From Iraq, with Sarcasm

Mike, a good friend of many years and career devildog, has given me permission to post his monthly-ish updates back to the mainland sans personally identifying pictures. He’s got a great sense of humor (and biting wit) in most situations. I’ll pass along any comments to him you see fit to give. We join Mike now at the very beginning of his tour. Enjoy:

---

Monday, 12 Jan 2008 (month 1)[Author's Note: I don’t care what day YOU say it was on the 12th; here every day is Monday. Except for maybe Sunday, which is only Monday for half the day.]

Well, where should I begin? By now I’m sure you all know that I’ve landed safely in Al Asad, Iraq, and have begun my new life as a hermit, hiding from civilization and all its evils.

The trip here was a joy, in every possible way. Sure, missing New Year’s Eve, cramped in a standard airline seat while the rest of the world celebrates is fun. Who wouldn’t love that? But to really sweeten the pot, how about throwing in all manner of mechanical delays for each flight? The result? Endless hours of sitting around on a holiday while the world gets down with its bad self, waiting for the unseen (though self-evidently incompetent) boobs in TransCom to get us a plane and, ultimately, being somewhere over Iraqi airspace at the stroke of 2008, meaning… wait for it… you just got screwed out of the December special pay, tax breaks, etc. We landed in Kuwait at around 0200 local time. And of course, it goes by local time and we were headed in the wrong direction. So while I find it somewhat distasteful and impolite to discuss specific matters of finance, suffice it to say there are things I could have done with the extra 1000-plus dollars.

So… we’re boned. Folks, we are off to one heck of a start. Without even one foot set on Iraqi soil, that sinking feeling had already set in.

Our first stop was in Shannon, Ireland, where we were forced off the plane during refueling and allowed to visit the bar for 40 minutes. I only time for had three beers. [Ed. Note: Oh no! Poor baby!]

On a side note, I find it worth mentioning the in-flight entertainment. There were several movies per flight, and I know I slept through one or two. But the three I so vividly recall were:

1. Spiderman 3. As if this movie didn’t suck enough the first time I saw it, in the theater, I was also subjected to it during my October flights both to and from Iraq. So here I was, wide awake, trapped in my narrow little seat, with nothing to look at but this plodding, superficial little piece of adolescent crap. If movies are to be graded based upon nutritional value then this thing is best described as a Pixie Stick and a Dr Pepper. If all you have to do with your life is stand in the welfare line and leach off of society, you still have better things to do with your time than this. Trust me; I’ve seen it four times now.

2. Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer. See above review of Spiderman 3, minus the previous theater experience.

3. Music & Lyrics. Ah, saving the best for last. In case anyone’s wondering just what this is, this wonderful movie that some genius chose for a captive audience of 300 well-armed Marines, it’s a (finger quotes) “romantic comedy” starring Hugh Grant and that funny-mouthed chick from E.T. Yes, yes, brilliant pick, huh? As miserable a picture as I would like to paint of the first two movies, because they do in fact have it coming, I can’t even begin to describe the depths of moviegoing hell that await any of you foolhardy enough to let Netflix bring this landmine into your home. Folks, I can think of about a million things I’d rather do than re-endure this little cinematic thumbscrew, and at least four of them involve discharging my weapon into some part of my own body.

For the love of God, never, never, never watch this movie. If someone throws it in your DVD player and holds a gun to your head, overpower them, take the gun, and shoot yourself. You’ll be better off than living with the nightmarish dialogue flashbacks you’re likely to suffer for the rest of your life.

[Note: If any of you so much as tries to write back to me and say something as boneheaded as “I kinda liked that one...” I swear I will give your home address and a plane ticket to the next dozen insurgents we release back into Iraqi society.]

Despite what unspeakable agony they were unknowingly inflicting upon me with the DVD player, the flight crews were in fact very kind, and really seemed to appreciate us. Of course, people are always kind to you when they know you are armed and they are not. But they fed us often (maybe too often- about every four hours) and put up with a lot of the crap you’d expect from a few hundred bored Marines. The crew on the Shannon-Kuwait City flight even made themselves funny “Happy New Year” hats (mostly out of unneeded feminine-hygiene products from the plane’s supply) that they wore as they crashed yet another meal cart up and down the aisles.

Sadly, they went no farther than Kuwait City International Airport, and it would seem all pleasantries and courtesies were left on board. On arrival in Kuwait City we were repeatedly herded around and barked at by 18-year-old Air Force punks or the arrogant, indifferent – not to mention woefully inept and inefficient – civilian KBR idiots, clearly unaware (or perhaps uncaring) that they were juggling chainsaws at that point.

We were herded onto busses at KCIA and driven about two hours across Kuwait to Camp Virginia. This is the part of the trip, by the way, that always bugs the hell out of me. It’s well known that we do this. It’s obvious who’s in the busses with the one-car police escort. We motor slowly along the freeways, merging with normal traffic and generally doing all manner of stupid things for people who do not want to get blown up. Also very well known: that there are many Al Qaeda sympathizers throughout the Muslim world, and whether our government chooses to acknowledge it or not this just happens to include Kuwait. Keep in mind that, at this point, while technically armed, we still had no ammunition. We were quite the ripe target if Mohammed were to get his act together.

Luckily we managed to get to the next base without anyone going boom. I don’t even remember the specific hours. I think it was early, early morning by the time we were settled (herded) into our circus tent and allowed to roam around the base. But only after numerous “Welcome to the Combat Zone” video briefs, and after they issued us live ammo, of course.

HOME!

Of note: rather cold here at the time.

We spent the entire day in Kuwait either waiting around for transport or… well, actually, that’s it. But most of us managed to multitask, waiting around while simultaneously grumbling about how we’d just gotten screwed out of so much money and how we had been so lucky not to get blown up already.

By the time they got us to the flight line to wait (of course) for our C-130 (military prop transport) into Al Asad, it was fully dark. We donned our helmets and body armor and were herded (of course) onboard and buckled in, packed in tighter than smelly, bitchy sardines. And then… the plane broke. Everybody off. So we got off, walked about 100 meters into the dirt, and settled in for more of our favorite: waiting. The surreal nature of the trip continuing, we could hear the imams in the minarets calling everyone to evening prayers. About an hour later they got us onto another plane, but only after almost loading us onto the same broken plane. Gotta love the Air Force.

[Fairness note for the flyboys: what had broken on Plane #1 was the ECM system, meaning the plane’s electronic countermeasures against a surface-to-air missile launch. Unlikely to need it, yes, but I do in fact like knowing it’s on.]

The flight into AA was unremarkable. We landed late in the evening – too late for chow – and after being herded (of course! argh!) into yet another dumbass briefing tent so we could sit there in 60 lbs of armor and be told YET AGAIN what we cannot ever ever ever do as guests in a Muslim country… zzzzzzzzzzzzz.

I’m not particularly prone to jet lag, so I was up and moving just fine the next morning. I started turnover with my predecessor almost right away, only to find out a week later that I will not be taking his job after all. Oh well. Kept me busy, I suppose.

It’s unfortunate that most of what we do here is so indescribable to anyone who has never been here. It’s hard for me to tell you about the depth and scope of what we do. In part, this is because no one else is telling you, and no one has laid any foundation for the vastness of the effort and the enormity of the responsibilities being undertaken by ordinary American kids. And in part it’s just due to the fact that, when you really stop and look at it, it is quite unbelievable. I see it every day and still marvel at it.

We’ve now turned Al Anbar Province around almost completely, and in a few months we will turn it over to Provincial Iraqi Control (PIC). PIC is a step closer to home, and the next and last step (estimated date classified – tell you then have to kill you – you know) is Iraqi Self Reliance (ISR). At that point, we – or whoever is here at the time- will leave and wish them the best.

I think they get it. I think the vast majority of Iraqis want a real and productive society. They want peace and prosperity. They want real jobs, and education, and they want to secure their kids’ futures. Al Qaeda in Iraq (AQI) offered them none of these things, and worse. Despite their best efforts to lionize themselves, to wear the mantle of the holy Mujahideen, AQI was never a religious effort and never in any way fought for the people of Iraq. It was about power, and it was about fighting for the sake of fighting, and killing simply to satisfy a desire to be a killer. I can’t (or rather won’t) begin to describe some of the things the Marines found when they flattened the AQI stronghold of Fallujah. I’ve seen pictures and read briefings all about the drugs and the petty crime. I have friends here who walked through the torture chambers and the rape rooms. These people – nearly all foreigners – did unspeakable things to the Iraqi people, secure in the knowledge that Allah would allow them to be the unholiest of sinners so long as they fought and/or died for a “holy” cause.

Anyone we capture here is turned over to the Iraqi Ministry of Justice. For some, that’s not such a bad thing. For others, much more so. Many are convicted, though a fair number are acquitted. But if they are foreigners who state that they have come to Iraq for “jihad” they are sent rather quickly to the gallows. These are a very patient and forgiving people, but they want their country back and in accordance with Muslim custom have long-since asked all foreign “guests” to leave. And I don’t mean us. The last few of our HVI’s (high-value individuals, meaning most-wanted bad guys) captured have been caught by Iraqi militiamen. The Iraqi Army and Police (IA & IP, respectively) have grown and improved by leaps and bounds, and they are now doing the vast majority of the work here. They do almost all of the fighting. And the dying.

The base here is a constant hive of activity. People of every color, size and nationality, military and civilian, are always coming and going. Flight ops are nearly nonstop; enough so that I tend not to even hear them anymore. I certainly don’t ever look up to see what it is anymore. There are always helicopters, fighter planes, and even those weird Osprey things buzzing around overhead.

We live well. Time has gone by pretty quickly. The food is good, and ridiculously plentiful. I try to run every other day. It’s very cold some days, and the night before last it actually snowed a little. It should be around 26 tonight, while I’m flying to Ar Ramadi. The helos fly with the ramp and both sides open, so flying is known to be a very cold endeavor. Can’t wait.

My job is with the Regiment’s Embedded Provincial Reconstruction Team. It’s a hodgepodge of State Department, military, and DOD civilians, who are trying to help rebuild the nation. They hand out tons of money (at least it’s a lot to me or an Iraqi) and back education and agriculture projects all over the province. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing for them- I just hope it has nothing to do with the safe full of cash.

Quote of the deployment so far: “I’m carrying around a hundred thousand dollars in cash in this case, and they won’t give me a weapon.” – One of the ePRT civilians, walking into the office carrying a soft-sided briefcase full of cash. I am not proud of the thoughts that went through my head as I absentmindedly placed my hand on my pistol….

All the best,

Mike