a mobilized year

I wrote the entry below a couple of days ago. We were under a communications lockdown/blackout because two soldiers in our battalion were killed. The communications lockdown allows the military chain of command to communicate formally the news to the aggrieved families before they hear through the rumor mill or the media. Here's what I wrote that day:

This 26th day of September is a sad day. I mean a really, really sad day. We lost two soldiers in our battalion.

The day started out like most days, soldiers were in the motorpool doing their pre-combat checks and inspections (PCCs/PCIs) before heading out on missions. The gun trucks (HMMWV's with crew serve weapons on them) for the early missions had already left the motorpool. As we were finishing up our PCCs/PCIs, we heard on the radio that one of the early mission gun trucks had been hit by an IED and they were requesting a Medevac. While we've had gun trucks in the past hit by IEDs, this was the first in which a Medevac was called in.

At the time we heard the radio report, I was getting ready for a mission with my guys into the British sector. Since we were basically ready to go, we requested to change our mission to support the gun truck that had been hit by the IED and to escort a physician's assistant to the IED site. We had heard at the time that there was a small arms fire fight still underway and we were eager to assist in any way we could. The small arms fire fight information later proved to be either incorrect or overstated.

We were told to proceed with our original mission (which was expected to last 3-4 hours). We did. Since we were moving somewhat near the IED site, our weapons status was moved to red (rounds in chamber). We moved through the area without incident.

Before returning from our mission, we were told that one of the soldiers that was in the gun truck that was hit had died. Another injured soldier was being evacuated via helicopter. We were also told that there were unconfirmed reports of many AIF with various forms of weapons in a village that was en route to our return destination. Although we had heard some similar information a week or two earlier concerning both numbers of AIF and types of weapons, these reports were somewhat surprising because the village was fairly peaceful.

We then developed our plan to move through the village. We had M2's (.50 cals) mounted on each of the three gun trucks we had with us. We felt comfortable with the firepower that we had. We got confirmation from higher to proceed through that area and to confirm or deny the reports of the AIF.

We proceeded toward the village in question cautiously, but aggressively (if that's possible)--on alert for possible AIF, RPGs and IEDs. As we made it through the streets, we noticed that the streets were virtually empty. This was a clear sign to us that something was up. We checked each street we passed. There was no sign of AIF. We made it through the entire area without making contact.

After we crossed the border to get back into Kuwait and cleared our weapons, we heard more bad news. A second soldier in the gun truck that was hit by the IED had died. A third soldier in the vehicle was heading into surgery to remove some shrapnel. A fourth soldier that was at the scene was evacuated by ground military ambulance for shock. I knew one of the soldiers that had been killed. He was a school teacher, a very friendly and well-liked guy. Hearing the news brought a sense of haze and melancholy that was only amplified by my subsiding adrenalin level. That feeling is still heavy and has yet to lift.

Yes, it was a sad day today. But, tomorrow will be better.

My not so glamorous and exciting days far outnumber the “war fighting” days (the ones in which I’m out on a mission). Here’s a typical non-glamorous day:

I wake up at some time between 0500 and 0600. I’ll either workout for 30-45 minutes or I’ll work on Arabic, read emails and/or address some issue that requires my immediate attention. I typically eat around 0730 (I’ve skipped about ½ of my breakfasts as of late, since I learned that I gained 10 lbs since arriving here--mainly from eating mess hall food and the initial flood of wonderful care packages that I received right after I arrived here).

By mid-morning, we typically have our Battle Update Brief (BUB). This is where I (along with the other commanders) get briefed on recent intelligence updates (what’s happening and where it’s happening in Iraq, both at the political level and the tactical level), operational issues (new and/or updated operations orders/missions), and maintenance status (primarily vehicle focused). Based on the information I learn from the BUB, I develop and assign missions and communicate the relevant intel to various soldiers within the company.

After the BUB, I usually walk around the area to check on my soldiers who are at Navistar. I’ll typically stop by maintenance, commo, supply and the various staff sections. I check in to see how things are going, address issues that have come up, and generally just make sure things are running smoothly.

Once I’m comfortable with how things are going, I return to the company command post (CP). I give my guidance and taskings for the day to the soldiers and NCOs that work directly for me before I begin my project(s) de jouer.

I try to spend the majority of my day on issues/topics that are important to me (avoiding, when I can, getting mired in putting out “fires”—I try to delegate fire-fighting tasks to others). For example, some of the issues/topics that I have been working on lately have been researching requirements for obtaining awards for my soldiers, setting up a nonprofit to support some of our efforts in assisting local Iraqi kids and Iraqi poor, identifying key equipment needs and ways to get that equipment for my unit, counseling and motivating soldiers, reading and learning from other units’ after action reports (AARs), tactics, techniques and procedures (TTPs), and lessons learned so that I can be more informed and lead the company better.

Around 1900 or so, I head over to the mess hall to partake in all that that day’s smorgasbord has to offer. After my day’s indulgence, I roll back to the CP. I typically will work for another hour or two before going either to my tent to listen to the ol’ ipod/watch a DVD or to the MWR tent to get whipped at ping pong or read a newspaper or magazine. By 2230-2300, I’m usually ready to go to sleep.

So, how’s that for an exciting day?

"UXO" is unexploded ordinance. UXOs are typically rounds from artillery or mortars that were fired but for whatever reason, the rounds themselves did not explode on impact. UXOs are frequently used in IEDs, so they are sort of a big deal in the sense that if they are not taken care of (exploded, disarmed, etc.), they can be the next IED that one faces.

This last week, I was involved in a reconnaissance and security element (RSE) mission. RSE missions typically involve clearing a route for a convoy prior to the convoy getting there. RSE missions also typically require setting up traffic control points at major intersections or areas of vulnerability along routes.

It was a typical warm morning, somewhere between 100-105, when we were responding to a potential IED. As we were heading out, there was this boy trying to wave us down. Because of our priority mission at the time, we had to pass him by. As we were heading to the IED location, we were called off of the potential IED mission (an element that was closer to the site was called to investigate the potential IED). So, we headed back on the same route. As we passed through the area, we saw the boy again, making the same animated motions. We pulled over to talk to the boy. He was very distressed looking. He was adamantly pointing toward a certain direction and speaking very fast (we had no idea what he was talking about).

We pulled out our trusty visual translator (pictures to English words). The boy feverishly paged through it. He then pointed to a shoulder fired missile picture and then appeared to point toward a berm about 200 meters away. This got our crew alert.

We then mounted our vehicles and the boy then appeared to point at something closer. We drove a very short distance and the boy pointed toward the ground, about 20 meters to his front. We dismounted again and saw a mortar round laying on the ground. Here's a picture:

There were also some metal objects protruding the ground within a few meters. We then called up a UXO report to our higher headquarters.

While we were calling in the report, some Brits showed up in the area. The Brits actually "own" the area in terms of it being under their control and supervision. We showed them the UXO. By how they handled the situation, I'm not sure that these particular soldiers were that well trained in dealing with UXOs. Any way, during this process, the boy said that there was nothing behind the berm. We investigated the area and confirmed.

As a reward for helping us out, I gave the boy an MRE, a Gatorade and some money (he asked for two dollars so that he can have some shoes). Here's a picture of the boy with his reward:

The boy was so happy. He proceeded to tell us (as much as we could discern) that he was going to find a whole bunch of bombs and that he'd have to bring a wheel barrel out with him to carry away all the meals, Gatorade and money that he would get. Ahh yes, an entrepreneur in the making.

As I mentioned in the last post, the interactions with kids can be difficult. Not only can the kids present problems for the coalition forces, we can present problems for them. This was evident last week.

On a “routine” convoy last week that was heading through our area north into Iraq, one of the contractor truckers threw some candy out of the cab for one of the kids standing on the side of the road. Most of the contractors are from various “friendly” countries throughout the area. In my experience, of the convoys originating from Kuwait, very few contractors are Kuwaitis and very few are Iraqis. Most that I’ve run across have been from India, Syria, and/or Pakistan. There’s a decent contingent of American drivers as well (but less than 10% I’d guess). Most don’t speak English, except perhaps for a few words.

I’m sure the contractor in question was well meaning, but the candy that he threw rolled back onto the road. A 6-year old Iraqi girl raced to pick up the candy. This is not uncommon in that many kids run out into the traffic or cross the road in between moving vehicles, especially in built up populated areas. However, in this case, an Air Force HMMWV (as in a Humvee) was close behind the contractor’s truck. The HMMWV struck the little girl. The accident occurred right across the border in the town of Safwan. Coalition forces rendered aid and an emergency vehicle was called to the site.

Unfortunately, the little 6-year old girl died.

We’ve been ordered not to throw out things to kids or otherwise encourage kids to stand on the roadside.

One of my soldiers told me yesterday as he was going through the same area, a boy (about 5 years old) and a girl (about 10 years old) were standing about 10 meters off the roadside. As their vehicle was passing, the boy lurched toward the road. The girl grabbed that boy by the arm and whipsawed him around and threw him to the ground to prevent him from moving any closer to the convoy. Thank goodness for big sisters.

One of the first missions I went on “outside of the wire” was a relatively short mission (approximately 8-9 hours in duration). We were escorting 30 contractor vehicles to a destination in Southern Iraq. On our way there, we went through both populated and desolate areas. In the populated areas, unlike in Kuwait, the people were generally poor. We were inundated with kids waving. I’m sure most of them were just seeking some sort of treat or goodie—not quite to the scope of an American parade mind you, but nonetheless there were a lot of kids waving.

After leaving these populated areas, we entered these long stretches of desert. On one of these long stretches, one of the vehicles in our convoy had a flat tire. Since at the time we were in a rather remote section and no apparent threat was present, we decided to wait for the vehicle driver to replace his flat. Then, virtually out of nowhere, small groups (2-3 each) of kids popped up. Kind of like gophers. I have no idea where they came from. But within twenty minutes, there were probably 25 kids ranging in age from about 3 to 10 around our vehicles and the vehicles we were escorting.

Iraqi kids present difficult challenges to our soldiers. Most people have heard of how, dating back to the early days of the war, some ruthless, immoral AIF strapped bombs to children in an effort to kill American soldiers when the soldiers approached the kids. Just as bad, on more than one occasion, suicide bombers drove vehicles into crowds of children that surrounded GIs. But more than 99% of interactions with Iraqi children are just like any other encounter with children.

In preparing to come over here, one interesting fact that I learned was that the average age of an Iraqi citizen is 19 years old. 19. Compare that to the United States where the average age is 36 (almost twice that of Iraq). This presents a real opportunity “to shape the hearts and minds” of this up-coming generation.

Any way, I digress.

When the kids approached us on that long stretch of desert road, we first cautiously checked them out. After everything seemed OK, we started to interact with them. One thing that the Iraqi kids really like and that make them smile a lot are pens. Any type of pen--ball point, felt tip, permanant marker, etc. Some of the soldiers gave them a few pens and some bottled water. While the soldiers were attempting to talk with the kids, I was mainly focused on directing some of the sparse traffic and ensuring no one else approached our halted convoy. Just prior to our departure, a 6 or 7 year old boy came up to me with a big smile on his face. We exchanged Iraqi greetings and he started to ask me something. I only know a few words/sentences in Arabic so I didn’t know what he was asking. He pointed to my hand (which was holding my weapon slinged in front of me). I didn’t know what he wanted. I held my hand out with my palm facing slightly upward. He took my hand and started drawing something. I had no idea what he was drawing at the time, but I was very curious.

After about 30 seconds of drawing, the boy stepped back smiling at me and waving. I then looked down at my hand to see what he had drawn. It was a smiley face with a smile that was as big as his. He then walked off with his siblings and friends waving as we loaded back onto our vehicles and headed off to our destination.

While I’m an infantry officer part of a light infantry battalion, our battalion’s current primary mission is not a typical infantry mission.

It shouldn’t come to much of a surprise that the preferred method for the AIF of striking against coalition forces is through the use of IEDs. Sometimes they’re delivered through tires, other times through vehicles or animal carcasses and yet at other times strapped to a person. It is also not uncommon to have IEDs used in conjunction with small arms fire. To counter against IEDs, the Army is tapping some combat arms units (e.g., infantry, cavalry, armor and field artillery) to guard/escort the transport of personnel, equipment, and supplies. That’s where my unit currently falls in.

Our missions run from the southern tip of Iraq in Safwan to all throughout the country (including north of Mosul). The unit we just replaced logged in over 5 million miles on Iraqi roads this last year. While our primary focus is to guard against IEDs and small arms and RPG fires, another role we play is to protect against vehicle hijackings (which you don’t hear much about in the states). Most of the vehicle hijackings and hijacking attempts are conducted by criminal elements as opposed to terrorist groups.

With our mentality and aggressiveness as a light infantry battalion, coupled with the training that we’ve had to support our primary mission, I think we’re more than ready for this mission. We had a good transition with the unit we replaced and we’re doing a great job with the “interactions” we’ve run into thus far.

While convoy security/escorting is currently our primary mission, we fulfill a few other missions as well. I’ll elaborate on those when I can in up-coming weeks.

Soon after we arrived at Beuhring, our battalion (consisting of 620 soldiers of which there are 4 companies, one of which is mine) broke up into two parts. Just over half went north with me to Camp Navistar and the rest stayed at Camp Beuhring (here’s some pictures of the route to Beuhring: http://rbombard.blog.uvm.edu/archives/2005/07/rogers_visitor.html taken by someone else and the infamous Burger King that’s located there).
When I’m not on mission, Camp Navistar will likely be the place that I’m stationed out of for at least most of my tour here. Camp Navistar is not too bad of a place (in fact, it’s one of the better places around). The location is right on the border between Kuwait and Iraq. When I say “right on the border,” I mean right on the border. I’m sitting in Kuwait currently and looking right now at a mosque that is about 100-200 meters away that is on the Iraq side of the border.

Living Quarters
The living quarters are OK. Currently, I share a tent with 11 other officers. Here’s a picture (mine is the bottom bunk):

We have air conditioners, but it’s not quite as good as you might think. Generally speaking, you can expect the air conditioners to reduce the outside temperatures by about 20 degrees. So, if you have 120 degrees outside, you can expect that inside the tent it will be 100 degrees. Some tents have more efficient air conditioners, but most that I’ve run across will give you about a 20 degree or so cooling. Once a few things happen here, I’ll probably only have to share a tent with around 6 other officers, which obviously means a little more room to spread out.

Chow
The food here is plentiful and the quality is above average (for army food)—although, almost all meats are overcooked (just past well done). I suppose that’s better than being undercooked. We have fresh fruit for every meal and a decent amount of variety (I’ll check back in on this in about six months to see if I still feel the same). If it weren’t for the heat, I can see guys gaining a lot of weight here. Outside of the chow hall, we have two food vendors at Navistar. One is a Subway and the other is a Pizza Inn. I haven’t tried either yet, although I’m sure I will be a regular before long. So, overall, not too bad in the food department.

MWR
Morale, Welfare and Recreation (MWR) facilities here at Navistar are fairly good, especially considering the relatively small size of Navistar (it has just over 1000 soldiers plus representatives from the Navy and the UK). We’ve got an outside basketball court (plywood floors over the sand), some treadmills and exercise bicycles, weights, and weight machines, ping pong table, and a limited number of computer terminals for guys to use the internet.

Facilities
Virtually everything here is either in a tent or a trailer-type facility. The trailer-type buildings actually have excellent air conditioning (assuming the generators are properly working, the temperatures in the trailers are almost always comfortable—much better than the tents (presumably because of the “insulation” in the trailers)). My office is in a trailer that I share with my first sergeant, an operations NCO, supply sergeant and a clerk. We’re still moving in, but here’s a picture (we’re about to do our own little renovation to the trailer):

There’s a number of things I plan to write about (when I get the time), but if anyone wants me to elaborate on a topic or event, drop me an email or post a comment.