a flight that would be leaving 15 hours after my arrival. To pass the time I read all of A Thousand Splendid Suns from cover to cover and thinking about reuniting with Lisa, Sam and TJ.

Meanwhile, sometime during the same day, to the north of Baghdad, a young sergeant was shot by a sniper near the city of Kirkuk. And while the medics and doctors tried to save him, he died here in Iraq. His body was prepared to go home to his family.

Somewhere during the day I sent Lisa emails updating her of my progress, or lack thereof, and expressed my excitement to be coming home. There was a lot to look forward to.

Somewhere in Texas, the young sergeant’s family received two men in uniform at the door. Their message was that he too was coming home. There was no excitement and nothing to look foward to.

The military can make anything last interminably longer than it should and in the early, early hours of Sunday, I (and about sixty others) began the process of boarding the C-130 that would bring us to Kuwait to go home. We boarded the plane and were told that our mission was being diverted to Kirkuk.

At 0330 in the morning, the young sergeant’s flagged draped coffin met us at the Kirkuk airfield. Our plane shut down, and we exited the aircraft to join a full color guard, twenty-one gun salute, several hundred fellow Soldiers to pay respects as the coffin was loaded. Standing there in the dark and quiet I found myself selfishly thinking of my reunion with my family, and less of the dead Soldiers reunion with his. And while I appreciate ceremony, this one felt a little surreal as sixty of us all had plans to be enjoying ourselves within the next 48 hours and yet we were flying with a very real and tangible reminder of the war for part of the way.

We flew to Kuwait City International Airport where another ceremony was held. This time the sergeant’s body was taken off of the C-130 for transport to another plane that would take it to Dover, Delaware. We all re-boarded our plane for the Kuwait airbase that processes people to go on Leave. Later on Sunday night our flight flew from Kuwait to Germany and then on to Atlanta where we all split up to our homes east of the Mississippi.

Somewhere on Monday, the Soldier’s family met a color guard at an airport near where he’d be buried with full honors. Their long grieving processes had only begun.

On Monday, I stepped off my plane in Syracuse to the arms of my wife. We wrapped up in each other and embraced. It felt so good to be home.

Stats

2009-04-22T06:45:00.000-07:00

I am about to go home on Leave; my two week vacation from Iraq!

Rather than tell everyone how excited I am to get out of here, which should be obvious, I thought I'd post some statistics (some useless) that I've been keeping since I was mobilized.

Convoy Missions: 16
Air Missions: 26
Books Read: 15
Rocket Attacks: 6
That Hit: 0
Elections: 1
Former Students Met: 6
Meetings: Lost count
Historical Sites Visited: 1
Memorial Services: 3
USO Visits: 4
Times Shot At: 0
Care Packages Received: 14
From Strangers: 6
Blog Posts: 59
Soldiers Promoted: 7

I am looking forward to getting out of here in the next few days and start the long trip back to the United States. I am looking forward to quality time with my wife and children.

Until mid-May, take care.

You're Joking, Right?

2009-03-22T06:13:00.006-07:00

"What is Arabic humor like?" I asked one of our interpreters. "Tell me some Iraqi jokes."

He looked at me with a frozen look of horror and promised that he'd have to "research" some jokes and get back to me. He came back a few weeks later with fifteen pages of jokes he looked up on line. He translated them into English from Arabic, so here, without any changes to spelling or punctuation are the best of the best. (Hold on tight)

A wealthy person decided to gift one of the politiicans a flashy car. The politician rejected the offer fearing that it might be considered a bribe. To make it looks OK, the wealthy offered the car for only $20. The politician agreed to take two cars instead of one!!!!

Two Iraqi people were walking down the road when one of them looked into a mirror and said, "Funny, I think I know this guy!"
The other one then looked into the mirror and said, "That's me you idiot!"

Once upon a time an american met with an iraqi and told him proudly our dogs are smarter than yours....
how is that?! the iraqi replied
sit....stand....go there....come here....
the american shouted ordering the dog and the dog followed the orders
nice demo - said the iraqi, but i think our dogs are smarter than this
imposible!! said the american with amazement
OK - said the iraqi, i'll show you how that is. so he took the american to a garage and asked the american: do you see these filthy dogs lying down under the truck?
yes - the american replied, what about them?
well....they are auto-mechanics....the iraqi replied!!!

Saddam's Mosque's Khateeb, "Sheikh Ali" dies and waits in line at the "Janna" Gates. Just ahead of him is a guy in casual wear. Malak (angel) addresses this guy, "Who are you, so that I may know whether or not to admit you to Heaven?"
The guy replies, "I'm kaka Ali, Mini Bus driver from Kefri, Iraq." Malak consults his list, smiles, and says to kaka Ali, "Enter into the Kingdom."
So Iraqi driver enters Heaven and the Sheikh Ali is next in line. He stands erect. Without being asked he proclaims, "I am Sheikh Ali Imam [priest] of Jama in Baghdad for the last 33 years.
Malak consults his list and says, "I am sorry, you are on a waiting list. You have to pass some tests before you get entry to the Kingdom of Heaven."
Sheikh says, "Just a minute. That man was a Mini Bus driver, and you issued him instant entry. But I have to go through more tests. How can this be? Please double check the names."
Malak says, "Up here, we go by results. While you preached, people slept; while he drove, people prayed."

Laughter is universal but humor gets lost in the translation. I hope you found something to laugh about.

POTUS

2009-03-22T06:13:00.005-07:00

The president of the United States visited Baghdad today.

SURPRISE!

No, I wasn't in Baghdad. No, I didn't get to see him. No, it made no difference to my days. No one told us until after it was over, but we appreciate our Commander-In-Chief stopping by for a visit.

Okay, everyone, back to work!

The Gate of God

2009-03-22T06:13:00.004-07:00

Last week I visited the ancient ruins of the city of Babylon. Here are my impressions.
The first thing that struck me is how hard it is to comprehend what ancient really is. Babylon can claim its most recent history in 232 B.C. when Alexander the Great died within her walls. Go back further and Babylon is mentioned in the Old Testament, along with her king, Nebuchadnezzar, around 600 BC. Go back another 1,100 years and Hammurabi wrote the first set of codified laws between 1772 and 1750 B.C. Within this history lies the Hanging Gardens of Babylon - lost to myth, speculation, and time. And the city is even older than that; built and razed and built again for five thousand years. Walking the ruins we were reminded that there are ruins under the ruins; ten to twelve feet under what we can see.
The ground covering the ruins is vast. It’s secured from trespassers and the only visitors seem to be the Coalition Forces or State Department, or the various special visitors to the site. However, there is potential for tourism in the next ten years that most likely won’t be ignored. The ruins themselves are truly incredible, although it requires imagination to fully appreciate them.

What you see on the ground is the collaboration of new and old. It’s a bit of a letdown initially. Babylon ruins were rebuilt during Saddam’s regime. In the 1970’s major sections were either rebuilt on top of the existing walls, or recreated altogether, as in the in the case of the blue bricked Ishtar Gate. While the original gate sits in a museum in Berlin, its recreation reveals brick over plywood and twenty years of neglect. The Ishtar Gate acts as the main entrance to the ruins themselves.
The ruins are of the southern palace and do not include Nebuchadnezzar’s palace. It’s believed that Saddam Hussein’s palace sits on top the former king’s. In the southern palace five, vast open courtyards lead to a confusing maze of small alley ways and side rooms; possibly merchant and skilled trade shops that kept the city alive. The tan brick is the only color in the courtyards that once must have had pennants, awnings, flags, and tapestries of all sort of different colors.

The quiet stands in mocking contrast in a place that once held 200,000 to a speculated 1,000,000,000 people. The only sounds you hear of your own footsteps and the reverently hushed voices of other guests. You have to add your own soundtrack of food vendors, slave traders, royal processionals, and the daily sounds that filled this place.

We stopped at the “Babylon Lion” a twelve foot tall, six foot long stone carving of a lion standing over the supine form of a man; the power of the lion over man. Or maybe it’s some divine fertility symbol. The statue we are told was taken by the Nazis in World War II and returned by the Allies. It is the stop on the tour.

It was at the Babylon Lion where we promoted two of my Soldiers, MSG Cummings and CPT Weaver, leaving them with a story for their grandchildren.

On the way out I lagged behind and lingered. I wanted to savor the moment and imagine the this place where history is recorded in its walls, where history passed through, and where it is made even today. A place for over, fought for, and still bearing witness.

Boys and Their Toys

2009-03-22T06:13:00.001-07:00

Sunday is a day for rest, reflection, and relaxation – even in a place called Iraq. Sunday on the day on the base is referred to as Mountain Time, for the 10th Mountain Division, who acts as our higher, higher headquarters. On Mountain Time no one comes into the office until after lunch.

Lately, Mountain Time has led to taking a day off. As a commander, I don’t have a problem with this at all. It makes no sense to make up work for people to do. I won’t do it. I simply won’t do it. If my guys don’t have missions that day, it’s okay with me. Of course I do go into the office, at least three times during the day to check email and do administrative work in peace and quiet. I’m not the only one either, at some point during the day everyone in a leadership position seems to float through the office.

Recently, some of troops have broken out their game systems and linked them into one large system. I am talking about the XboX360. For those who don’t know what I am talking about let me explain. An XboX system is a video game system that can have up to four players on a single game box on one television. Four game boxes can be linked with four televisions, thus sixteen players can play at one time.

This past Sunday, we linked up just such a system and had fifteen players at one time. The game was Halo3, one of the most popular video games in the world. Once everything was hooked up, video violence ensued. For two solid hours grown men and young Soldiers hunted, shot, sniped, punched, and blew each other up. Threats were made and later recanted. New guys, rookies, were made fun of, and old veterans showed no mercy. I dished it out as good as I got it. There was swearing, shouting, laughing and cheering.

If you were an outsider you would have thought we were nuts.

However, for two solid hours were absolutely forgot we were in a place called Iraq.

Lost and Found

2009-03-22T06:13:00.000-07:00

Keep your weapon within arm’s reach. This axiom is as old as Alexander the Great. To lose your weapon is to make you impotent on the battlefield. Your weapon is a part of you, an extension of the warrior.

The U.S. Army instills this concept by making recruits carry their weapons everywhere. We call it weapon immersion. In the places a weapon can’t or shouldn’t go a buddy can watch your weapon for you. In Iraq you go everywhere with a weapon. Outside the safety of the base you take a weapon and a basic load of ammunition, about 210 rounds. Some people carry two weapons; a pistol and a rifle or machine gun. Inside the wall of the base everyone carries a weapon and one magazine of ammunition.

To lose your weapon is a courts martial offense.

The following story is true as told to me over breakfast from one of the people in the chain of command.

A group of Soldiers were out on patrol. Somehow a Soldier lost his weapon, a M-4 carbine. No one is sure how it was lost; it could have fallen off the truck, it could have been leaning against the wall and in haste forgotten. Whatever the circumstances, it was not with the Soldier upon return to the base. The immediate search of the other vehicles, people, and area didn’t produce the rifle. A U.S. weapon was out among the Iraqi public.

And that’s who found it. A local Iraqi happened across it. Maybe he saw it fall off the truck, maybe he just came across it, regardless of the way it came into his possession, this Iraqi had a $400 dollar semi-automatic rifle; a prized possession in this place called Iraq.

How do we know this? It’s because whoever that unnamed person was they turned it in to the local Iraqi Police. Imagine the surprise from the police having someone turn this rifle stating that it belonged to the Americans. Now the Iraqi Police had the rifle – still a prized possession that easily could have found its way into the trunk of some policeman’s personal vehicle. It didn’t.

How do we know this? It’s because the Iraqi Police contacted the local American unit and asked them to come and get it. The rifle was eventually returned to its owner. Unfortunately, that didn’t save the Soldier from UCMJ (Uniform Code of Military Justice) action.

Iraq never ceases to amaze me with its contradictions. Despair and joy. War and peace. Life and death. Corruption and honesty. Little stories like this are what Iraq is about. Iraq is elusive to understand.

Photo Ops Part III

2009-03-19T01:29:00.001-07:00

I'm happy to report that Soldier morale is up! We received the baseball hats that we ordered, and they look great. Although we can't officially wear them in place of the uniform patrol cap, we can wear them after hours inside our compound. However, I have been caught once or twice sitting behind my desk with mine on.

One of my Soldiers got to shine for our brigade commander during his battlefield circulation visit. Young SPC Garretto, gave the coammder a full briefing on an area targeted for economic development and then took him on a walking tour of the Mahawil market area.

The unknown band, "Cowboy Mouth" came to visit the FOB for a two hour concert. The music was a blend of punk rock techno country - if there is such a thing. The USO sends out comedians, music groups, and athletes to visit and raise the morale of the Soldiers. Even though we get unknown acts, the USO still does a good job of taking care of Soldiers!

This is me in the middle of downtown Mahawil, just north of Hilla, Iraq. The streets are packed with merchants, shoppers, delivery trucks, food, animals. The people pass by us as if we are neither a friend or a threat and intermingle among us without a care. It makes me feel both tense to have no stand off distance and safe that there is less a likelihood of danger walking next to them.

Red Air

2009-03-14T11:17:00.000-07:00

Red Air is a status indicator we use to describe the conditions for pilots to fly helicopters in; Green is good, Amber implies caution, Red means that helicopters cannot fly. Red Air is also a phenomenon to describe the dust storms that blow in from the west.

The pictures above are of a dust storm and were taken within minutes of each other late in the day. The first shows the dust that looks a lot like fog. The graininess of the photo comes from the particulate that’s in the air. The sky looks rose colored.

The second picture used a flash (that caught the dust in the reflection) and catches the real color of the sky, an orange to reddish color. It’s an eerie color that seems unnatural, as if the picture were taken on Mars.

The wind blows that dust and it manages to get into everything and seems to pass through doors, walls, and windows leaving a fine coat of filth on everything - including our lungs.

We work, walk, and live in these conditions; they last a day or two and go away.

It may not be Mars, but it is another world.

WAR, Inc.

2009-03-08T09:18:00.000-07:00

As I sit down for dinner in a larger dining facility that can seat almost 2,000 people at once; I look around I cannot help but notice that the war has gone over to the private sector. We have sold out to the lowest bidder so many jobs, tasks, and skills that I, as an American taxpayer, am repulsed.

“Contactors” is a loose term, but generally describes the various civilians who seem to number us two for every three Soldiers. By the way, we, the military, are termed, “Green Suiters” by them. They belong to companies with well known names like KBR (Kellogg, Brown, and Root), MPRI, the infamous Black Water (although they merely pass through rather than work here) as well as little known companies like Saber, and Aegis.

Contractors come from across the globe. American consultants, Ugandan gate guards, British convoy security specialists, Indian food service workers, Indonesian laborers, plus Australians, Canadians, and others all fill this FOB. Some of us have learned “thank you” in three to four different languages.

The contractors fill all kinds of jobs. We have people take our trash, empty the port-a-potties, ring up purchases in the Post Exchange, and serve as baristas in the coffee shop. The American skilled laborers provide technical expertise on communications equipments and our vehicles. They are subject matter experts in law enforcement and tribal relations. They also provide skilled expertise on electrical, plumbing, HVAC, and construction. However, they don’t do the actual work. The work is left to the laborers. A vertical construction project on the FOB has a foreman and an interpreter and a platoon of dark skinned workers.

All these contractors all Soldiers to focus on their job. Without them we’d have to fill many of tasks and thereby reducing our overall combat effectiveness. Without them our living conditions would be austere and primal at best; just ask any Soldier living on a COP (Combat Outpost). Without them the war might be shorter because Soldiers might work a little harder to complete the mission, if only to get out from living in a tent.

Of course, it’s all about the money. The guy holding the blueprints to put in a new air conditioner is making in the high five to lower six figures. Tax free. The laborers have it good too. I imagine in some cases this FOB is a huge step up from what they may be used to back home. It’s interesting to note that most American contractors I see all seem to be of retirement age. There are no family men or women here.

Of course it’s about the money and someone is making a lot off of these contracts to the government. War is good for business. For example; we are building a roof over the roof in the dining facility. The roof cost $1,000,000.00 and is meant to defend against mortar attacks. We haven’t had an attack in over twelve months (when the contract was written), but the military is legally bound to spend and build it anyway. Some may argue that one well placed mortar round is worth a million dollars and the hundreds of thousands in labor costs. Maybe they are right.

In 2010, most of the combat forces will be leaving. In 2011, the papers say we will be out of Iraq completely and these contractors will join the unemployed pool of labor back in the US.

War is business and no one should think otherwise. Although good men and women go into harms way because the volunteered and swore an oath, there will always be people who see the opportunity to make money off of it.

If You Have an Election On Superbowl Weekend Will Anyone Notice?

2009-02-25T10:54:00.000-08:00

For most of the month of December and January I was immersed in planning contingency operations for the provincial elections that were held all over Iraq. My piece was very, very small but very rewarding.

I learned a lot about Iraqi government. I learned that it is completely unlike ours. Theirs is a system based on a forty year old system of communist style command and control, designed to “top down” keep the masses in line. That same system is now turned so that it is supposed to flow “bottom up.” In other words, the system is supposed to now represent the people, not the government.

There are other significant structural issues to this system that confuse and confound people who look at it. For example; the government does not collect taxes. However, because the local governments have no source of income except for what it provided by Baghdad, the town councils and muhdirs (moo’-Deer), or mayor, have no control over the local officials who run the essential services. No, the people who clean up trash, make sure the lights are on, and ensure teachers are in schools are all from a parallel system of service ministries. Confused yet? Keep in mind NI3E (Nothing In Iraq Is Easy).

As convoluted as the system is, the fact remains that it works. Although imperfect, the people understand where to go and how to get things done.

The elections in January were a big deal in this country. This was really the first time citizens could vote from an “open ballot” and choose the representative of their specific choosing. The provincial elections in Babil saw over 1400 people run in 78 different political parties for just 30 seats. Over 14,000 people ran for office all over Iraq! This was a big deal because no one imagined that we’d get this far in the security of the country to hold them.

In Babil, 56% of the registered voters went to the polls on January 31st to cast their ballot. That’s about 10% more than the turn out for the US elections. The election went off with very little violence, although there was some, and the winners are now in “school” to learn how to be provincial leaders. If these new leaders can/will begin to actually represent the people then the country will have turned another small corner towards a stable future.

I was home on the weekend of the elections. The first Sunday in February fell on that weekend. A Sunday holy to sports fans and advertizing executives all over the US. Superbowl Sunday.

I looked for news of the elections. Having left in a hurry on Januray 31st I didn’t know if the polling sites stayed secure, or if there were mass casualty incidents. Coming home I anxiously looked for news on the elections. It was hard to find any information about the elections at all.
Then, live, from Iraq, breaking news! Soldiers watching the Superbowl will get to drink two real beers! Really?! That’s the best CNN, NBC, whatever could do? We relaxed General Order #1 and let Soldiers drink beer while watching the big game?

News networks are closing their Baghdad offices and moving on to where the “story” is – Afghanistan. There is no more news here in Iraq. Iraq is old news, it’s over; forgetting the cost in American dollars and lives and forgetting the shattered bodies and minds of those that served and those who love them.

What a shame. You missed the big win.

"How's It Going?"

2009-02-19T11:49:00.000-08:00

I have been asked that question many times over the past few weeks. Let me answer.

How’s it going with your family?
Lisa and I got through a tough time over the past few weeks. We delivered the baby on February 3rd and baptized her with the name, Rebecca Lucy. We are still looking for answers to the how and why questions that we still have. While in the hospital we found a way to laugh, and cry, and rejoice in the strength of our family. Lisa is an amazingly strong person and I am a lucky man.

Being home unexpectedly with my family allowed me time with the kids. TJ has only seen me in pictures and on the video on the computer for the last six months. His face lit up when I realized I was actually in the house. His attitude was along the lines of, “Oh, hey, there you are. Do you want to see my new toys?” He is a beautiful child and I love to see him laugh and smile. We took him sledding for the first time and he loved it and even helped pull the sled up the hill.

Samantha proved to be a patient pre-teen by allowing me to take care of Lisa first. She did very, very well on her report card making all of us so proud – she makes it seem easy. I went to visit her when she was ice skating with her 6th grade class. I never realized how tall she was until I compared her against 200 other 6th graders. She is tall and beautiful. Wow. She continues to be a great big sister and wonderful daughter.

How’s it going over there?
That’s other question I answered a lot. My answer is that, here, in Babil, we are doing well. No one could have imagined this situation twenty four months ago. The example I use is the provincial elections that were held on the day I returned home, January 31st. In Babil province alone over 1400 men and women ran in 78 different political parties for 30 available seats. Amazing. Amazing that 1400 people chose to run for office against such long odds (there were 14,000 people running nationwide). It speaks to the stability and security that they feel to be able to run for office. Election posters were everywhere. Why would people do that if they didn’t want to be part of the process of improving this country?

In Iraq there is no internal threat that can disrupt the slow but deliberate momentum the country is gaining. It will never be without corruption, nepotism, or intimidation, but then, hey, that’s Iraq. 2009 will bring slow economic growth and a new government. What I tell people who ask is that this is what it feels to be on the doorstep of win; slow, boring at times, and hopeful.

How’s it going with you?
Me? The loss of Rebecca hit me hardest when I left Lisa and the kids to return to Iraq. I am still sorting and making sense of everything. The distance from Lisa makes it harder than I want it to. In the past month I was able to find a lot of old high school friends via FaceBook and catch up on 25 years of adulthood. It’s funny how those memories pull me back to the days of designer jeans and “Frankie Says Relax” shirts. I am still suffering from jet lag following a 50 hour trip back to the FOB. In a way I am glad to be back in the mission. I was greeted by Soldiers with hugs and smiles – the sign of a strong unit and great people.

I have taken many moments to pause and reflect on my luck as a husband, parent, friend, soldier over the past few weeks. How am I? I am doing well.

Not Every Story Has A Happy Ending

2009-01-30T20:26:00.000-08:00

As I sit writing this I am waiting to go over the air field to get on a Blackhawk to go home and be with my wife. Our daughter died in utero sometime over the last few days. We are immensely heart broken and personally I feel as if I can't get home fast enough.

The baby's name was Rebecca Lucy or Lucy Rebecca, the exact placing of the names was an on going discussion for Lisa and I. Lucy was my mom's middle name. In a way it feels like I lost another part of mom. We both know that are a few more difficult days ahead of us before things get better and we have prepared ourselves as best as possible - but the reality of these situations never reflects what you think they will be like.

Not every story has a happy ending but in every sad story there is something to learn. In all of this saddness I have already learned a couple of things to be thankful for. First, the love you give you get back. I love my wife and she is an amazingly strong woman and partner. I could not ask for a better human being to be in my life. That love also came from my Soldiers, who upon hearing the news, dropped what they were doing and literally came by my side. At 2030 (8:30pm) most of my staff and leadership were still in the office. I realized that they weren't leaving until I left. I love these Soliders and try to show them as best as a commander can. They returned that love last night.

Second, I get to see my son, TJ, who is all of 20 months old and a full-on toddler. Despite the emotional weight of this event, I am so glad I get to be his dad for a couple of weeks. Third, Lisa and I discovered as a couple how many friends that we have out there (and here). Through emails and phone calls and visits and dinners prepared for Lisa we have received tremendous support.

It's time to go. Thank you for your prayers good wishes.

Messages

2009-01-23T11:11:00.000-08:00

16 January
Lisa and I spoke after she was done with sonogram appointment. She told me that there was an unusual reading and that she had to stay to see the doctor. She waited and waited and waited and eventually had to leave to go back to work. On her way home the doctor called her and said that she’d have to make another appointment.

17 January
An email from my mother-in-law; call Lisa. I returned to my office where we have a State Department phone that can call home clearer than any other method on the FOB. I found her on her cell. The doctor called Lisa at home. On a Saturday. As she recounted the conversation I asked her to tell me everything he had said. The baby is too small; too small by about four weeks. Lisa’s amniotic fluid is low. There need to be tests; as soon as possible. She is going Monday with a friend.
There was a lot the doctor didn’t say. He didn’t say anything about how this was going to be okay in the end.
I call my brother and give him the message.

18 January
A fitful night had me agitated all day today. I can feel the anxiety in me building. I know I will have to go home. I tell some of my officers so that I can leave them in charge in case I need to go quickly. Following an evening meeting I meet with the Chaplain. We talk and pray and he reminds me that hope is okay. I talk to God on my walk home.

19 January
I can feel the muscles tense in my back and neck. I run for miles out along the perimeter. Usually it clears my head and allows me to think. Today it doesn’t. I return from my run to the compound. I stretch and notice a coin buried in the dirt. I pick it up and it has two hands in prayer on the front. On the back it says, “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.” I call Lisa on the satellite phone later in the evening. She is in the doctor’s room waiting and I need to call back. There is nervous apprehension in her voice as she describes the high definition ultrasound she had done. I tell her that I’ll call back soon. Twenty minutes later I call. Her friend answers. Lisa is talking to the doctor. She puts me on. The connection is static and garbled in space but I hear her crying. It’s not good.
Lisa put me on speaker phone. The doctor tells me that the placenta is detaching from the uterus and the baby is not getting enough nutrients or oxygen. The baby is only 350 grams and should be 500 grams. I hear what she is saying but I need to ask her what it means, although I already know. I ask her how these situations usually end up. “Not well,” is the answer. I go numb. I can’t hear and tell Lisa I need to back to the office to call her from the State phone.
Ten minutes later she is more composed. She is being put on bed rest for two weeks to see what happens. We discuss options. We discuss when I should come home. I tell her about the coin. Everything else blurs.

20 January
I skype with Lisa in the morning. I haven’t slept much. We talk. I am reminded that this woman is an amazing source of my strength and I hers. I love her beyond description, although I still try as often as I can. Together we try to find some peace and prepare for the hard road ahead. At work I make the arrangements to go home when the time calls for it. I am 8,000 miles and three days of solid travel from home.
I see the doctor who gives me Tylenol PM to help me sleep. I sleep for nine hours.

21-23 January
We have slowly been telling family and friends. This is as much to share the burden than anything else. It amazingly opens up other people to tell me their story of when they lost a child. Their stories give me perspective and remind me that I am not alone. Lisa and I speak twice a day. My days are filled with work. It’s the only thing to divert my mind. It’s hard to imagine what is going to happen. I know things are hard now and will likely get much harder before it gets better.

Lisa and I will have to make choices between things we can changes and accept the things we can’t. I take the coin out and pray for the wisdom to know the difference.

Ghost Towns

2009-01-15T22:13:00.000-08:00

In 1990, Iraq had the fourth largest army in the world.

In 1991, the multi-national coalition shattered that army. In 2003 we obliterated it.

The evidence of the war that destroyed the army of Iraq is all over the country. When I fly around south central Iraq, from Babil to places like Karbala, Wasit, and Qadasyia I see those places from 1000 feet up.

I have seen army bases were once huge, thriving facilities, covering several square miles, all flattened. I can tell that they were military bases from my maps and by the way the buildings and roads are laid out in precise order. Barracks look like barracks everywhere. In many places the only indication of the base ever existed is by the internal road network and outlines of exterior fences. All other evidence has been wiped clean by our bombs and time.

In some places the buildings still stand but the roofs are gone and all that is left is an empty shell. Looking down at these places you can see that the buildings have been picked clean like a carcass, whether it was by looters, Americans, or salvage workers, leaving just the skeleton.

I flew over a former Republican Guard air base yesterday where bomb craters the size of baseball diamonds dotted the ground up to the four foot thick concrete bunkers that once housed the air force. The bunkers are cracked and broken like empty shells buried in the sand.

If you know what to look for the evidence of the war is also visible on the ground. Pock marks cover walls where machine guns fired. Pavement is patched up where rockets impacted and were covered over with cement. Every now and then you can find a stray rusted shell casing.

I think about the men who no doubt died in these places and feel no pity for them. Not even in passing. In fact, I hold them in some respect for as soldiers they faced certain death without leaving their posts. Their dedication to their nation is what being a soldier is about. I once met a man who fought in the 2003 war against us. He actually admitted to firing artillery at Coalition Forces during the attack on Baghdad. He has been the only military aged male who served in the military who has ever admitted to shooting at us. I shook his hand – at least he was a warrior.

Many others, forced into conscription, never believed in Saddam’s regime and fled the obvious. I can’t blame them. The only cowards were those who believed in Saddam but ran anyway when called to duty.

Not a single base I have seen has any squatters living on them. The Bedouins don’t even stop here. The new military doesn’t even build over these places. There are no signs that life ever visited these places after March/April 2003. It’s as if the malevolence of the Ba’ath regime still lurks in the shadows and no one wants to be haunted by ghosts of that recent past.

The War Is Over (aka Painting Rocks)

2009-01-13T10:06:00.000-08:00

It’s January 2009, and the SA (formerly known as SOFA) is in effect. Iraq is quiet. Quiet so that there are fewer explosions, less gunfire, less violence. The country is preparing for elections in two weeks. Whatever normal is for Iraq might look like what I see and hear outside of the FOB.

There is an undertone of, “What do we do now?” that hangs over the FOB. Trained killers now spend time eating, going to the gym, and maintaining their equipment. The new unit that we are supporting spent months physically, mentally, and emotionally preparing to go to war only to get here and find out that stability and security are now firmly taking hold.

Iraq is suddenly boring and that is dangerous.

Slowly, Soldiers lose their edge. Worse yet, the boredom will overtake them and they will act up or act out against one another. It is a greater challenge for leaders to keep their troops gainfully employed during these times than it is to deploy them in a fire fight.

So leaders fall back on what they know from being in a garrison; orderliness, beautification, and attention to detail. Thus we paint rocks. “Painting rocks” is a term used in the Army, but not often. It means to make busy work in lieu of anything substantial. The other day I went by a bunch of Soldiers who were painting cement barriers, making the headquarters look more professional, and I thought, “The war’s over, were painting rocks.”

With all deference to the Soldiers who were doing the painting, they we only trying to bring a sense of esprit de corps to the area by painting logos and heraldry for the unit. However, it isn’t lost on many of us that somehow, somewhere in 2008 the war turned a corner. Iraq stability hit a tipping point. And now, here we are at the beginning of the end.

I was talking to some troops who were wondering about “what’s going to happen next.” I told them to take the next few months seriously. We are at the threshold of a win, something we didn’t really expect in 2006 and 2007. The Iraqis have a long way to go but have made great strides since 2005 (when I was here last).

The next few months will be hard. We need to put down the metaphorical paint brush and get smart in areas of expertise that we are unfamiliar with; economic initiatives, measuring essential services, building relationships within the Iraqi government, building capacity, and continuing to professionalize the Iraqi military.

And then let's go home.

Mandatory Fun - Happy New Year

2009-01-01T09:45:00.000-08:00

Welcome to 2009. When I wrote last time about "camel racing"

as part of the New Year's festivities I didn't think they actually meant camel racing. New Year's eve was mandatory fun, meaning that everyone had to go out and participate. Fun, when directed by the boss usually goes two ways, really fun, or really dull. Last night I found out there was a third option; really silly.

The night had the ususual for New Year's, including a ball made of plywood and stuck with 2009 chem-lites. The fact that someone had 2009 chem-lite available and counted them was only the beginning. Once we had a formation of a thousand or so troops, we broke out into gladiator games. And thus the silliness began. In addition to the camel races (thank God no one actually rode the beasts but instead led them over the course), there was a gator pull.

Fortunately, that didn't involve a real alligator although if they could have found one they might have used it. The gator, an all terrain vehicle, was pulled by Soldiers while others rode in it while jousting with their opponents. Someone muttered, "someone's gonna get hurt," and they were right. The bubble wrap sumo wrestling, and dummy toss were much safer. At the end of the games someone was declared the "gladiator warrior for 2009" with great fanfare. Ugh.

As 2008 drew to a close, old man 2008 was tossed onto the bon fire pile and the baby New Year was seen running in diaper, bonnet and combat boots with a torch bearer to light the way to 2009. This is what I stayed up for because they had been putting gasoline on the pile of wood and old furniture since 1:30 in the afternoon. I was expecting a small mushroom cloud to usher in the New Year.

The bon fire didn't disappoint with flames reaching 40' in the air. The temperature was down in the thirties but the fire gave off enough heat to drive out the cold within minutes. Most of my guys had gotten smart hours before an went back to the reality of the compound. I stayed with my First Sergeant, Operations NCO, and one Team Chief who was only hanging around to use the office phone to call his family.

Finally, as 2009 rolled in, fireworks were passed around to hundreds of Soldiers. It was the apex of silliness, a large crowd with small explosives set off by anyone who had a lighter. It was time to go.

The Iraqis are now "in charge", whatever that means. 2009 brings us closer to home. Closer to what matters most, family and friends. HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Post Holiday Cheer

2008-12-30T10:27:00.000-08:00

Lisa got on my case about my Christmas journal entry.

I have to admit that it was gloomy as the mood I was in. However, it reflects how I was feeling. Like anything else, mood come and go, and my gloomy mood left a couple of days ago with the delivery of the mail.

Mail is still as important as it was 40, 58, and 64 years ago in different wars in different places. Although I love skype, email, and satellite phones - there is something special about receiving a card or package. Its a tangible connection to home that means someone took the time to sit down and think about me. It means more so when it comes from people who are absolute strangers.

In the past two days I got mail. Twice. Packages. Twice!

My favorite came from Lisa. It was a package that had a dvd of Samantha's performance in her middle school's production of High School Musical. I was stunned to see how grown she was on stage. I was not stunned to see that those ballet lessons never paid off. Samantha was having so much fun up there that the smile on my face was the first true moment of joy I can remember in a while.

I want to thank the strangers and everyone from church who sent cards - especially the choir who sent a card signed by everyone.

Thanks to Greg and Marilyn who sent among other things, Scrabble! Before us old(er) guys started playing Guitar Hero III we were talking about getting a Scrabble game board. Excellent. The books and magazines make a great addtion to the library.

Thanks to Mrs. Van Dusen's North Utica 1st grade class who sent me a dozen hand made Christmas cards - each addressed to "My Buddy" with all of the classic first grade phonetic spellings that made each a treasure.

All of these gestures, big and small, meant a world to me and my mood is better. The New Year is 26 hours away. There is talk of a bon fire, camel races, and gator races. Maybe I'll stay up past my bed time and check it out.

Kalsu Christmas

2008-12-27T10:39:00.000-08:00

Christmas has come and gone on FOB Kalsu. The New Year’s Eve bon fire and celebration is just a few days away.

Our Christmas in Iraq started weeks before when we received decorations from several wonderful people back in the US. I put up my tree and decorated it with ornaments from my last tour. Other people hung lights (against the Regs), tinsel, and window ornaments around the compound.

The official tree on the FOB is this pathetic thirty foot tall Charlie Brown tree that started to literally die the moment they cut it down. The powers that be threw a long strand of white lights around it in a half hearted attempt to decorate it. The ornaments blew off in the wind storm. My holiday spirit was a lot like the tree – trying on the outside but wilting just the same.

We spent the day before Christmas with our friends sitting around the compound. We barbequed, started a fire in the fire pit, and played with a Wii generously donated to us from a friend on the FOB. With the Wii came Guitar Hero World Tour, and a bunch of grown dorky 40 somethings got their ROCK on to Cheap Trick, Aerosmith, and Kiss while the 20 somethings played Rock Band in another room.

In some ways I just looked at this holiday as a place holder on the calendar, a mark to be checked to get closer to home. From Upstate New York I am used to snow by now, and I missed the holiday shopping, and Christmas music. None of that happened here; it rained two days before Christmas turning the place into a mud puddle and the only holiday music I heard was on the 24th and 25th.

I celebrated the reason for the holiday at a candle light service with a thousand other Soldiers. We sang song I remembered from dozens of Christmas services in the Catholic and United Presbyterian churches and praised God and reflected on all that is good, and can be good, in men. The light of all of those candles brought a warm and glow to the room.

I hung my head most of the time having just been told the news that three men died earlier in the day when their truck rolled over into a canal. All three drown, in Iraq, the day before Christmas. I thought about those families who would open their doors, most likely late in the evening or early Christmas day, to learn that it would be a long time before they ever had a merry Christmas again. Good God, can anything be worse than that news?

I spoke to Lisa and TJ before I went to bed. I got up super early to say hi to Lisa on my Christmas morning, it was 5:00 am in Iraq and 9:00 pm, Christmas Eve in Florida. I opened my presents with her; a “pregnant snowwoman” ornament and Too Fat Too Fish, by Artie Lange from the Howard Stern Show. I love Artie, as does Lisa, and I knew the book would be fun to read once I woke up again. Yep – I went back to bed until 9:30 am.

I think of what I’d be doing with Lisa at 9 o’clock the night before Christmas. I’d just get in from church service with her. We’d change into sweats and a t-shirt and make a nice Manhattan with good bourbon and sweet vermouth. We’d sit for a while she finished her last minute wrapping. I’d sit on the porch by the river watching boats go by to and from the Gulf. Life would be great at that moment. What the hell am I doing here?

For Christmas I spent the day with my troops. We played secret-pass-the-present-Santa; a weird game where one person opens a present but the next person can chose that present if they want. We all laughed and joked. It was nice, it really was, a brief respite from work, patrols, meetings, war, peace, and the fact that we’d rather be elsewhere. I beat my Soldiers at Risk – which they said was a good thing that reaffirmed their confidence in me. I went to the gym and ran for 30 minutes until I worked off all of the holiday food I was eating.

I should have been running our annual Christmas Tree Trot with Lisa. I spoke to my family again and tried to open presents with TJ via skype but it fell way short of expectations. The signal dropped and dropped again and again. My frustration rose and I stopped trying altogether. Calling Samantha was equally difficult with everyone trying to call home at once. We spoke for a few minutes but ultimately gave up for an opportunity to call when the lines were less crowded. I didn’t even try to call my brother. I miss being in the proximity of my family so much that anything less than that is almost avoidable.

My Christmas ended with another small bon fire and a good cigar after dinner. I stopped by Santa because he was there. Here was a guy in the dining hall dressed up for us - no kids - just a bunch of Soldiers far from hom. It was a long day doing nothing – a well deserved nothing to recharge the batteries for the next day.

In so many ways I missed the holiday altogether. I think I missed its meaning and purpose and the joy and the wonder. I couldn’t get into the spirit for so many reasons.

Tourist Trapped

2008-12-18T10:15:00.000-08:00

The other day I flew to a tiny base in the Karbala province in order to talk to the government reconstruction team that oversees the province and interacts with the local government on matters from essential services to rule of law.

I was a “strap hanger” of two “full bird” Colonels who were touring the area as part of their transition of command. Since they were headed down there I jumped into the entourage. My usual traveling partner wasn’t with me but I knew as long as I was with these to senior officers that I’d least get back to FOB Kalsu at the end of the day. What I didn’t do was fully coordinate my movements once we arrived at the small base. Since I knew the Colonels would be meeting with the reconstruction team I followed them instead of going off on my own and finding their office. They climbed into the back of a MRAP and so did I. My mistake.

I found myself locked into their schedule; the unwitting recipient of a tour of Karbala.

For the next six hours I rode around in the back of a MRAP looking out the window at the city of Karbala. Karbala is the sixth largest city in Iraq. Lisa later asked me, “As compared to what city in the US?” I replied, “The sixth largest city in the US!” It’s a predominately Shi’a city with 700,000 people two significant Shi’a mosques there.

From my window, Karbala was a thriving city without any Coalition Forces residing in the entire province except for those living with the ISF. There is vertical construction everywhere with enormous cranes lifting material over skeletons of scaffolding. Shops were open selling everything from children’s toys to furniture. The streets were crowded with people who looked at us curiously as we drove by. The word, "bustling" came to mind. The vibe was so different that in all my experiences in 2004-2005 and now, I would have never guessed I was in Iraq.

We stopped in several IP and IA offices to allow the Colonels to discuss the pertinent issues and look at their new equipment. We ate lunch at an Iraqi Army base. Plates and plates of rice and lamb with warm flat bread to stuff it into get it from the plate to your mouth. The gift of Iraqi food is a gift that keeps on giving. Two days later and I’m still not right. The only bright side to my misadventure was that we finished off our tour with a “market walk” of downtown Husanyia, a small city east of Karbala.

In the afternoon we parked the trucks at the far end of the market and strolled through. Well, that’s a lie, isn’t it? We didn’t just park and walk away. Actually, we got out, and walked on the sidewalk while the personal security element, ISF, and overhead attack helicopters kept watch of us tourists. The stores were still open in the late afternoon sun. The smells of sweet breads, rotisserie chicken, tobacco, and Iraqi men is enough to pull you (or push) you down the street. Men filled the market place in front of and behind the counter, haggling prices. Many times the shop owners were accompanied by their sons while old men sat outside and contemplated deep thoughts. Groups gathered to watch us or engage us when we stopped before our time ran out to fly back.

I always wonder in these moments, the moments when you really get to see people in their daily routine, if I will be able to return to these places in ten or twenty years and walk these same streets without security or body armor.

Photo Ops Part II

2008-12-13T01:23:00.001-08:00

More photos to illustrate life in Iraq.

The MRAP comes in many different models, each made by a different company. Learning to drive it is not as difficult as you would imagine. However, once you get on the narrow roads and contend with Iraqi drivers it takes a lot of concentration in the drivers seat.

Children are still the best hope for this country. Forty years of a dictatorship is not easily washed away after five years of democracy. It will take these children, members of a tribe that is over a thousand years old, to grow up, come into their own, and learn to work with the Arab and Western worlds.

One of the biggest tragedies in Iraq occurs in the SOE (State Owned Enterises). Factory machinery sits idle while the company still pays thousands of works to stand around all day. The factory cannot compete in the regional market. The paradox is that if the company privatized then they'd have to lay off three quarters of the work force to make a profit. Many managers chose to keep people on the books.

This is a picture near my compound looking out near the helicopter landing zone. The "birds" come in day and night, mostly at night. When they do my little home shakes from the sound waves they create. Beyond the LZ is the compound trash fire. We burn out trash down wind from the base. The EPA would probably have a collective aneurysm if this was in the US.

Sitting on the SOFA

2008-12-07T23:09:00.000-08:00

First, the Status of Forces Agreement (SOFA) is now called the Security Agreement (SA). I like SOFA better because it makes the journal title more ironic.

Second, we still do not know how the SOFA is going to affect our every day mission here in Iraq; at least not yet. We cannot talk about it to the press, which is good because all I know about it came from Fox News and since they seem to know more than we do, maybe I could ask them.

The basics are pretty straight forward. All US forces out of the cities by June of 2009 and out of the country by 2011. We will coordinate operations with Iraq Security Forces. We will turn over detainees or have to show a burden of proof to keep them in detention. These are the biggies within the entire agreement. Since the agreement was made by the US administration and the Iraqi administration I’m that its simple and easy to understand.

And it’s in the broad definitions of the words “cities” and “out of” and “operations” that the SOFA gets interesting. What defines a city in Iraq? Is it by population? Square miles? Historical boundaries? My FOB is nowhere near a city. But what about a base on the outskirts of al Hilla, or Karbala, or Baghdad? Baghdad! We’re going to leave (out of) the IZ? Leave (out of) the bases near Sadr City in the Shi’a slums of Baghdad? If it means giving the mission of security over to the Iraqis then I am all for it and wish them luck.

Thank goodness we have lawyers to sort this entire mess out! You know that the war has changed dramatically when we look to the lawyers for guidance with the day to day stuff. Our military lawyers at the highest levels are deciphering the legal implications of the SOFA. In a few weeks (because that’s all they have) they will let us know how our relationship with Iraq has changed.

I'm not worried. We will always have the right to defend ourselves. And no, I don’t think we’ll be taking orders from the ISF any time soon. In the end, the level of coordination that will come from the SOFA will only serve to get us extricated from Iraq easier rather than harder. We’d rather wave good-bye than shoot our way out.

The bottom line is that this is the mark on the calendar no one wanted to make for the past four or five years. We are leaving Iraq and barring a catastrophic incident with any one of Iraq’s neighbors, that’s not going to change. The SOFA is the beginning of the end.

However, until the SOFA turns into the SA, we’ll be sitting and waiting.

Change in the Weather

2008-12-02T11:24:00.000-08:00

I saw my breath this morning for the first time since last winter in New York. When I arrived to Kuwait the temperatures were still in the 110°-120° range. Managing the heat is relatively easy. Drink lots of water, stay out of the sun as much as possible, and keep hard work to a minimum.

It stayed hot for a few weeks in Iraq until the temps dropped to a reasonable 80ish. That’s when the last of the summer dust storms hit. The dust that is kicked up from these storms knows no boundaries and can find its way into rooms, vehicles, and even showers. It reduces visibility to near nothing. There isn’t much worse than breathing dirt all day long.

Then the rains came. It has rained briefly a few times. One day it rained here for half a day and turned the entire base into a slick, dirty, sticky mud hole. I made the same complaint last time and anyone who has ever been here knows what I am talking about. The Iraqi earth is not sand, at least not in central Iraq between the Tigris and Euphrates. The earth here is more of a dried up river silt that when dry become as fine as talc. When it’s damp it becomes spongy and soft. When it gets wet it turns into soup. When you walk through it the mud sticks to the bottom of your boots and picks up clumps of stones and more mud. You can shake it off, scrape it off, and kick it off but the mud stays in between your treads on your boots until it decides it fall off.

Now the weather is turning once again and it is cold in the mornings when you wake up. People are starting to wear their fleece outer garments. Winter, such as it is, is coming to Iraq.

Iraq is changing too. When I arrived I was expecting a continuation of 2005, with gunfire, explosions, and high number of lethal and snatch-and-grab operations. I knew we were conducting large numbers of infrastructure projects but thought we'd need to play "dodge bomb" on the highways. I guess I was expecting a hot peace. What I discovered was much different.

Iraq is stable. That is the word that seems to fit best. The word that immediately follows the word “stable” is “fragile.” If you look at numbers then Iraq has benefited from the surge. The numbers of significant acts of violence are down across the board. The numbers of families returning to their homes has risen. The numbers of shops that are open are increasing. The nights are quiet. However, Iraq is more than a set of statistics.

Many factors can be attributed to this stability. The surge, GEN Petreaus, the SOI (Sons of Iraq) program, the destruction of al Qaeda cells, the money being poured in for infrastructure projects – any and all of these combined have brought a respite from the carnage of 2006 and 2007. A lot of credit must be given to the Iraqi military and police who have become a strong, (nearly) independent force. They take the lead on operations or calls for assistance and are backed up by our forces. They are a much different organization than existed in 2005.

Or, it could be that everyone is waiting for us to leave and as one battle hardened captain told me one night, “The Iraqis just decided that they don’t want to kill us right now.”

Within a few weeks the Security Agreement (formerly known as SOFA) will go into effect. This agreement will directly impact how we conduct our missions. There are no details whatsoever. Will we have to request permission to leave the base? Within a few months the nation will hold provincial level elections. As the balance of power shifts one way or another the fallout will be felt among the local towns and villages here. Will officials who lose vacate their seats? Within a few months the SOI will no longer receive American financial support, take a reduction in pay from the GOI, and may be put out of business altogether. Will the pick up their guns against us?Within a few years Iran is poised to come in and help their Shi’a Muslim brothers when we leave. What happens then?

Iraq might be coming out of the long cold winter to a slow rebirth or maybe this is the calm before the storm. Unfortunately the elements for one are the same as the other. It’s too early to tell which way the wind is blowing and the weathermen have been known to be wrong.

Thanksgiving Day 2008

2008-11-27T09:09:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving - in the military - when you are deployed is special holiday to reflect on the comaradere we share, the friends we have lost, how much we have accomplished, and how much our families sacrifice while we are gone. We have a huge meal and a take a day off, as much as the job will allow.

My day began early with a 0700 start to the second annual 10k Turkey Trot, where one hundred plus crazy people got up early and braved the moon surfaced road for two loops through the FOB. I was joined by three of my Soldiers and we set off around the perimeter walls with the sun casting long shadows in front of us.

By the second lap, the crowd thinned out considerably. Runners were either really fast, really slow, or smart enough to drop out on the first lap. I knew my knees wouldn't forgive me and since I was thankful for them, I slowed my pace to a respectable 7:30 minute pace. I finished in 47:16ish. I got my free t-shirt and headed for the room to shower.

I went to my office for an hour. One, just to say I was there, and two to check for any late night emails that higher headquarters sends long after we close shop for the night. I went over to the Thanksgiving service at the outdoor stage. It was very ecumenical; a little Catholic, a little Baptist, a little Contemporary Christian. I was reminded of the many blessings I have in family, friends, and fellow Soldiers and I took time to say, "thank you."

After service I got my First Sergeant to go help serve the holiday meal. Like I said, the holiday meal is taken very seriously by the military, especially the cooks who pride themselves on the work they put into this meal. And everybody on the FOB knows it. The smell of delicious food floats over the base. That's why the line to get into the dining facility was out the door...

and into the building itself. The meal is not only about the food but it is about the decorations. Every table had a setting with gold table cloths, center pieces, real glasses for sparkling juice, and every chair was wrapped in cloth. It gave the impression that you were in someones home or a very nice resturaunt.

The cooks spend a lot of time on the decorations. This cornicopia is made of baked bread and is only one of the half dozen I saw.

This floral arrangement is made of vegtables. If you look carefully you will notice that the flowers are red, yellow, and green peppers. Radishes and carrots make up some of the smaller flowers.

The entire hall leaves you impressed that someone took this much time to prepare a meal.

The best part of the day for me is when I get to serve the Soldiers. I learned of this in 2004. It is a great way to give back to the men and women who consistently work hard for their leadership. It is an honor and a priveledge.

In 2004 they stuck me on turnups, or green beans, or some other thing that only a few people wanted. Not this year! This year, by pure luck, I got to serve the turkey! Two kinds! Roasted and home style! My First Sergeant got prime rib and ham steak, so together we were dishing it out and piling it on.

After the meat line, came the stuffing, potatoes, yams, shrimp, and salad lines. After our entire company came through our line and when they were done, we grabbed out plates and joined them. It is now 2131 (8:31pm) and I am still not hungry after my early afternoon meal.

Give thanks today for all that you have.

And later on in the day some good souls sat down and started to personalize Christmas ornaments. We set up the tree and lights and decorations in order to get stay the holiday spirit. With the holidays are fast approaching, and from the B/403rd family to you, Happy Thanksgiving!

Photo Ops

2008-11-23T00:09:00.000-08:00

Here are a few random pictures from the deployment so far.

Every morning we raise the flag over our compound. We fly flags special for some of the people and organizations back home that support us with morale and welfare items, cards, and care packages.

This is how I see most of Iraq. From the air, about 700 feet off the ground. Out here is farm land cut through with deep, man made irrigation canals.

The Iraqi fire deptartment. There equipment is basic. They have no "turn out" gear and have to rely on pumper trucks or antiquated fire hydrants. Fortunately, every building here is made of brick. So while the contents of the house burn, the structure itself usually stands.

Meetings. Sometimes I am fully engaged in the dialouge. Other times I get to sit back with the camera and try to find the best angle.

Lunch Arab style, or at least in this case. We all stood. We all used our hands. We all had way too much to eat. The sheik next to me kept digging his fingers into my chicken and stuffed my bread with it so that I would eat more. Thanks, yummy.

The MRAP is the best protection we have against mines and IEDs. Period. It is a monster of a tactical vehicle. Unfortunately for our work, work that is supposed to build relationships, this beast doesn't really say, "we're here to help."

Reunions Part II

2008-11-18T09:52:00.000-08:00

These are picture of me with my beloved interpreter Khalid. The first was taken in March 2005. The second was taken last week. I have not seen him for three years.

We stayed in touch via email - although very loosely - since my coming home in 2005. He would send a Christmas email every year and I would let him know that the family was doing well and growing.

As I got closer to returning to Iraq, I knew I had to see Khalid again. Once I got here and got settled I emailed for him to come from Baghdad and he agreed.

It's not easy to move freely around the country. There are Coalition Forces, Iraqi Police, and Security Forces who all have check points here and there. Some of the less professional Iraqis might even shake drivers down for money as a "toll". It was even harder for Khalid because he has no car and had to get a ride. It was not an easy trip for him.

As you can see, Khalid is short on stature. Kahlid, however is big on ideas. He was educated in Britian as an engineer and has used those skills to his benefit over the last five years. If you ask him he could solve all of Iraqs problems. He was an asset to me as a cultural advisor and project manager and interpreter. Unfortunately, Khalid is also a little schemer and got caught "double dipping" in 2005 when he was working for two different companies and translating for two different units...at the same time. I look back now and wonder what other shenanigans he was up to when he worked for me.

I love him, but don't trust him very much either.

Khalid and I met and took up where we left off; how's the family, the wife, how's his son-in-law who cheated him out of property, how are some of the people we knew. He adores Lisa. I showed him pictures of the wedding and he loved them. Then I showed him pictures from our missions together.

Over hot cha'i we laughed about some of the adventures we got into and argued about Iraq, its future, and the new American president-elect. Khalid uses his age to give the wise-old-sage insight to the world - especially the Arab world. I call "bullshit" and we argue it out. It was great.

In the end Khalid shared his technical drawings with pleas to turn them into projects. Projects equal money. I was a little put off by it but I also warned myself to expect it. Still it felt good to know that at least one thing that I left behind was still going strong. It felt good to wrap my arms around this tiny man who in spite of five years of war, occupation, civil war, and terror was still alive and hadn't changed one bit.

I am sure we will get together again.

Running Into Danger

2008-11-12T04:50:00.000-08:00

Running is one of my hobbies. I wouldn’t say that I love it to an obsession and subscribe to Runner’s Magazine, but I like it enough to make time for it on a regular basis. I enjoy my time pushing TJ, as I did Samantha, in the baby jogger. I also like Lisa by my side long enough for me to get stretched out and take off from her a mile after we've left home. And, yes, I enter races from time to time.

I like to run.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, running on my base is difficult because there are very few long, smooth stretches of road inside the base. The pock marked, moon crater surface is killer on ankles, knees, and thighs. So it was a delight for me to take a trip off of the base to a place where every road was paved.

I spent four days at a power plant where the military unit actually lives on the plant grounds. Unfortunately, the “road” wasn’t “paved with gold” and a whole new set of risks presented themselves to me. So here, with a little editing, is the conversation that went on in my head for my first run at the power plant.

“Ah, what a great morning to run! And on pavement! Man, these Soldiers have it good. I wonder why more of them aren’t out enjoying this?”

Two minutes into the run…

“Oops, look out, there’s a two story tall, fifteen ton, MRAP pulling out from its parking spot. He can’t see me so I better run wide around him or I’ll become a stain on the road! There’s another pulling out. And another.”

Five minutes into the run…

“Hey, what’s that smell? Okay, the port-a-pottie sucker trucks, but what’s that other smell, like petroleum? Oh, that’s right, the power plant burns oil to generate electricity. Good thing those plumes are high up in the sky and blowing the other way.”

Six minutes later…

“Oh, I get it, the road goes in a big circle and now I’m running underneath them. Breathe shallow.”

On the back stretch now…

“What’s that buzzing sound? It sounds like 85,371 angry bees. Ah, high tension wires. Man, they’re only forty feet off the ground and they don’t sound like they are insulated. My sweat can't complete the circuit. Right?"

Home stretch…

“I wonder why those pipes are hissing? What’s that over there? I wonder if that glows in the dark? I wonder if I'm gonna glow in the dark?"

“Ah, the end of the run. Look at that time, 16:38! Not bad. I can’t wait to do this again tomorrow!”

So This Means I Get To Come Home in January, Right?

2008-11-05T00:14:00.000-08:00

I first heard the news at 0715 local time. I was walking into the dining facility as Senator McCain was giving a gracious concession speech to his supporters: Barack Obama had won the election.

Put your politics aside for a moment and reflect on how lucky we are to live in a country where we can overthrow the government every four years without anyone dying or military intervention. A country where we can hold elections in the midst of a economic crisis, a war on two fronts, and numerous socio-economic issues. A county where 150 years ago someone like Senator Obama was still considered property, let alone a voter or a person able to run for public office.

Soon, the President-elect's politics and administration will be hailed and/or scrutinized by politicians and pundits alike. I have to say that from "my foxhole" I don't envy the man and I hope that the "change" he promises is a shining path and not an oncoming train.

However, for this brief moment, it is a great day to be an American.

Gatherings and Goings

2008-11-03T22:07:00.000-08:00

Last week our hosts, B/415th CA, the out-going Civil Affairs unit, held a barbeque for us a “Hail and Farewell” party. These events are not uncommon for the military, but the degree to which this one was done says a lot about the unit going home and the other residents of the FOB.

The grill was enormous. It was big enough to lie down in. We started the charcoal around 4:00pm and the first food went on the grates at 5:00pm. Most of the food was donated by the dining facility; however some, like lamb, was purchased off of the local economy through an interpreter. There were sausages, steaks, ribs, chicken, and lamb kabobs. The food was nonstop for three hours. The prime rib was still frozen at the core, so in typical Army fashion we cut it with a cordless saws all power tool.

People came from all over; Soldiers from other units, civilian contractors, firemen, and guys from the Special Forces compound next to ours. Most came to say good-bye to the troops from B/415th.

At one point it was easy to forget where we were. It was a festive atmosphere and at one point the numbers swelled to about sixty. Music was blaring, cigars were being smoked, and everyone was laughing. A small group of us took up an invitation to go play volleyball at the Special Forces compound. They turned on their flood lights and spent the night chasing the ball through the air – and the darkness – for a spirited and sloppy game.

The reunion from the arrival of the main body of the unit the fews days before was short lived. In the days following the party three of my teams departed the FOB to go to remote stations to do their jobs. Although I had been apart from the company for a few days, this separation away from these teams will be longer. The challenge of leadership is harder in these situations and I guess that I worry about them - without sounding selfish or egotistical – now they are out from under my protective wing.

Finally, last night or early this morning, the last of the B/415th personnel boarded helicopters for the first leg of their trip home. The compound, the rooms, the offices, the missions are now ours.

The TOA (transfer of authority) is complete and responsibility for civil military operations in this area is now ours. The deployment began in August but the tour begins in earnest today.

Happy election day.

Reunions

2008-10-24T09:20:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was a great day. My company, Bravo 403rd Civil Affairs, is reunited once again! On 14 October, I flew to Baghdad with my personnel/administrative sergeant, my operations sergeant, and my supply sergeant. We flew up early to start the transition process and to attend a conference on civil-military operations in this region.

We took a convoy from our base and drove thirty plus miles on a major highway to what is called, Victory Base, at the Baghdad International Airport complex. It was my first time outside of our FOB (Forward Operating Base) by ground. We arrived and had to drop off people, paperwork, and refuel before going to the tents where the rest of B/403rd spent the night. I was anxious. The whole time I felt like a parent who hasn’t seen their children in a long time – but that the last time they saw them they were glad to be away from them for a few days. We entered the tent complex and there was Zimmerman and Stotlar and a few others. We hollered back and forth to one another. When I entered the tent we all cheered. Some Soldiers rushed me and hugged me, others busted my chops for my leaving them in Kuwait for so long. There were smiles all around.

We were a family again.

In another reunion going on at the same time, my Soldier, PFC Garretto, was spending time with her dad, SSG Garretto, who is a helicopter mechanic with the Army National Guard. Although they had only half a day together, SSG Garretto flies to our base on a regular basis and father and daughter will get to spend time together when they can. It was the first time I had ever seen a parent and their child in Theater before, although the news covers it all of the time.

They were a family again.

Those haven’t been the only reunions. The other day I was in the dining facility when I was approached by one of my former students, Chris Remillard – now Captain Remillard – who is on the FOB as a physical therapist. Since then we’ve had lunch together and caught up on where everyone else from his class is at. This includes yet another of my former students who was living on the same base as I am but is currently and hour south of here. I’ve exchanged emails with CPT O’Brien and we’ll have dinner the next time he comes here.

And then, finally, I was walking into the “big” PX at Victory Base the other day and I ran into my friend’s wife, a Warrant Officer with the 101st Airborne Division. The last time I saw Carrie, she, her husband, Lisa, and I were all at dinner together in Cortland, NY on the eve of Kurt being deployed.

I am amazed at how small the Army is to be able to run into so many people that I know.

Now that we are on the FOB we are getting settled in and learning our way around. Now starts the process of learning the specifics of the jobs we will be doing. Now the real work begins.

Babylon, Waiting, and My First Run

2008-10-20T10:55:00.001-07:00

I flew to Al Hilla, Iraq, on the west bank of the Euphrates River yesterday to attend a conference on Provincial Reconstruction. It was my first time crossing the river that has given this region so much.

The flight down was at night in the body of a blacked out Blackhawk helicopter. We flew low enough that I knew we were no more than several hundred feet off of the ground. I stayed in an old Ba'ath Party hotel and met a group of State Department people who were spending a year in the country trying to get the government - at the provincial level - going again.

Across the river from the meeting place was the ancient ruins of Babylon. Once the greatest of cities in the world; the place where Alexander the Great died in 235 BC; a place still revered today. In the low, late day sun, I was fortunate to fly over the ruins. I'm sure they weren't all 2,400 years old. Babylon was destroyed and rebuilt more than once. However, to see them and imagine the size and scope of what it might have been like was a thrill.

I have been here since 15 October and my Soldiers are finally coming up from Kuwait tonight. I arrived early to attend a Civil Military Operations conference and start the hand over of responsibilities from the out-going unit. My troops have been in Kuwait training and waiting to come up.

I miss "my" guys. Without them I am not a commander. I'm sure that when we get together there will be high-fives and hugs all around. The work ahead of them will require their very best.
The other day I went for a run around the FOB. It was difficult at best. The mud from the spring rains have left the internal roads pocked and hard to even walk on. This forces runners to the perimeter road, a four mile trek through moon dust, past the sewage dump, and out past where they burn trash. The moon dust is a talc like dirt/dust/river silt combination that and be up to an inch deep. Running in it kicks up clouds of dust and makes it look like you are running on the moon. The sewage is where the black water from all of the toilets goes and is basially an organic reclamation point - and I won't run by it again. By the third mile you are out past where anyone lives and they burn some/all of the trash. The smoke blows away from the camp - and I won't run by it again, either.

There are shorter routes and I will learn them rather than go on a treadmill. Running is important, especially given all of the food here. It lets me blow off steam, enjoy my ice cream without too much guilt, and it gets me away for a while.

All is well.

I'm Flying, I'm Flying

2008-10-19T03:18:00.000-07:00

Here is an image that should terror into the hearts of those who know me.

Here I am, cruising at 36,000 feet over Greenland, sitting in the pilots seat.

One handed! No kidding!

This photo was taken on 09 OCT 08 en route to Kuwait via Germany. The autopilot was on and no one was ever really in danger. Really.

On A Wing and A Prayer

2008-10-17T12:38:00.000-07:00

I have been in Iraq for 48 hours. I left Kuwait Tuesday afternoon and flew to Baghdad in a C-130 along with two dozen other Civil Affairs people and some miscellaneous contractors. The flight was typical for entering Baghdad, we went from 30,000 feet to 10,000 feet in a matter of seconds and then banked into another combat dive onto the runway. At one point I think my feet left the floor.

Prior to leaving Kuwait they gave FORCEPRO (Force Protection)ammunition. This ammunition is meant for one purpose, and I have been wearing it every waking moment since I got here. I guess that makes it real - I am back in a hostile fire zone.

However, arriving in Iraq was anti-climatic. This airport is in the middle of one of the largest and safest bases in the country. I kept telling myself to expect to have everything different. However, I found out that it was mostly the same. There are more buildings and more twenty-foot concrete barriers, but the location of the "terminal" is still the same. The barracks where I spent the night is still the same. Even the location of the Subway shop is the same.

The next day (yesterday) I flew by helicopter to my base. As I was running to the helicopter - blades turning - I realized that I forgot my glasses. Great. I had to make hand motions to the crew and then sprinted back across the flight line to the terminal. I am relying on my glasses more than I thought.

My flight to my base brought the last three years full circle for me. As we flew south I was familar with the area we were over because I had worked nearby in 2004-2005. And then I recognized a place I knew. And then I saw one of the projects I had built in 2005: a water tower in a small, rural village. And then we flew over the other one. Wow. They were still standing. No one had come in after they were completed and destroyed them. I had to assume they were working and serving the needs of the community.

We flew over vast agricultural lands full of different crops. There were workers and tractors, similar to the ones I distributed in 2005, working in the fields. From the air I could see life on the ground.

I landed at the FOB and met the men and women we will be replacing. The FOB is dusty, and as I write this we are in the middle of thick dust storm. Dust covers everything, everywhere. I'll write more about the FOB another time, when I have had time to wander around.

I fought to get here with a four person detail to attend an important conference as well as start the process of transferring equipment, paperwork, and information. Most of my Soldiers are still in Kuwait. Before leaving I gathered them all into a small circle. I told them that we were going to go to work soon and that some of us would go to different locations. In fact it may have been the last time that we'd all be together as a unit. And then I asked them to pray.

Together we said a prayer for strength for each of us when we are weak. To know right from wrong and to chose the right path. To look out for one another. We asked for God to look after our families-- especially the ones with small children. We prayed for peace and patience and safety for the next nine months.

And then we said, "Amen."

All is well here.

Why I Love The Army. Reason #214

2008-10-13T09:29:00.000-07:00

Soldiers are the world's best complainers. They can bitch about anything.

This Kuwait. This is the middle of the desert. This is where Bedouins and their camels roam freely (I've seen them). It is over 100 degrees here in the middle of the day and the wind blows so hard that the port-a-potties need to be anchored to the ground. To walk anywhere here - and you have to walk everywhere here - requires you to drink a bottle of water before and after your trip. In other words, it's hot.

What do my Soldiers comlain about? What is it that causes them to vetch at breakfast?

It turns out that the air conditioning in our 60 person tent is too COLD!

That kind of complaining takes practice.

I won't be in Kuwait for very long. However, I was here to celebrate the Navy's 233rd birthday by running a 5k fun run in one of the heaviest and wettest fogs that I have ever encountered. The fog was so thick that I couldn't see more than four runners in front me. Out of the 150-200 people who ran I have no idea how I finished other than a respectable time of 20:24. (Neal, I sprinted the last 1/4 mile for you as a wedding present.)

I will be posting pictures as soon as I get to Iraq and get settled.

Welcome to Kuwait!

2008-10-10T22:32:00.000-07:00

We are safely in Kuwait with all of our gear ready to start the last phase of our preparations for Iraq.

We left New Jersey in the early morning of October 9th. Our take off was delayed for several hours. Fortunately for me, because of the delay, I was able to call home shortly after midnight and wish Lisa a happy anniversary.

We flew on a contracted United 747 with a great, and very attractive, crew who met us at JFK for our refueling. Although many of us slept for the first few hours of the flight eventually we all woke up and moved freely about the plane. The flight attendants let us get our own coffee and tour the cockpit, and we in turn let them get pictures holding our weapons. On a funny note, yes, we were allowed to bring our rifles on board the plane, but not our knives.

We landed in Germany for ninety minutes, changed out crews, and flew on to Kuwait. I slept as much as I could on this leg knowing that I'd land in the morning hours. We came in over the desert as the sun was rising and I was reminded how desolate parts of the world are.

After we landed we were hustled on to busses for a ride into the middle of the Kuwaiti desert. In fact, the exit sign on the major highway read, "DESERT" with an arrow. Two hours later I was reminded in very clear terms what "desolate" actually is.

We are in the middle of no-where on a huge staging base. Here we will get used to the heat and the time change, refire our weapons, get some more training, and then move on to Iraq. We could be here a week. We could be here longer.

Despite being in the middle of no-where, this base is firmly established. Once inside the perimeter our bus passed a Taco Bell, Burger King, and Subway. This morning I stopped over to a Starbucks and ordered a coffee. The gym is enormous. The new dining facility has an ornate water fountain in it. Austere this is not.

The mood in the unit is very positive and everyone is doing great. Personally, I feel like I am in a time warp, instantly sucked back to 2004-2005. The sights, smells, and sounds of this place made it feel like I had never been away - very strange.

Finally, there are representatives from the unit we are replacing here. We are able to pick their minds and get ready for the mission ahead of us. We all have dozens of questions apeice and they are doing their best to answer them all.

That's all for now. I will keep in touch.

Anticipation

2008-10-08T11:03:00.000-07:00

We are waiting for transport to the flight line. The bags are packed and loaded. The barracks are cleaned and empty. The farewell ceremony is over. All of the weapons have been issued.

There is laughter, some of it nervous, as Soldiers joke with one another.

There are lot of cell phones out with text messages and call being sent.

Some are reading. Some have found a whiffle ball and bat and have started pick up game. Others are sitting under a tree picking at the grass generating rumor mill content.

This is the longest part of the entire deployment; getting there, or waiting to get there. The anxiety is real. No matter how many past deployments someone has been on, those nervous butterflies manifest themselves in many ways.

Writing, for me, is the way to relieve some of that waiting anxiety.

I hope all is well with you, wherever you are.

24 Hours

2008-10-07T13:17:00.000-07:00

24 hours to go.

What goes through a Soldiers mind at this time? It ranges from the critical to the absurd.

I think about my family and worry about the challenges that they will face without me. I also think about the joys that they will share with me in pictures and video. I feel the ache of starting a long time of being physically apart from them.

I think about the mission. Ft Dix is no longer a concern. Kuwait, additional training, movement to Iraq, and learning the particulars of the area is a concern. What can I do to make all of those things smooth for my Soldiers?

I think about the packing that I've done and the identification of luggage. Everything I own or that has been issued to me is going into green duffle bags that look e-x-a-c-t-l-y like everyone else's green duffle bag. I think about what to put in my carry on in the event that everything is lost or misplaced (it wouldn't be the first time).

I think about the responsibility that I have for these Soldiers. I think about the obligation that I have to their families to train them, send them into harm's way, and bring them all home safely. I think about what else I need to do for those who will sacrifice so much - because I owe them everything.

I think about the laundry that I need to get done so that I can fly in clean clothes.

I think about my bed in Cortland and how much I will miss it.

I think about the good times to come - Thanksgiving, and the Holidays, where I serve (literally) my Soliders and share a meal with them.

I think about how I can be a good Civil Affairs Soldier. I think about how to do my job and enable my commanders to help the people of Iraq. The sooner they can establish/run/manage their essential services, infrastructure, and government systems the sooner we can all come home.

And then the process starts over. I think about my wife, my daughter, my son and how much they mean to me and how much I will miss them.

The clock is counting down from 24 hours until a new clock starts counting down 300+/- days.

48 Hours

2008-10-06T18:49:00.000-07:00

48 hours ago I was home with my family in the middle of one of the nicest weekends anyone could ask for. 48 hours from now I will be on an airplane somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean on my way to Kuwait.

Last week I spent Wednesday night to Sunday evening on pass at my home, with my family. It was four absolutely wonderful days.

Lisa brought TJ downstairs to find out who was behind the mysterious voice coming from the living room. TJ smiled and walked by me as if I had been downstairs the whole day long. It took him a day but he soon realized that the guy in the picture he kisses every night was the same guy picking him up. He got so big in such a short time that I wonder what the next ten months will bring. I will have to live vicariously through Lisa and the photos and video she sends me.

Lisa and I took the time we needed to connect. We went to dinner to our favorite places. We went for a run. We went shopping for TJ’s Halloween costume. We ran in the Pumpkin Fest 5k. We went to church. We hung out. She reminded me how lucky I am every day to have her as a friend, wife, and mother of my child. We reminded each other that we are strong enough to face the challenges that will come over the next year.

On Friday, we picked up Samantha from school and she took over the primary role of TJ’s favorite person in the family. She is involved in so many things at school that I have a hard time keeping up with all of her activities. Sam did great all weekend long until Sunday. Whether she tuned me out, mentally blocked the message, or didn’t understand – Samantha didn’t come to the full realization that I was leaving home until two hours before my ride arrived. In the last ten minutes the full weight of my departure hit her like a ton of bricks. Unfortunately, my daughter is also a bit of a drama queen. Fortunately, I missed her running down the street after the car and dousing herself in my cologne after I left.

My brother and his family came to town on Saturday. We cooked out, went to a football game (without the children, allowing my niece to babysit!), and had a great dinner together before coming back to the house for an outdoor fire.

The weather was nice and autumn was already present in Upstate New York. Everything about these last few precious days helped recharge my batteries for the next few days and will hopefully carry me for the next few months.

This afternoon we received the itinerary for our flight. We will be on a huge contracted commercial airplane flying from New Jersey to New York to Europe to Kuwait. It only took me a few seconds to realize that I would be spending my wedding anniversary on the plane; ugh. I also found out that all of the packing that I have already done needed to be un-done and packed over. There is not much left to do here except attend a farewell ceremony.

I am glad that we are leaving soon. Another group will be here until Saturday, and that is just too long to sit around and do nothing; now that we’ve said good-bye to our families let’s get going. I feel the anxiety building – not just in me but in everyone – as the last minute things that can get accomplished here press against us and the uncertainty of the next few weeks is only hours away.

There is more work to do before we get into Iraq. We’ll spend some time in Kuwait to train, acclimatize, and outfit into the latest protective gear available. We are only getting started.

If you are reading this and I did not call, stop in, or otherwise let you know I was in the area this weekend – I apologize. I you are reading this and I did get a chance to see you and say “good-bye” – thank you for adding to my weekend.

Changes

2008-09-25T11:38:00.000-07:00

There is a big change on this deployment.

During my medical in processing I spent a little extra at the Optometrist. It turns out that I need glasses. I sort of felt that this was coming. I found my eyesight a little blurry - especially after a long day when I am tired. My glasses arrived the other night when I was out on the field problem (Mission Readiness Exercise). The difference was immediate and shocking. Off and on again - wow. So now I am learning to live with glasses. I don't need them all of the time and they only work for distances but here I am...

There are some other big changes that I am accutely aware of since 2005.

First, since 2005, I lost both of my parents. I lost my dad in June of 2006 to a three year long battle with cancer (In fact when I first saw the picture above I saw my dad in my face). Then, ten months later, I lost my mom as the result of complications from surgery. Dad always around his house to answer the phone and gave a familiar voice to listen to whenever I needed it. Mom, well, mom took my deployement a lot harder and worried excessively about my safety. If she knew that I was going back she'd be frantic but proud of me. I miss them both and will miss reaching back to them from Iraq, just to talk.

In the last three years I married Lisa. Although we were engaged at the time I left the last time we were not under the same roof. Under an October sunset in 2005, at the end of a pier in Key West we made our vows to one another. Now, Lisa is my wife. She is my best friend and a rock I can rely on. I have never known a better person and I am so lucky to be married to her.

Finally - I am a dad again! My son, TJ, was born in June 2007, and is the light of my life. He is an absolutely gorgeous toddler who lights up with a smile whenever I walk into the room. Being away from him and all of the "firsts" he is going to go through is probably the hardest part of this deployment.

There will be more changes in the year to come. Iraq will be different. It will be more or less secure and there will be more or less progress. I will be different. I will be a company commander with new challenges to my leadership. Homelife will be different. Lisa will be the head of the house and the sole parent present for raising TJ.

Through it all I will continue to post and keep you up to date.

Combat Lifesaver and Convoy Live Fire Training

2008-09-20T15:18:00.001-07:00

Our training for deployment has included Combat Lifesaver and a live fire Convoy Exercise - and both are scary.

Combat Lifesaver was taught by our own resident LPN while we were out on our training exercise, living in tents, in a Iraq-like operating base. This training gives every Soldier the absolute necessary skills to provide immediate care under fire. If the wounded Soldier's buddies can stop traumatic bleeding and start an intravenous line then a Soldier stands a 97% to 98% chance of survival if they reach the combat hospital.

The classroom instruction is very hands on. It teaches the latest in bandages, hemostat powder (a chemical agent that when introduced to a profuse bleeding wound almost immediately clots it - to include severed arteries), relieving collapsed lungs, and how to start an IV. And as part of the practical exercise and final exam Soldier have to do a IV "stick" on a live person.

Breathe deep. Prep the arm. Find the vein. Clean, sanitize, and prepare the area. Breathe deep again. Take out the needle and catheter. Breathe deep again. Introduce the needle and slide in the catheter. Secure, seal, and start a saline solution. Exhale.

Convoy live fire is another intimidating training event but for a whole different set of reasons than Combat Lifesaver. Six vehicles travel down a winding road while the machine gunner scans for targets to engage with live ammunition.

This training takes several days of preparation to execute. First, all of the gunners need to qualify on the firing range with their assigned weapon. Second, all of the drivers need to go through driver's training and learn the particulars of operating a two ton truck in adverse conditions. Next, the entire convoy practices the range using blanks so they know when and where to aim - and when and where not to aim.

Finally, on the last day, there is an extensive safety briefing followed immediately by the convoy briefing. Each truck has a safety officer who rides in the vehicle. They watch the machine gunners throughout the entire event.

As we rolled out and made the first turn the targets popped up and we immediately engaged by six separate gunners, each throwing rounds down range at rate of 200-300 per minute. From my vantage point, everyone followed their instructions and the training was over far too soon.

All is well here. We are getting a little stir crazy from living on top of one another and are looking forward to our pass in twelve days.

Fetch Me My Squire

2008-09-18T09:09:00.000-07:00

Body armor has been through several generations in a very short time.

What started out as simple flack vests of bullet proof type material led to the anti-ballistic vest that had two seaparate 1/4 inch ceramic/Kevlar/mystery material plates that fit into the front and the back to give Soldiers additional protection against bullets and shrapnel. In 2005, outer arm Kevlar protectors were added. The vests then added on side plates to protect underneath arms and around the mid section.

Add the new and improved helmet, gloves, eye protection, hearing protection, elbow and knee pads, hydration kit, assault pack, and ammo pouches and you look like a 16th century knight ready to ride into battle. You are at least 2 1/2 wide at the center and its heavy as hell.

Last night I put all of that gear on for the first time. And I realized that I couldn't do it without help from my younger Soldiers. I was afraid that if I fell over that I wouldn't be able to get up and would struggle like a turtle on its back.

There is an overt gesture on the part of the highest level of the Army to provide Soldiers the most protection in battle that they possibly can. Body armor, mine resistant vehicles, advanced medicine are all proof that the military is trying to keep its causualties to a minimum. While I agree with and appreciate the gesture it is a difficult to wrap my head around.

It appears like the military want to create a zero causualty envirnoment by protecting us to the nith degree. In a low intensity conflict I suppose that is possible. The number of contacts with the enemy is falling every day and the protection provided does indeed bring Soldiers home alive. However, what happens when we face a high intensity conflict? Can we provide hundreds of thousands of Soldiers this level of protection? Or will it then be relegated to the "combatants"?
As we ponder those deeper questions - can someone help me up?

Next Phase: Welcome to Active Duty

2008-09-13T15:15:00.000-07:00

On 05 September 2008, I returned to Active Duty for the first time since the summer of 2005. My reason for being on Active Duty last time was the same as this time, involuntary call to active duty to fight in the Global War on Terror. Active Duty is a whole different ball game than from being a drilling Reservist.

You've heard the term "weekend warrior", or maybe the slogan, "one weekend a month and two weeks in the summer?" Unless you are attending a military school, as a Reservist you are paid only for the weekend drills you attend. In other words, you are paid for days, not a full months salary at the rank you hold. For most Reservists, that extra pay goes to a car payment, or rent, or some other financial responsibility. Most often, its anywhere from $200 to $700 based on rank and there are no extra frills to the pay.

On Active Duty all of that changes. Obviously I get a full months pay as a Major. Then come the entitlements. I get a housing allowance. I get a substinance allowance. I get paid for being separated from my family. In the months to come I will get hazardous duty pay, combat pay, and tax zone exclusion which means that all of my monthly pay is "tax free". This is the same for all Soldiers.

Another big difference is that on Active Duty, UCMJ (the Uniform Code of Military Justice), the laws which govern the military are in effect. This means that someone who is punished under UCMJ could lose a portion of the their pay, be given extra duty like filling sand bags, or even receive a reduction in rank. And that is just for mild to medium offenses. For more serious and extreme violations of the UCMJ, time in the stockade, hard labor, and the death penalty could apply.

Every deployment has some minor violations of the UCMJ. Sleeping on duty, violation of a direct order, being without your weapon, are all some examples. This is a world of difference for everyone but more so for the most junior of Soldiers who are more prone to lapses in good judgement. I, as the commander, ends up being the one who has to take these punitive actions and in most cases, determine the punishment.

This phase has been more challenging for me personally. I have not had a chance to spend quality time with my Soldiers in three days. As a commander I am quickly learning that my role is more administrative in nature. Although I feel like I should be with my troops and training with them, the reality is that I need to attend briefings, make slides, and go to different offices to "make things happen." In fact, this running around in a higher than usual level of frustration is my training.

The other difference is the fact that at the end of this phase we will depart the United States for our tour.

The other day the seventh anniversary of September 11th passed. Other than the flag being at half staff and a free concert on the post, the day was unremarkable because we were all working or training. On September 10, 2001, if someone had told me that in the next eight years that I would have two involuntary calls to Active Duty I could not have imagined it unless the North Koreans had crossed the DMZ.

Wow, was I wrong.

Incident at Range 29B

2008-09-07T18:31:00.000-07:00

This took place a week and a half ago but I’ve been too busy to write.

All of our training at Ft. Dix, NJ is being conducted by a group of Army Reservists who’s primary responsibility is to train and prepare Soldiers in all of their individual and collective tasks. They are Drill Sergeants and they have provided some of the best training in my military career. The schedule they provided us is pretty packed but there are specific blocks of time set aside for rest and reconstitution. For example, after being on a night qualification range the next morning is set aside as “commander’s time” from 0800 to 1200. In other words, this is time for me to judiciously allow my Soldiers to clean their clothes, weapons, or catch up on other personal business.

Into this commander’s time, my time, a group from the Civil Affairs Training Brigade (CAPOCTB), stationed Ft. Bragg, NC, stepped in to insist on additional training that the deploying Civil Affairs Soldiers need. They are not Drill Sergeants, and training Soldiers is not their primary military profession.

The CAPOCTB decided to conduct a weapons range at Range 29B that would consist of advanced pistol marksmanship and transition fire. Advanced pistol marksmanship consists of drawing a loaded weapon from a holster, firing at a target, and then re-holstering the weapon after it is put on “safe”. Transition fire consists of shooting several rounds from your primary weapon (a rifle) and then putting that weapon on “safe” and using a secondary weapon (a pistol). Both have a higher that usual amount of risk and therefore require significant training, practice, and safeguards to execute properly.

We arrived at the range at 1500, an hour before training was supposed to start. From the beginning I sensed trouble. All of the instructors were sitting in the shade. No targets were up. The ammunition was still crated. The range was not properly opened.

As we got off the bus the instructors walked away and no one welcomed us or gave us further instructions. We asked for the Officer in Charge (OIC) and no one budged. The Range Safety Officer (RSO) rather matter of factly told us that the range would be open and ready on time. Then he told us that they were only expecting 32 people instead of 60. Then he told us that they didn’t know where the person was to put the range into operation. In other words the gnawing feeling in my gut wasn’t getting better.

Someone finally came to us around 1540 and gave us the welcome briefing. He pointed out that range wasn’t ready yet and that we should drink water and stay out of the heat in the meantime. I asked the obvious question that I was afraid I already knew the answer to, “where is the water point?” The blank look in response told me what I needed to know. All that they had was a five gallon cooler of Gatorade for 60 plus people. Safety violation number one. My ire rose and demanded to see the OIC.

The commander and a senior NCO came over. As it turned out, these two were the instructors bosses who had just arrived to Ft Dix observe the training. I blasted them expecting that my unpleasant disposition on the situation would rub off on them and that they in turn would take corrective action on their people. I expected too much.

As the instruction started, the primary trainer handed out pistols to the Soldiers without making them go through the proper clearing procedures. Then he stood between the Soldiers and the targets and had the Soldiers dry fire. Of course the weapons were empty. Of course we all knew that in theory. However, that’s also the way people get shot. Safety violation number two.

What happened next was a series of trivial to minor safety and procedural issues that compounded on top of one another. There was no dry run or walk through; Soldiers got the class and then drew ammunition. The class that was given was not what was executed on the range. The person giving the commands from the tower didn’t know the proper sequence of events. Inexperienced firers were put on the firing line with too few safety observers. The inexperienced firers were pushed to shoot at a pace faster than they ever had before. People became confused. The firers were expected to fire and move forward at the same time. Finally, the firers stood at point blank range from the target and fired over 40 rounds into hit. Rounds went everywhere. Strike three.

I talked to my friend Dennis, the other company commander. He saw everything that I saw and he felt the same way I did. Together we called for a pause, located the range company commander, and told him, “We’re done.” We told them that the range was unsafe and that someone was going to get hurt. I pulled my guys off of the range, had them clean up, and put them on the busses for the barracks. We walked off the range and left the CAPOCTB personnel looking at us in contemptuous disbelief.

In my time in the Army I have never heard of an incident like this ever happening. I have heard many war stories, and stories that always begin, “There was this one time where…” but this one for the Soldiers who witnessed it to take with them and tell over and over for a long time to come.

What happened on Range 29B never materialized into a tragedy although it had all of the markings for it. In retrospect, I probably never should have let my Soldiers even get on the firing line with ammo and trusted what appeared to be a bunch of bozos with their safety. In other words, I should have listened more carefully to that voice in the back of my head. That voice is usually right.

Guns, Guns, Guns!

2008-08-29T16:21:00.000-07:00

And free ammo!

We have spent the last week reviewing the various weapon systems that we will be using when we deploy. We started in the classroom on 9mm pistols, M-4 rifles, machine guns, and the big favorite, the Mk-19 40mm grenade machine gun.

From the classroom we went to the ranges to fire all of the weapons at stationary targets, pop up targets, and the beat up old hulks of tanks. We shot during the day, we shot with gas masks on, we shot at multiple targets, and we shot at night.

Getting "trigger time" is any Soldiers definition of fun. We had a lot of fun.

Coming Together

2008-08-28T17:28:00.000-07:00

We are almost two weeks into our training and I am very pleased with how the Company is coming together.

Last night I got it in my head to do a "mandatory fun" event. We rented enough sports gear to field two softball teams and the 30 of us made a space on the huge parade field. Everyone played. Everyone played poorly, but everyone played. Even those people who hadn't played since seventh grade when they had to for school gym. There were no specific teams. In other words, it wasn't officers verses enlisted or groups against groups. Instead we split the company in two and those were the teams.

And it was a blast.

We all laughed at ourselves and each other. We talked trash and taunted one another. We cheered and had a great time.

As the sun set and we walked off everyone turned to me and said, "thank you." They were happy that they got dragged out and had a surprsingly good time. Some wanted to know if we could get a team and play when we got to Iraq. Wow.

Tonight, the officers challenged the enlisted to a game of volleyball. Now, this is a rivalry that goes back two years to the Army Reserve family picinic where the officers just barely edged out the enlisted, two games to one. The officers routed them this year at the picinic so the enlisted were hoping for a little payback. This was no holds barred (to an extent) trash talking smack down where the officers once again held their bragging rights.

Again, we all laughed and had a great time.

I have been in units where people couldn't wait until the end of the day to get away from one another. I am fortunate that event though we are in the building stages, that everyone is excited and willing to work with one another. We are getting to know one another both on and off duty. We are forging those relationships that are both formal and informal that are necessary for any good unit to run smoothly. Sure, there is a long deployment ahead of us and things will certainly change over time.

However, for now I am going to enjoy this time.

RFI

2008-08-21T20:17:00.000-07:00

Rapid Fielding Initative

The other day we went to a warehouse to draw our RFI. RFI is the result of Donald Rumsfled who said that the military didn't have time to design, test, and equip the force and decided to go with off of the shelf items that Soldiers need for deployment.

And it was like Christmas at the Army store. Everything we got was new in its packaging. It was modern - with some of the latest technology included. It fit - or at least you stayed there until it did. It was free - thanks to the American taxpayer.

We exited the warehouse with a new duffle bag full of cold and wet weather clothing and a new ruck sack full of a dozen attachable pockets of every shape and size and utility.

I am feeling my age because it is all a little confusing to a Soldier who came into the Army and was issue two ammo pouches, one canteen, one field dressing, a pistol belt and a set of suspenders to hold it on my waist. The young Soldiers have their gear configured within 30 mintues whereas me and my peers are still fumbling with the cloth helmet cover.

Sheesh.

At least we now look like every other Soldier you see pictures of. In other words, we are not getting sloppy seconds that someone else wore for 12 months in Iraq or Afghanistan, or something that the Active Duty troops got tired of using.

The troops look good and spirits are high.

Combatives

2008-08-17T16:32:00.000-07:00

Day One and the only thing that still works on me is my left pinky.

Today we began Modern Army Combatives, an eight hour day of fall, grabbing, grappeling, choking, blocking, squirming, and sweating against one another in what is essentially modified hand to hand combat.

During this training you get up close and personal with your training buddy as you throw each others body against them (the previously mentioned sweat becomes a factor around hour three). You force your parter into submission holds by bending parts of the body that they are not designed to go. You force your partner to "tap out" by choking the part of the neck that controls blood flow to the brain.

This was very good training, very well executed. No one "got by", everyone participated. The instructors paired up different body types and sizes as well as genders. Scrapping, improvising, or sparring was not allowed by the instructors. Nonetheless, the physical acts involved will leave me reaching for the Advil for a few days.

The highlight was at the end of the day when everyone participated in a one on one match against someone of the instructors choosing. My first match was against a 20something who I was able to get a dominate position on and held it for the duration of the 60 long seconds that the match lasted. My second match was a against a stocky 19 year old who "called me out". For the next minute or so I realized every year older than him I was. For the next minute I realized every unpushed push-up I have passed on for the last four months. I fought a good fight but he was able to choke me out.

We are all sore and ready for bed. Good-night.

Leaving Home

2008-08-16T18:37:00.001-07:00

This morning we left for our training.

An early morning in the Brown household was repeated all over Central New York as Soldiers and their families got up to pack and head to the Utica Reserve Center. Everyone arrived in ones and twos to unload green duffle bags and backpacks, trunks and boxes and even a guitar case.

Families nervously mingled around and hugged their particular loved one. One family brought everyone right down to the cousins. That Soldier was passed around the family circle in a steady stream of tears. Without a doubt this is emotional. Never mind that it will be another few months before we leave the United States and everyone will get to see their families again. The bottom line is that watching people you care about getting on a bus to go to train for a mission in Iraq is scary and upsetting.

My job, with Lisa’s help, was to go around to the families and speak to them and ease their fears. Moms are the hardest to convince. This is their child and I am taking them into my command, my care, to eventually bring back safely. Every statement is scrutinized and there are many questions – how long are you going for, are you going to be extended, what will you be doing. The one question that they never ask because they don’t want to know the answer is – will it be dangerous.

Our bus was lost and arrived late. This was great for the families but nerve wracking for me as I tried to find this bus. An hour later we were on board, amid tears and more hugs and kisses.
The city, local, county and state police departments along with the fire department gave an escort out of the city of Utica. Ten to twelve emergency vehicles, all with red lights and sirens running, took us the long way through downtown. We stopped traffic and ran red lights. It was one of those tingly moments where you felt special for being a Soldier as people stopped and waved.

We rode to Syracuse to link up with our sister unit. The same scene was being repeated there – hugs, tears, kisses. We lined up and received our weapons. After twenty years around military weapons a M-4 carbine is just another thing to carry. For the families its another thing to add to the anxiety.

As I walked back into the drill hall my daughter Samantha came running into the building because it was pouring rain. And just like that she slipped and took a huge gouge out of her chin and chipped a tooth. Sam tried to blow it off but my medic recommended stitches (but eventually wound up with dermabond). In the middle of the chaos of getting tasks completed my world stopped for Sam. Again, Lisa to the rescue took care of everything.

After another lengthy round of good-byes we were on the bus headed south for New Jersey.

And so here we are. Safe and sound and ready to get started.

Last Things First

2008-08-14T17:22:00.000-07:00

Mow the lawn in neat, straight lines

Fix the loose piece of trim in the bathroom

Make three batches of my "TigerGravy" spaghetti sauce (and freeze)

Fix the flag holder out front and hang the Red, White, and Blue

Finally go sailing in the boat on Cayuga Lake

Videotape me reading as many bedtime stories as I can

Get current on BSG episodes with Lisa

Hang the baby swing on the tree limb out back

Paint the front door the right shade of "forest pine" green to match the shutters

Eat, drink, and be happy

This is just a sample of the list of things that I need to do and things that I want to do in order to leave with piece of mind. Most of us don't think of what we'd need to do - or want to do - if we knew we were going to be away from home for a year.

Whenever we take a long roadtrip, Lisa and I clean the house top to bottom before we leave. When we come home frazzled and tired everything in the house is in order when we walk in the door. It helps in the transition from travel and cuts down on the chaos.

This ritual is exponentially bigger as I head to Iraq.

The list contain those jobs we take for granted. The list contains the practical odd jobs that need to get done. The list also contains mental and emotional to-dos I need finish in order to leave with piece of mind.

With 36 hours to go the list is getting shorter:

One more bedtime story for TJ
One more family run around town
One more cook-out of bratwursts
One more night in my own bed

Why I Love The Army. Reason #419

2008-08-12T16:35:00.000-07:00

Only in the Army can you get a haircut like this and have people give you compliments (and mean them).

I remember my first Army haircut. You know, the one where it all comes off - thick, shoulder length hair that ends up in a pile on the floor. You instinctively reach up after its all over, and its over within seconds, to find stubble. After it grows back "they" make you cut it again.

Now I reach up, feel stubble, and think, "good haircut."

I feel better going to training looking the part. It sets the tone and expectations for the rest of the unit. Once I get into Iraq I'll look like this most of the time.

Farewell Ceremony

2008-08-07T17:57:00.000-07:00

On August 2nd, 2008, we held our farewell ceremony at the Reserve Center.

Ceremonies are important and necessary. They allow us to reward individuals, celebrate special occasions, and provide a touchstone to the customs and courtesies we have in this organization.

This ceremony was just what it should be; short, to the point, attended by loving families, and followed by good food. We had six guest speakers; the battalion commander, the brigade commander, a local fire chief and three local and state politicians. And still we kept the whole thing under 30 minutes. It was attended by our families and the press.

The one recurring theme for all of the speakers is the importance of family to the Soldier. Nothing could be more true. Wherever the winds of politics push an administration, for good or ill, and Soldiers go into harms way with or without the support of the public, one thing remains strong - the need for or family to support us.

The family takes on so much in our absence. Spouses take over all of the household duties; mowing lawns, changing diapers, paying bills, and countless other menial tasks. The truth is that they could do all of this on any given day if their partner was running late, or out of town for a few days. However, not having that partner by their side day after day for months on end makes the work more apparent.

Children probably face the biggest hurdles. A parent is far away. They may not know much, but children know enough to know that "war" is dangerous - people die in wars. On Active Duty posts the support system is larger and better integrated into daily life. Not so for the kids of Reservists and National Guardsmen. For example, my daughter is the only child in her school whose parent is deployed. In fact, she may be the only child in the entire school district. How prepared are her teachers? I know that I personally struggle with the emotions of being away from my two children over the course of the next year.

And so we need a ceremony like this to say good-bye in some official way. Even though we were not going anywhere until next week, our families were there - and there were hugs all around, tears, and laughter.

A lot of the details of the ceremony were captured by the press on TV channels WTVH, and WYSR, on the web, and in print.

The Final Battle Roster

2008-07-30T17:14:00.001-07:00

"As you know, you have to go to war with the Army you have, not the Army you want." - Donald Rumsfeld

It's hard to believe that it has been over six weeks since I posted last. Just to catch up; five weeks ago I was still sitting behind a desk trying to anticipate the next issue while playing fireman to numerous little "fires" that break out and need putting out. Three weeks ago I took two whole weeks off of work to travel with my family all over the eastern seaboard. We hit Arapahoe, North Carolina; Myrtle Beach, South Carolina; Atlanta, Georgia; and finally the west coast of Florida where my mother-in-law lives. For this past week I have been climbing out from underneath all the emails I ignored while I was away.

The Battle Roster for my company is published. A Battle Roster (BR) is the list of names of the Soldiers who are deploying. It lists their name, rank, job position and job competency, and what unit they are coming from (if not organic to my unit). Filling a Battle Roster is not as easy as it should be and has been the cause of many heated email exchanges and phone coversations.

In March, my BR was solid and I looked forward to taking a lot of the veterans on the roster so that they would mentor the new "kids". I needed officers, the one thing my company is serously lacking is commissioned officers within the ranks. I was relying on the the veterans who had two, three, up to five tours going back to 1990 to provide the initial leadership until we got going - collectively as one unit.

By May, reality set in. I lost two solid Non-commisioned officers to retirement. I lost another to age - he will turn 60 while we are deployed. I lost two more Soldiers to medical issues and a final Soldier decided not to re-enlist. Six gone before the summer started. Six to backfill, plus find over six officers.

These issues are not mine alone. I share this headache with a faceless Major S. at Ft. Bragg, NC, who sole job is to populate the vacancies on the BR. He shares his headache with Big Army, who has the responsibility to fill anything left over.

I back filled some of my vacancies in the junior enlisted positions with my own Soldiers. Young men and women who volunteered, even begged, to go with the company. This dedication amazes me every time I see it. I understand that some are just looking for the adventure and some are looking for a steady paycheck. However, there is a war on and Iraq is still a dangerous place to volunteer to go to.

From May until July back filling and filling my senior leadership positions was harder. I was given officers who I never met. I had one office who I knew volunteer to go but got tied up and lost in the bullshit bureaucracy that is Big Army. I was forced to push some NCOs outside of their comfort zone into positions of greater authority and responsibility.

Why does all of this cause me concern? The reason is that I believe in building strong units and teams prior to entering a hostile zone. That strength comes from working together over time. Since we are coming together for the first time in three weeks I have apprehesion over the performance of the teams as they start.

As we speak I am still trying to get to "final". I write this with the full knowledge that "no plan survives first contact" and that even as I will eventually leave the US with my teams set, that those will change again when we get into Theater.

Adult Supervision

2008-06-23T18:06:00.001-07:00

"It's easy to be a clown until you're put in charge of the circus."

The unit is going through Annual Training. This is one week of briefings, classes, training, qualification, and personal file updates necessary before we mobilize. This training is more important than you realize as you go through it. To have someone sit down with you, one on one, and review your record and make updates as necessary gives you piece of mind when you are far away.

For instance, last time I went away I was engaged and had only one child. My life insurance and other legal paper work reflected that. Obviously, now that I am married and have two children this week allows me to change my insurance, update my will, and make sure that me and my family receive the benefits we deserve when I am away.

Due to turn over and the work load on the full time support at the unit, the plan went through one or two drafts before going "final". I helped plan and coordinate some of this training. Plans are good and necessary however, all plans require execution, and no plan survives first contact with the enemy. Today I found myself "executing" more than I thought I would. Maybe because I had to, or maybe because I can't not get involved. At the end of the day I found myself standing in front of twenty NCOs and officers conducting an "azimuth check", going over what we accomplished, and reviewing the plan for the next few days. And then I dismissed everyone.

WTF?! Since when did I get to be the one with the most brass?! When did I turn into the adult? - I hate adults! I used to be the smart ass LT sitting in the back of the room singing out of tune and now I'm leading the chorus? Who checks on this? Now, I know as I write this that I can think of one young Captain and one soon-to-be ex-Major who are asking the same thing. I'm sure there are others waiting to chime in.

After spending almost twenty years kvetching about how everyone else is doing it wrong its about time I "man up" and do it right.

Why I Love The Army. Reason #670

2008-06-16T16:48:00.001-07:00

At 1700 (5:00pm to the civilians reading along) the official Army day is over the and the flag comes down from the one and only flagpole on the post. When that happens two bugle calls sound. The first is, Retreat, a signal that the flag is about to come down. The second is, To The Colors, the bugle sounds as the flag is actually coming down.

On Friday afternoon I was golfing nine holes on the Ft. Dix Golf Course with my friends Justin, Dennis, and Stacy when the five o'clock hour struck. With each bugle call there is a ceremony that is performed by every Soldier who can hear it. For Retreat you come to the position of attention and face towards the music. For To The Colors you salute if in uniform or remain at attention if not.

The four of us grumbled a little as Retreat sounded, but as a group, there on the eighth tee, we stood at attention. And as I quickly looked around the course I noticed the foursome in front of us stopped. As did the twosome on second tee. In fact, the whole course stood still until the Colors were down.

I love this organization that stands on its ceremonies and that those ceremonies are respected by everyone, even when no one is looking or its convenient to look the other way. We pass them on. We keep our standards high. And we keep our respect for who we are as Soldiers in check.

Back To School

2008-06-08T17:20:00.000-07:00

Fort Dix, NJ in the late summer - how refreshing.

Yes, I am in Ft Dix, NJ attend the third phase of a military education course called ILE, Intermediate Level Education. The completion of this course (on Friday) is part of the boxes that need to be checked if I want to make the next rank of Lieutenant Colonel. I do.

The course material is good. The course load, managable. The first two phases were a lot of fun and I am fortunate to have some of those people here during this course. No, you don't go through all three phases with the same people. Its the luck of the draw with fellow students and instructors. This group is a little more work oriented than team building oriented. Ok, fine - at least there are some interesting folks and no know-it-all jerks. The days start at 0730 and runs to 1630ish with homework most nights.

To be honest, I just want it over with. This is basically a pass/fail course and there are no real recorded grades. In other words the super smart and the coat tail riders get the same certificate at the end. I am somewhere in between the smart and the riders - at the higher end of the bell curve.

I do most of my work as soon as I can fit it into my schedule in order to free up as much of the weekend that we have "off" in the middle of the two weeks here. My fellow students, many of them, are shocked to learn that my three page paper was 80% complete on Thursday night when it isn't due until Monday. I wanted my weekend off to go visit Pat, Amy, and Megan who live fifteen miles down the road. It's not that I'm an over achiever, it's just that I want to have fun without a deadline hanging over my head.

Visiting Pat and Amy is always relaxing. After 25 years of friendship its easy to chill out immediately upon entering the door, going to their fridge, and popping a beer. Today went to Six Flags Great Adventure and rode a bunch of rollercoasters until the heat drove us back to an air conditioned house.

This trip to Ft. Dix is a benefit in disguise because I am meeting after classroom hours with some of the people who occupy the offices and sections who will help us mobilize later in the summer. A dinner here, a bottle of Grey Goose vodka there - I am not opposed to greasing the skids to ensure a smooth training experience to keep the distracting bullshit to a minimum.

Taking personal charge of our mobilization has consumed more of my mental time than the course work. Maybe its a good thing the course is pass/fail.

On the unsettling side, TJ turned one year old while I was down here. The little guy isn't aware its his birthday, or that daddy and mommy were both working. However, he's a Rock Star and will get a Rock Star's party when I get home. I got him a Superman onesie with a red velcroed cape from Six Flags. I can't wait to see him in it. Also unsettling was that the tempature rose to the high 90s back home and Lisa had to call a friend of ours to put in the AC. Great, the hint of a year to come where I am too far away to be helpful.

On the good news side, I read where an old work buddy of mine just returned home safe and sound from 17 months in Iraq. Yea, Kurt! That reminds me...

I am also reading Malcom Gladwell's, The Tipping Point, just for kicks. Kurt gave it to me and I misplaced it. Yes, it's a very interesting book.

So that's it for now. Hope all is well where you are.

Full Time

2008-05-20T17:51:00.000-07:00

It's been two and a half weeks since leaving my job at Cornell and working full time at the Reserve Center - and things have been moving at 100 mph.

For now I am an Army of One - to borrow our old recruiting slogan. I spent the first few days getting organized, getting connectivity to the internet, and working my notes from the last two months into something that I could work with. I made phone calls to the various chains of command that will support the units deployment, basically saying, "here I am, what can you do for me?" Despite the enormous bureaucracy that is the Army, there are many in it who were willing to help me get answers.

My "research" led me to Fort Dix, New Jersey, a likely location for the unit to mob (short for mobilize or mobilization). The MUIC (Mobilizing Unit Inprocessing Center) provided further contacts, information, and a lot of answers. Naturally, with the answers come more questions. As I provide answers to my bosses other people in this bureaucracy chime in with questions of me. It is a cycle that builds on itself and grows larger with each exchange.

Sorting and staying on top of everything has quickly become overwhelming. I didn't volunteer to do this because I wanted to be overwhelmed. I also didn't volunteer because I'm stupid, either. Rather than let this situation go too far I called for more help and within a week or two I will have a small staff working for me. And none too soon.

Do not feel sorry for me. I asked for this. In all honesty, I love being this busy and throwing myself full on into this.

It Begins with an Ending...and a Smash

2008-05-04T15:36:00.000-07:00

To being my deployment I needed to end something first.

Last week was my last week at work and last Friday, I spent my last "official" day at the Cornell Army ROTC office in Barton Hall. I say "official" because I am actually on "vacation", and I say "vacation" because I am going to work at my Reserve unit starting tomorrow. I am on vacation with ROTC until mid-May and then paid by my unit for the remainder of the summer.

I had a great bunch of freshmen this year. They were young and smart and shared their classroom with about 7 "civilian" students who were taking my class as an elective. I see a lot of potential in this class, a solid core of about six or seven Cadets who will hit their stride in the program in the next two years and be phenomenal seniors and superb officers. There is always something exciting about watching a class bond, mature, and grow into leaders. My good-bye on Tuesday was less melodramatic than it could have been. I threatened them that if they didn't have a good sophomore year that I'd teach them again in their junior year - and beat them.

Thursday night I said good-bye to a bunch of great students from the MILR program where I have been taking a class here and there for the last three years. As a fellow student they absolutely welcomed me into their fold - even in uniform. I went to a couple of graduate student happy hours where I was a bit of a novelty. "What do you think about [something about the war]" would go the questions. And, no, I didn't mind at all. Being able to stretch my brain with people who were smarter than me is a good thing and I wish I could have shared more classes with them.

Friday, May 2nd, was Slope Day at Cornell; the last official day of classes and an organized, university sanctioned, drinking event. Cornell hires campus security guards from all over the state, puts up fencing all over the Libe slope, and sets up beer tents while up-and-coming bands play on a stage. Students, among the smartest in the nation, skip classes and start drinking as early as 9:00 am. (I know this because one of my students was in my office at 10:00 and already been drinking "jungle juice" for breakfast.)

I did not go to Slope Day. It's not that I'm a prude, its just that I have been to Slope Day when it was less regulated. And let's just say that drinking those days are past me and if I was going to go to Slope Day I was going to enjoy myself. Of course the other reason that I didn't go to Slope Day was that my wife was one of the Cornell staff overseeing the event - and that was a recipe for disaster.

My last day email was full of final exams and end term papers. Lots of reading. Lots of reading that I did not get to and will require me going back to work in the evenings to read and grade them. My last day I also ran into several students on their way to the Libe slope; a couple of my civilians who thanked me for a great class and wished me luck in the next year.

The office closed early and Byran Miller and I went golfing for nine holes. Again, no melodramatic good-byes because I'll see these people again before I go away. My desk and office were cleared of my pictures. I changed the pass word on the computer so that my replacement can get on. All in all, it was an anti-climatic but necessary step to focus on the tasks ahead. I love this job and look forward to coming back to it.

Playing golf was a joke because we both Bryan and I suck, and I mean s-u-c-k, but we had fun. After the course we stopped for some food before going separate ways. Bryan is a good officer who is going to miss having someone around to bust balls on in the office. For the most past I could take far more crap from him than he could from me. I could taunt him about his golf game and taking more swings at the ball than he actually took to hit it, but that would be mean.

Finally, on my way home I drove down a side street, not a mile from the house when I got hit by a truck who went through a stop sign. I saw him with just enough time to think, "oh, shit, he's a lot bigger than me," when the entire front of my car caved in. I stood on the brakes with just enough time to keep him from coming through my drivers side door. Yea, it was close. I got out of the car and immediately sat back down because I had hit my head on the door. It was just enough to get my bell rung and I wasn't sure if I was really hurt or not. Fortunately for me, the assistant fire chief lived on the corner and saw the accident. Within minutes ambulances, firetrucks and police were on the scene. a trip to the hospital, a CAT scan, some pain pills, and two hours later I was home with a slight concussion and a totaled car.

Great way to end the week.

Tomorrow I start at the Reserve Center. More to follow.

Cadence

2008-04-30T17:43:00.000-07:00

There is an old marching tune that goes,

"Here we go again,
same old stuff again,
marching down the avenue
many more weeks and we'll be through."

As I start the process to mobilize for a second time that particular song runs in the back of my head.

I have been in an Army uniform now for over twenty years. I enlisted in January 1987. By May 1990, I was a commissioned officer in the United States Army Reserve. I served one weekend a month and two weeks every year until 2001 when everything changed for Reservists and Guardsmen. I deployed in 2004 after joining a unit I knew full well would be sent to Iraq or Afghanistan. I wound up in Baghdad for 9 1/2 months. I kept a journal during that deployment as well.

In December 2007, I heard the first faint rumors of having to return again. It made sense. It had been four years since the last deployment and the Army went through a lot of Reservists to get to me and my unit again. Just to put this into perspective it was an election year back then too. By March I knew this was going to be a reality later in 2008. I have a good idea of where I am going, but "Mother Army" is notorious for changing her mind. For now I know I am returning to the CENTCOM region (read Southwest Asia). The other details will have to wait until I am there.

Friends, family, and others are asking me how and why we (Soldiers) do it. Why do we stay in the Army? How do we manage two, three, or more tours when we are just Citizen Soldiers? There is no answer that people can completely understand unless they have served. Duty is a word that means more than just doing our jobs.

We just do it. We might complain. We might worry. We might look forward to it. But, basically, we find that cadence and simply march along.