Saturday, November 22, 2003

Donkey Cart Attack on Ministry of Oil, Thanksgiving with Bush

22 November, 2003

“Hey Knight X-Ray,” our scout element called on the radio. “We’re at the Diyallah Bridge and the locals have taken bolts off the temporary bridge.”
“Goddamnit! That’s a Navy bridge! Those Navy parts are hard to get,” CPT Diamond exclaimed after talking to our engineers on the phone. “Freakin’ Hajji!”
A bridge next to our camp has a lot of traffic on it. It was sabotaged by the Saddam Fedayeen during the war. The Seabees came in and placed some metal girders on the pilings of the bridge so that traffic could flow again. The patrol was running a checkpoint near the bridge and noticed bolts ere missing from the trusses. It seems the Iraqis have been stripping bolts off the bridge for scrap metal money. Of course, this also means they can’t use the bridge. Our engineers went out to do another assessment of the bridge. I wonder if they found the “Navy” parts they needed to repair it.
Well, yesterday I woke up to a surprise. The Ministry of Oil had just been attacked. It was a rocket attack – multiple rockets, launched from a donkey cart. I knew right away I should call you and my parents because they were already covering the attack on the news. There were also similar rocket attacks on other buildings (Palestine Hotel). I wasn’t surprised the MOO got hit, no one was. It wasn’t dramatic, and it wasn’t a moment of excitement for us. Very calmly, very coolly, we sent fire trucks and did an investigation afterwards. The fire damaged the 5th floor of the north tower of the MOO pretty badly.
“Who’s got the donkey?” Knight 6 asked.
“3-9 Infantry, Sir,” someone responded.
‘Hmmm,’ I thought in fun, ‘I wonder if they have interrogated him yet!’ Of course, these kind of jokes popped up later.
“They’re having trouble finding a translator,” one of the RTOs said. It was only a matter of time before the news started beaming images of a donkey cart launcher all over the world. Alongside on a cart was a white, burnt, bloody donkey. He was injured as the rockets exploded in the launcher (some didn’t launch). Funny thing though – one Reuters television person was on site just in time to film the attack. In fact – he was there before the attack and ready to film. Is that responsible journalism? People could have been killed, and here’s this cameraman pre-positioned and ready to get the big story. It seems the news is getting more into entertainment than reporting facts. Yes – it is a fact that we were going to be attacked, but this journalist obviously had prior notice of the launch. He was arrested and later released. I guess it’s true that the terrorists want their attacks publicized as much as we publicized our invasion of Iraq. It’s just as fair when you think about it.

Thanksgiving came and went. The night before Thanksgiving, CPT Smalls and I were preparing the meeting room for some visiting generals. I was about to lose my mind, printing out place cards with different organization logos, laminating them to perfection, and seeking approval from Major Ramirez. Each time, he would approve a draft design, and I would produce several final laminated, full-color place cards for the conference table. When I placed them on the table, Ramirez would change his mind, and say, “No, we need the individual’s organization logo and general flag on the place card.” This was after making several finished products. This went on several times before I snapped. Captain Smalls took me outside and calmed me down, letting me know that I was out of line and that it sucked for him too. I was really glad he did that. It let me see that I wasn’t the only one who was stressed.
When the morning came, the generals didn’t show up. We were up until 3 a.m. getting the conference room ready, aligning packets of sugar, decorating doughnuts, folding napkins – and they didn’t come. I was frantically washing my uniform that morning, since I would be in the meeting as well. I draped my wet, washed uniform over my chair in my room and attempted to dry my blouse with an electric heater. Never try that at home. I looked away for three seconds, and looked back to see my black, scorched desert blouse. I didn’t need it anyways. We all had theories as to why the generals did not come. One person joked, “Bush is probably coming for Thanksgiving.” Some others commented that they didn’t believe he would do that, and if he did, they would respect him more for it. Sure enough, Bush was in town. The attitude among many was, “So what, he’s here. We still have to get out of this shit hole.”
Thanksgiving dinner was great. It was inside of a super sized tent. The company running the tent did a really good job making sure we felt at home. I ate fresh turkey, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, and pecan pie. It was great. Outside it was grey and raining. Inside, we were at home. CNN was there to film the event.
Terrorist attacks had been on an increase since the U.N. bombing. Canal Road was taking a life every other day, and sometimes daily. Since the grenade attack I experienced in October, I was sensitive to loud noises, they made me uneasy. I kept it under control, but when driving, the antenna on the Hummer would crack against the shell of the truck periodically, making me paranoid and sick to my stomach sometimes.

Thursday, November 20, 2003

Ambushes, Photo Ops, and the Regimental Mortician

20 November, 2003

“You don’t want to see me again,” said a husky white sergeant as he was leaving after putting a new code into the encrypted radio, “I’m the regimental mortician.” I looked over at my assistant and he looked back with a look of disbelief. This guy handles all the dead bodies of soldiers that get killed in our area. He seemed pretty proud of his profession as he announced his “real” job and received the desired effect as shown by our expressions. This was actually a few weeks ago, but I keep meaning to write about it.
There has also been an increase in roadside bombs being found or explode. In our zones alone there have been over 45 attacks. We’ve been busy spotting bombs and calling EOD (Explosives Ordinance Disposal). It’s become pretty commonplace.
“The bomb guy walked right up to the box, kicked it over, and said ‘It’s only fuses!’” 1LT Frasier told us about how the EOD man just walked up to the box, spotted on the side of the road with wires protruding from it, and opened it with his foot without a care. It turned out to be an attempted IED. Someone put some fuses together with wires connected to 4 D-cell batteries. It didn’t work, needless to say, but it just shows how routine the work is with these IEDs.
The Iraqi Police are helping more and more with detecting the bombs. Even an Iraqi civilian walked up to one bomb and just started taking it apart. The bomb makers are getting more sophisticated though. Wires are being cemented into explosives, circuits are tamper proof, and dummy bombs are being placed to lure in U.S. forces so the bombers can observe how we respond to IEDs.
Just last week, a full ambush occurred when 3 trucks from our unit passed under a pedestrian bridge and an IED exploded on the side of the road and then gunmen with Ak-47’s opened up on the freeway from both sides near the old Saddam Fedayeen compound. Then, mortar rounds started dropping down on the road in front of the convoy. No one was injured, because the attack was clumsy and inaccurate. We’ve been so lucky, even as other units continue to lose soldiers. We’re not lucky – we’re blessed.
“Get with PSYOPS and have them arrange a meeting with the local mosque leaders,” LTC Jagger said. “Get some media too. We need to get some pictures of some of these anti-American clerics accepting aid from American soldiers. And next time they start talking shit, we’ll just post posters with their picture accepting U.S. aid from soldiers.” I don’t know if this actually materialized, but it was a plan. It actually makes sense, because these clerics can stab you in the back. The photo up would be a way to counter the imam’s dirty tricks. The clerics all think of themselves as gang bosses. They’re full of crap though.
As for life in Baghdad, things are getting cooler – temperature wise. It’s actually becoming cold at night, with magnificent crystal clear nights and brilliant lights of stars. The nights are cold, and it reminds me of Germany, of you and me walking in wintertime – I can almost feel you next to me. It’s like when you smell something that reminds you of a grandparent’s house, a sound echoes in the wind that reminds you of a festival. Well the chill, the cool, crisp breeze, it all reminds me of us walking in the evening – back from downtown, just after work. I love you, and I love the way we’re in love. Muah! Ich liebe Dich.

Saturday, November 15, 2003

Stress in the Headquarters Rises to an All-Time High (The Mental Toll of Uninterrupted Operations on Soldiers)

15 NOV 03 2345 (Almost 16 NOV 03)

“I have to brief Satan,” Sergeant Newsome is saying right now. He’s talking about the morning information he has to give to SGM Walker every morning.
“What, is he giving you shit again?” Sergeant Daniels asked sympathetically. See, Sergeant Newsome always gets chewed out by SGM Walker. Sergeant Pepper called Sergeant Newsome “Knight,” that used to be the pet name for our unofficial Iraqi mascot dog – before he was shot dead. So after Knight the dog was shot, Sergeant Pepper began to call Sergeant Newsome “Knight.”
[1] Sergeant Newsome even took the name and would bark like a dog, panting and jumping. The name was an insult, but he accepted this and even celebrated it only wishing to keep the staff’s good side. He doesn’t kiss ass, he just gets his ass kicked all over. Sergeant Newsome and his wife are both in the Army, both in Iraq, and have no children. So they are making quite a bit of money. He’s part of the corporate Army – the Army of people here for nothing more than money and benefits. So, they put up with anything the Army puts out – because that’s their livelihood. Anyways, he’s got plenty of money – a new BMW, regularly acquires new electronics, and lends out money like a bank. BUT, it’s sad, because he’s truly scared of the moment SGM Walker will walk in. He’s paranoid about everything now, walking around nervously, saying constantly, “I hate to be an asshole, but I have to be, because he’s being an asshole to me.”
It really is sad though, it’s pitiful. I feel sorry for him, but he brings it on himself. Not only that, but he won’t accept that for whatever reason, Walker doesn’t like him. So he goes around the office eyeing possible and imagined dust hideouts, experiencing panic attacks when he finds a possible flaw – imagined or actual. He walks around in panic, working madly to edit, and re-edit his morning reports. No matter how good his reports are, Walker always floors him like a bug.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me a tree caught on fire last night?!!!” SGM Walker demanded in a cold, scruffy voice.
“Uh, uh, Sergeant Majo…”
“UH, UH! UH! UH WHAT?”
“Uh, it wasn’t on the re…”
“WELL, MAYBE YOU SHOULD HAVE ASKED!”
“Sergeant Major,” Sergeant Newsome said trembling, doubting himself the whole time, “I will…”
“DON’T INTERRUPT ME!”
“Roger, Sergeant Major.”
“What branch caught on fire?”
And so on and so fourth. So, Sergeant Newsome calls him Satan. But you’ve got to wonder if he sold his soul to the devil in exchange for money. It just doesn’t seem right to put misery at the center of your life willingly in exchange for material things. It’s as simple as that.
Sergeant Rush is like that too, but not as bad. He’s stupid and fits in just fine. Every morning he’s been walking into the command center with one foot in a flip-flop. We call him Jonathan, his first name, because it sounds more appropriate and boyish. He stops by the coffee machine and fills up a Styrofoam cup full of coffee, like the big boys do – but they use aircraft aluminum grade thermos mugs. He’ll get his own one day, when he’s big like them too. It’s like the little boy who wants to wear dad’s shoes to be like him. Anyways, he wears the flip-flop because while directing a crane lowering a concrete barrier, he lowered the barrier right on his foot. Poor Jonathan. He swears it’s broken, but our intelligence is still foggy. Maybe we should have helped him not to drop the barrier on his foot – because he seems to need help with everything. “Hey, can you do me a favor?”
He loves telling me to do things too, but most of the time I’ve already taken care of whatever he’s telling me to do. “Thompson, guess what you get to do,” he’d ask with a grin on his face, simply elated he gets to make me do something. “You get to go to the gate and get a translator.” See, I don’t work for him, I just stay in the command post, and that’s why they like to tell me what to do – because I’m privileged. Rush, Choy (now gone), and Ramos are the Goof Troop – and everyone knows it, but we have to respect their rank – officers too.
“Well Sergeant Rush,” I answered confidently so that his grin slowly faded as he waited for me to rain logic down on him, “I already sent Specialist Woods to pick up dinner and to get the translator about 10 minutes ago. So, as always I’m a step ahead of you.”
He dropped his head and walked with a more pronounced limp, probably out of greater self-pity granted to himself following another disappointment, to his desk with the Styrofoam cup and a laptop. A laptop used mostly for playing Solitaire – a ritual of NCOs. Sergeant Rush stopped asking me to do things in front of his superiors, because it always ended up making him look bad. It’s entertaining.
In more serious news, CSM Fleischmann was struck in another bomb attack, the earlier one having occurred a few days ago. Fleischmann was struck in the leg with shrapnel. “I promise you, you will get attacked, we will get bombed,” used to be his speech back in Friedberg. “I wish Fleischmann would shut the fuck up,” everyone would say as he paced to and fro, high on himself and spouting off high drama monologues. Well, he got hit. His camp has been getting hit constantly at 3-62 AR, where he moved to. He had just sent his tanks on an IED sweep of the road before he traveled on it. But, they got hit anyways. The reports say he was screaming about the failure of the tanks to find IEDs as the medics pulled the pieces of metal from his leg.
Today, he got hit again, well his patrol did. The trail vehicle took the brunt of the explosion in the two vehicle convoy. The gunner sergeant got killed. 3-62 AR, well Friedberg and Giessen
[2] are taking a lot of losses. It’s hard to believe that wives in Germany are crying, with their children, as widows. In Butzbach!? Unreal. It’s a sobering thought. An attack of any kind is traumatic, I don’t care what anyone says, it’s violent, it’s attempted murder. Fleischmann is experiencing that regularly now, and I pray he’s OK. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. He’s still an ass though.
“That arrogant son of a bitch! That’s all he needs for his ego,” SGM Walker erupted, “A purple-heart (medal for being wounded in combat).” At least I wasn’t the only one who thought he was arrogant. I actually like SGM Walker. He’s old-school.
I remember Fleischmann telling me once in Friedberg, in what I thought to a lapse of professional judgment, “Thompson, you know I’ve got a college degree? I could have been a colonel. Why be a colonel when I can simply manipulate the commander? I can suggest most anything and say it in a way that influences the commanders.” For some reason, it felt like he believed he was entrusting me with an ancient secret, a grand plan of deception! I looked at him as he waited for my reaction, and I thought, ‘Wow this guy is in love with himself,’ as I tried my best to show a face that would convey awe and realization. The lesson I learned from this dramatic encounter was that he learned to exercise power while escaping the grip of real responsibility. Iraq was his first deployment. Before now, being the Equal Opportunity guru was his crowning achievement, instead of saying, “when I was a drill sergeant,” or “when I was in the Gulf War.” He could only bring up office jobs. He did have one advantage though – he’s German. That makes him an exotic pet to have, and loyal at that. Mexicans, Puerto Ricans, African Americans – they aren’t exotic, they are just everywhere. Anyways, Spanish is annoying, and who want to listen to hip-hop all day. Of course, I’m joking – but Fleischmann’s ethnic background makes him an interesting conversation piece.


[1] The actual name began when Sergeant Newsome fell on his back after a car bomb exploded a short distance away. When he fell on his back, his legs and arms wobbled in the air like a dog getting its belly scratched. That day he earned the name “Knight.”
[2] Two towns in Hessen, Germany where military units are stationed with their families. Friedberg’s Ray Barracks was the former duty station of Elvis Presley.

Confusion in the Operations Center and Combat Uniforms Ironed to Perfection

15 NOV 03 0219

‘Sir, we’ve got a report of a group of men messing around the fence line. We should call the QRF (Quick Reaction Force),’ I said to Captain Nash. The issue was that one of our towers along our base saw men digging and doing something to our fence line. That is grounds for deadly force. ‘Sir, we need to get someone out there now,’ I said again.
Captain Nash doesn’t seem too quick witted. An Asian-American who reminds me of a Pentecostal preacher with brain damage from an aneurism. Either that or a young, wondrous child, but a child nonetheless. I don’t want to be brutal here, but it’s true. The quality of our officers is steadily declining – both in character quality and in logic and reasoning. It seems much of this is due to declining standards in colleges and the practice of granting athletic scholarships liberally. It’s beginning to show more and more. Now, imagine this conversation – it really happened – and this is only one example out of hundreds of possible examples. CPT Nash is talking in a stutter at times, hesitating in speech, over compensating shortly following a break in conversation or speech delivery, and using a quiet, ineloquent, and utterly disappointing voice.
“I can’t send the QRF unless I ask the commander,” he said looking confused.
‘Well Sir, I suggest you ask the XO because the commander and Knight 3 (operations officer) are out in the city,’ I said, trying to be patient. The captain left the command center to go “get permission” to send our ready team to the fence line. Again, during a week like this, you take 5 guys digging by your fence and trying to get in pretty seriously. The captain returned.
“Do not send the QRF, wait and see what is going on.”
I got another call from the guard tower observing the man digging in the darkness. The guard sounded concerned.
“Roger corporal, the men look to be loading something – maybe weapons – into a car parked next to them. They are loading something from the ground into the trunk of the car. The wire is also being hit. They are continuing to dig. We need someone out here, is anyone coming?”
‘Roger, we are working the issue – continue to stand by,’ I told the guard. I turned to the captain, ‘Sir, the guards report the men are digging what appears to be weapons out of the ground, and placing them into a car trunk.’
“OK, OK. So – these men are taking, um,” he continued with a stutter and an air of confusion – looking as if he’s running the info I gave him over in his head over and over again. “Weapons from, you say, the trunk of the car into the ground, putting them into the ground?”
I couldn’t believe he couldn’t get what I just said straight. ‘No, no Sir. Sir, the weapons – suspected weapons – are being taken FROM the ground and being put INTO the trunk of the car parked there. DO YOU WANT TO READY THE QRF?’
“No, let me ask the XO,” he said and left to command center again to ask the XO what he should do. About 20 minutes had passed. I called the tower again.
‘Are they still digging?’
“YES, they are still digging,” he responded sharply. “Are they sending anyone?”
‘I’m still waiting,’ I said in an apologetic tone. ‘Hey, I’m going to ready the QRF just in case,’ I told Sergeant Lawson.
“No, wait until the captain comes back,” he said, showing some concern.
‘Well, people may be coming across our wire, we can wait all day and it’s only going to get someone killed or cause a breach in the wire we are going to have to guard later. It should not take this long,’ I said in a way to show I was getting pissed. I finally got on the radio and called the Muleskinner Base (our base) security team and told them what was going on. They told me they were sending military police to our location.
“Yes, they are going to come to your location first, then go to the entrance site – BUT, only after we link up with your QRF.” Of course, the QRF didn’t even know about the breach yet! Then CPT Nash and the XO came into the command post. The captain started talking.
“Sir, we got some men digging and putting explosives and AK-47s into the ground from the back of a car. It’s on our fence line,” the captain said, again, incorrectly.
‘Is he serious?! Where did the explosives and AK-47s come from? Didn’t I just finish telling him the situation?! This guy is a college graduate and my boss?’ I couldn’t believe it. It seems like ever since we got deployed, I have had to constantly monitor all information being passed just in case it gets distorted. So here I am repeating myself over simple information. This guy is a CAPTAIN?! Major Stanton looked at me knowingly.
‘No, no, no,’ I said to stop everyone from talking – because it was just adding to the confusion. ‘Sir, this is what’s going on. Some men are on the fence line, they are taking SUSPECTED weapons FROM the ground, INTO the trunk of the car.’ By now, about 40 to 45 minutes had passed.
“OK,” the major said, “Go ahead and alert the QRF.”
‘Wow, have I been saying that all along,’ I thought to myself. I realized that all of this blatant stupidity and lack of initiative could get someone killed. As I watched the group of men before me spout off misinformation, all trying to look as if they knew something in front of the major – even though it was all false and the major didn’t care, I realized (and very clearly) that it’s time to get out of the Army. Not only can this stupidity cause frustration, even worse, it could get someone killed.
I don’t remember the quality of officers being so poor. We had some really great men – men of character. If they were otherwise, they kept it out of sight. All and all, they were men I looked up to. 2LT Prescott, Major Masters, CPT Aachen, CPT Riley, Major Leigh, Major Day, LT Bodanis, Major Braun, and most of all COL David Wolf. Colonel Wolf was unforgettable and someone of superstar proportions for me. And it was based on working regularly with him, conversations with him, and his help in getting into VMI. I recall before I ever came into the Army, a dream where I was standing with a commander on a hillside – overlooking a rolling olive green landscape, rugged, with a grey-blue sky. Across the field were armor vehicles sitting still, like M1A2 tanks and M2A2 Bradley vehicles. I remember us standing next to some Hummer trucks. After waking from this dream, I thought it was odd – because I wasn’t interested in the Army or tanks at all. I wanted to fly. I always wondered if he was that commander in my dreams. As time passed under his command in Germany, I was pretty sure he was that person. It’s time to move on – to become a person that someone else can believe in. I know you believe in me Nora. That is the most important thing. For other young men and all – we need some good role models or something. Sometimes it seems like mediocrity or weak convictions are fully acceptable. At any rate, having good people to work for is always a wonderful thing, and it makes like a bit sweeter.

“Thompson, you should be an S-3, or a battle captain – I tell ya! Battle captain, you see what he is doing – coordinating forces, using combat power?”
– Knight 6

“You’ve made us the world’s most respected and feared Air Force.”
­– Some general on T.V.

“That’s something I could have did.”
– Captain Nash

“Can you do me a favor?”
– Sergeant Rush’s #1 saying

At this stage in the deployment, people were starting to get on each other’s nerves. We moved to a new TOC building, and Sergeant Newsome came to be the operations assistant NCO. This created a miniature chaos in the TOC, with his poor planning. One day I wrote on the future events board, “Off base Spirit Run, 0800.” It was a joke. It meant that our battalion was supposed to do a group run through Baghdad the following day. Of course, that is insane. He believed it though (illustrating the point that many people maintained a garrison mentality in Iraq), and briefed Sergeant Major Walker the following morning about the planned spirit run.
There developed several trends as we entered November. One of the most ridiculous was the combat patch obsession and pressed uniforms. We were in a field, almost combat environment, but many people insisted on ironing uniforms or having them ironed to crisp perfection. I understand the need to appear professional, but to the point of maintaining an immaculate uniform? Foley’s pants were already falling apart at this point, and several people would walk around in perfect boots and uniforms and make on the spot corrections to others. Sergeant Albert and Sergeant Ramos (also called Alberamos, because they are always together), spend many hours in PT uniform washing their gear and keeping it immaculate for all to see. Other soldiers don’t have that luxury, but the sergeants would say, “If we could do it, so could you!” It seemed there were more important issues to concentrate on.
Alberamos were also pioneers in the combat patch arena. They were among the first in the battalion to sew a combat patch on. Foley and I observed this from behind our radio desk. Ramos had hardly been off the base and in Baghdad. Later, the battalion held a formal combat patch ceremony, and all were welcome to wear the 2nd ACR “Toujours Pret” patch. Everyone went out and had the patches sewn on. A few days later, the brigade commander from our 1st brigade made a fuss about 1st Armored Division soldiers wearing 2nd ACR combat patches. The order was given: take the patches off. It was a carnival.
Around this time, a girl was spotted crawling through the razor wire and attempting to enter our perimeter. She was immediately detained and questioned. It was thought that she was running away from home, but there was also a more sinister possibility: she was a spy. She was taken to the holding facility and further questioned. Soldiers heard about the girl and came to see her. An officer stood outside and impatiently told the gathering crowd that there was nothing to see, and that they all should leave. They were just curious to see the teenage girl, and after several months away from home, that sparked some soldiers’ interest. It was decided that the girl be deprived of sleep in order to determine what her true motives were. She was kept up all night, but her story did not change. The chaplain then coordinated for a local Catholic orphanage to receive the girl. He departed the next day in a convoy with the girl headed for northwest Baghdad. She would be OK.

Friday, November 14, 2003

Kobe Bryant and Bombs. Car Chase With Apache Gunship

14 November, 2003 0130

Again, I am lagging behind on my journal entries. We have been very busy as attacks and Operation Iron Hammer swings into action. In reference to the attacks last night, ground radar was able to pinpoint where the ground fire was coming from. Apache AH-64 helicopters were anticipating an attack – seeing as CPA is getting attacked pretty often. Well, the Apaches found the trucks that fired the mortars, I presume they went to the grid location quickly. They guided one truck into a checkpoint and the other truck escaped capture from the ground, so the attack helicopters opened fire on the truck. That is an amazing amount of fire – actually designed to kill armored vehicles. It killed two Iraqis and wounded 4 in this case. It’s amazing they all weren’t killed. Mortars and mortar tubes were found in the truck. Also, we got word yesterday that the Air Force would be dropping a 500 pound bomb on a building. Sure enough, the bomb was dropped, as we heard as our windows rattled. Then, an AC-130 Spectre Gunship opened fire while flying above southern Baghdad on a suspected resistance warehouse. It was a busy night, a loud night, and a “turning point” in the war. Or so it seems. In Nasiriyah, over 15 Italian soldiers were killed, along with many Iraqis, as a truck bomb went off at their police headquarters. The Armed Forces Network wouldn’t show CNN coverage of the bombing – choosing instead to talk about the Kobe Bryant rape case involving a basketball star. That’s real news we need.
Yesterday, our mortar platoon launched a series of mortar rounds into a deserted field about 3 miles away. The thing was, they launched these mortars from our parking lot. I went up on the roof and watched the bright flashes and ensuing BOOMs as the 120mm mortars shot out of the gun tube. A few seconds later, you could hear a muffled thud off in the distance. Off in the distance, our artillery guys were observing the rounds land. This is all part of the plan to show our might. It’s actually unfortunate that things are turning to this. On the news, our maneuver general, who I’ve met several times while here, was saying, “This is great, we’re loving it!” It was so unprofessional, and he seemed more alive and animated than I’ve ever seen him. It was the same type of behavior you’d expect a sports fan to show after his team wins a game.
Anyways, for some reason, I’ve got a feeling Bremer is going to be replaced. I don’t know when, but I say February or March. I don’t know about the dates, but if we don’t see real results soon, I believe he’ll be replaced.
You wonder about what is going on here. One of the guys, I think it was Carter, said, “You know, this is like that song that goes, ‘You better stop, hey, what’s that sound, everybody look what’s going down.’” It’s some song from the Vietnam era. He said, “Thompson, you know that song, it reminds me of this place so much:

“There’s something happening here, what it is ain’t exactly clear…”

That’s the feeling you get, that something is going on – something is about to give – but you don’t know if it will be a good or bad event, or when it will happen.
Nora, I love you so sweetly, and I love for coming home to you. It’s tough, but to love you this way and need you this much is a beautiful state to be in – because the love is so pure. I love you Nora, and I’ll be there for you always. Dein Dan.

“I love combat, but I hate war.” ― General Horner

Wednesday, November 12, 2003

I Wonder What Exactly a Hero Is

12 November, 2003 0250

I’m feeling better as of late, in spite of all the nonsense going on around here. We’ve been talking so much and it really feels great. You are the best Nora, you really support me when I need it – you always come through for me. You’re so strong. I love you.
Well, tonight was busy, like every other night. I really need to cover the events of the past few days. They are very interesting, each story has a lesson to learn. I’ll devote all of tonight to documenting everything, as activity is increasing. It’s resembling a war more and more, and I’ll see on TV today Washington saying we’ll be out by next year. That is bullshit. We should face reality, deal with real facts and issues, in order to find real solutions. There’s a solution, I feel it in my deepest reasoning. I just wish I had the power to do something more than enforce the status quo. You realize more than ever, that the people here dying are heroes. They’re heroes because they have to face death everyday – and they go forward. They’re heroes for overcoming the fear of death. Bush is not a hero. Politicians aren’t heroes. They will never face death in this way. No one will ever make them run a gauntlet of bombs on a highway. Our guys are heroes because they resign themselves with some dignity to accepting their fate – to go down a path someone has chosen for them. That’s why they’re heroes – not because of bravery under fire, but for facing the struggle within. It’s a struggle between life and death, and the outcome cannot be controlled. Very few Americans know such a struggle capable of resulting in so complete a loss. Many lose lives, lose limbs, lose wives, lose dreams. Maybe they aren’t heroes. Maybe I just want to believe that because it’s too horrible to think these guys are dying in vein. This is the bottom line. I don’t exactly know what a hero is anymore – but these guys dying and facing danger must be heroes in comparison to the bureaucrats in Washington. I know what a hero isn’t.

2330

The CPA has been attacked again, just 2 hours ago. The guard towers called me on the phone and told me about a series of explosions to the west. The exact same report I got last night when CPA was attacked. Last night CPA was hit with two rockets and one mortar. Tonight it was hit with several mortars.

Saturday, November 08, 2003

Iraqi Asks About My Christian Faith: Are Most Soldiers Godless? Iraqis Working With Razorwire Without Gloves

0240 08 November, 2003

“Thompson,” Ali asked as he helped me move my things to a newly refurbished room, “you believe in Jesus?” He saw my cross on the wall, and immediately looked curious.
‘Yes,’ I responded, sensing his curiosity and wondering why he should be so surprised. ‘Why?’ I asked.
“I ask soldier here what religion, and they all tell me no religion,” he confided, seeming a bit discouraged.
‘I know Ali,’ I said, wondering myself why everyone treated God with so much indifference. We both shook our heads.
Ali was fired last week from his job by Sergeant Darby. I could spend all day writing about Sergeant Darby. I’ll get into that later. Sergeant Darby replaced Sergeant Ramos as the Iraqi slave driver and has since ruled over his little kingdom without pity – firing here, belittling there. The problem is that Sergeant Darby is only in this position of dealing with Iraqis because he was fired from being a guard on a tower because he could never show up on time. So they put him in charge of Iraqis. They despise him.
I had to go help Sergeant Darby and his slaves put up a fence because they needed some extra help making sure no Iraqis killed Sergeant Darby while he made sure to extend our perimeter fence line into uncharted territory. I stood guard while they worked. I noticed they were handling razor wire without gloves, and getting pretty cut up in the process. They were walking around nursing cut fingers and slightly blood-stained rags.
‘Sgt, don’t you think they need some gloves?’ I asked, honestly concerned.
“I don’t give a damn about these people,” he said with a sweaty forehead – a perpetually sweaty forehead that seems to boil there on top of a ubiquitous red face – trembling and twitching. He looks like a mad man, insane, with brilliant, flashing blue eyes that seem to scream out for help. Something isn’t right.
‘Maybe we can find them some gloves or something,’ I pushed on.
“Sergeant Major said they can fucking work – and if they don’t like it, they can leave!”
‘Well, that’s not very Christian, now is it?’ I really felt this should be said, because it’s true. We’ve got so into practicing human nature, that we’ve lost sight of our most basic Christian values. I don’t mean to sound like a preacher, but making those Iraqis choose between razor wire cuts and getting fired was a bit much. And Darby was firing people left and right. The Iraqis hated him for it. After I appealed to his moral or compassionate side for understanding by mentioning Christ – he acted like he got a glass of cold water thrown in his face. He calmed down, changed gears, and immediately said,
“Yeah, you’re right. It’s Sergeant Major. They can use cloth instead.”
We walked around and gathered some cardboard and rags to use in handling the wire. The Iraqis were actually thankful for it. We actually found a sound solution!
I gave some of your old pencil cases to the Iraqi kids. You’re the best Nora! Wow, who’d imagine that your pencil cases would make it to Iraq? Sergeant Darby is an ongoing story, with more to come later. It’s just a shame he can fire people on a whim and cut off such a vital source of income. He’s crazy, and driving down the morale of the slaves. I’m sure there are a lot of Sergeant Darbys in Iraq – unfortunately.
Over the past few days, a lot has happened. 16 killed in a chopper downing, M1A1 main battle tank destroyed, my birthday, another chopper downing, many dead, and Jessica Lynch’s revelation that she’s not a hero. We’ll see what our society does with her.