War Zones

OIF & OEF Events & Observations

when: May 2007 to December 2008 where: Baghdad & Afgnanistan what: Selected Notes on living © Rob Crimmins, Felton, Delaware, USA

May, 2007 1.

2007 was the worst year of the Iraq War for the United States. May was the worst month of that year with 126 U.S. military deaths and thousands of Iraqis had been dying due to the war each month for the previous two years. We landed in Baghdad on the afternoon of Saturday, May 5th.

I was fifty-one years old, which was about the average age of the nine guys on my team. We were all employees of Lockheed Martin and most of us had been hired two or three months before. I was the only member of our team who wasn’t ex-military, or military contractor with extensive, recent experience.

Jeff was the only African-American, the rest of us were white. Jeff Ballard, Bill Dunbar, Barry, Steve Carter and I are married.

Most of us have ex-wives.

I think everyone drinks, Jeff and I to excess sometimes. Don Craig is a body builder. Bill is a good-oldboy from “LA” (Lower Arkansas). Barry told us he is manic-depressive. Winston Rogers worked in Iraq for security contractors in 2004 and ‘05 and knows his way around. Vince is a proud Massachusetts liberal, and Steve is retired Navy, married to a Filipino, who he loves but would rather not live with. Rick Lawrence is the smartest guy on the team and the only one other than me that has operational experience with kite balloons.

in the War Zones

2.

Ready or not, the flight from Baltimore Washington International to Germany left at 1 AM on Friday, May 4th.

Judi, my wife of twenty-eight years, and I were pretty upset by the time we finally said good-bye. We wouldn’t see each other for four months and the news from Iraq wasn’t good. To make it worse for her Danny, our son, was already there. He was in the US Army 3rd Infantry Division and serving his second tour in Iraq. This time he was southeast of Baghdad at Salman Pak. Although he wasn’t on patrol most of the time like he was during his first tour in 2005 near Tikrit, we were still very concerned for him.

Our other son, Patrick, was living in Delaware with his girlfriend, not far from where we lived so at least one of Judi’s most important people was safe.

When Dan was in Iraq the first time he was on the streets most days. Judi and I were terrified the sedan with the chaplain would come down the driveway.

It wasn’t a constant fear but sometimes when it struck it was paralyzing. Now Judi would have to manage thoughts of that visitor while missing and worrying about me too. We both knew how hard that would be as we kissed goodbye.

3.

We got to Kuwait International Airport early Saturday morning, long before daylight. Four busses took a couple hundred of us, mostly soldiers, to the Army LSA (Logistics Support Area) at Ali Al Salem Air Force Base about forty miles west. From there we

boarded the “Embassy Flight”, a C-130, to Baghdad.

In the months to come I’d learn that getting in and out of Ali Al Salem can take days and getting out on the same day is very unusual. If you’re going to a really remote location that’s poorly serviced it could take weeks.

We waited for someone from “Site One”, our balloon site on Camp Slayer, to pick us up at the bus stop outside the terminal. Jersey barriers were arranged in a circle and formed the drive where we had piled our bags and backpacks. It was hot and the sky was gray, obscured by either an overcast or dust.

The ground was either brownish gray dust or crushed stone with no grass or living ground cover of any kind. Soldiers and airmen were coming and going but there were more contractors, men like me, in “tactical” clothing, some with weapons, either side arms or M4s.

All the soldiers carried their weapons, M4s, M16s, shotguns, SAWs. I came to pity the guys who had to carry a SAW, the Squad Automatic Weapon, everywhere they went.

It’s 41 inches long and weighs 16 pounds, unloaded.

Handling that and a tray of food in the DFAC (dining facility) is obviously a pain in the ass.

There was a bomb-damaged bunker in the yard adjacent to the terminal. It was the first such thing I’d see. It was in use but many of the concrete panels that formed its sloping sides and roof were bomb damaged.

Mike Baron and one of the Site One crew-members eventually arrived to take us to our quarters so we could sleep. By then the trip had taken about thirty-six hours so we were beat.

Mike was like MASH’s Radar O’Riley, a wheeler dealer, without the lovable side. He had a plan too. He was going to leave Iraq, get elected mayor of his small town in Louisiana then win a Congressional seat. He had a bad lisp and was hyperactive so those characteristics would have to be overcome, but it could happen.

It seems he’d read the “Country Handbook”, a very useful DOD publication, because he acted as he should have with the Iraqi store keeper where he took me to get the SIM chip for my phone. First shaking his hand then placing his right hand on his breast he said, “Assalamu ‘alaykum”, peace be with you, the standard Arab greeting. He even asked about the man’s family, another important custom. The young man helping us indulged Mike, a little glad for the rare display of manners, but aware that it was a display. Mike would behave as required on the campaign trail or on Capitol Hill.

On Sunday, our first day on the job, the automatic weapons fire just outside the wall stopped when two Apache helicopters flew over and fired on the troublemakers. I asked one of the guys who’d been there a couple of years about it and he said, “So what”. It happens all the time.

As I got to the site that morning, before I’d even got out of the truck, a very strong explosion occurred just outside the wall.

As the mushroom of dust, flame and smoke rose I thought that minutes earlier an Iraqi man, woman or child may have thought he or she would be with their family later or an American soldier had expected to be in the chow hall later was, at that moment, dead or injured. Maybe the jihadist or militiaman who planted the bomb missed. The smoke and dust was all I could see above the wall and I realized when we got that million-dollar camera in the air we’d witness the horrid results of such acts while the victims lay dying. We might help catch the trigger men or even prevent them from planting the bomb in the first place. Just as I wasn’t prepared for the war I had no idea how I would feel at that moment.

As a child I thought Baghdad was an exotic, mysterious yet ultimately accessible place. The Arabian Nights, and films we saw in fourth grade about the Tigris and Euphrates, Babylon, the Assyrians and the

first city, and Bible stories formed what I knew then and the images I conjured. It was a place that I thought I might visit someday as I traveled about. I pictured myself then in a smoke filled Casablanca type cafe.

It’s different than what I expected from the news too.

was on “Camp Cupcake”.

June, 2007 1.

There were two “bazaars” on the VBC, one by the “Big PX” At the condiand one we called ments table in “Blackhawk” in a the chow hall an two-story, block Army Major and building against I were looking Al-Kadhimiya Mosque the outside wall for our favorite on Camp Slayer. salad dressing A lot of the stuff and I said, “Jeez, is junk but they this is the second had useful items day in a row with too; computer no Blue Cheese supplies, TVs, dressing.” He Cuban Cigars, said, “Yeah, me phone cards, too. There’s no toiletries. The Creamy French. . store on Slay. . What’s this war er had bootleg coming to?”

DVDs and soft He was jokware. Adobe® ing about someCreative Suite, thing most of us Autocad®, Mion the Victory crosoft Office® and all of them Base Complex bundled together were aware of. for ten dollars.

We were cared Thousand-dollar for in ways and programs lined to an extent that up on shelves by was beyond what the hundreds. The was necessary. By normal, American Kadhimiya neighborhood and market Army shouldn’t have allowed it. standards life on There were a Camp Slayer was couple of interbad but a lot of esting stalls in the people in the war Big PX bazaar. One was operated by a talented artist zone didn’t have air conditioning, indoor plumbing, clean sheets or ice. All that was available in abundance who did highly realistic paintings from photographs and daliesque, abstract works. The other had Saddam on the VBC. The PX (Post Exchange) on Camp Libmemorabilia. erty was a small department store and the gyms were outstanding. We got all the ice we wanted from the 2. Our training didn’t include even a minute on DFAC every day. anything resembling an actual mission. Our job was

One of the best things was how easy it was to to float a balloon with cameras on it thousands of feet leave. It was one hop to Kuwait and the commercial airport or a good hotel. The joke among the guys who over Baghdad and somehow tell someone what we saw. We didn’t know how and since I was the team worked at balloon sites elsewhere was that Site One

leader I worried about that. Fortunately, there was so much to do just to get there and get set up I wasn’t able to obsess about my worries.

sive, luxury automobile she squirmed harder. Her ride in the man’s arms ended when she was dropped into the trunk and the lid closed, while she was still on the way down. Her new owner gave her no chance of 3. Once, when I was operating the camera we getting to her feet and freedom. The man then quickly were directed to a grid at an intersection just a few got in the car and drove off. kilometers north. Often the instructions to look at a

I’d captured a sheep kidnapping and everyone in particular place didn’t include what to look for. Findthe MND-B Ops center watching at the time witnessed ing the spot another unwas the first usual street priority. scene.

One of the sights near our home on the corner of FlintOnce there stone Drive and Yellow Brick Road on Camp Slayer was one of Saddam’s houseboats. The unconfirmed but we could 4. … repeated story was that he would take guests out on them returning ask why. for after dinner cigars sometimes followed by a bullet in the head. Accepting his invitation was required and the was worse.

This time risks of attendance were well known. (The Victory Over they just The first America Palace, which was struck by Cruise missiles told us to route, during “Shock & Awe”, is on the other side of the lake.) “stand by”. which was back the Right at the grid way I’d come, was they gave us a man blocked was opby a huge erating a truck concession convoy.

I turned of some kind on around and the edge of went the the street. way WinIt was just ston took a table with items on it and a tarp on posts over it for and that route was blocked by another, longer, convoy.

With that I started navigating by dead reckoning based shade. Several sheep were tethered to a chain a few on the towers I could see on Commo Hill, runway feet behind the table which wasn’t unusual. A lot of locations and shapes I thought I recognized on the people kept animals, even small herds, in the city. horizon. After seeing an Apache fire countermeasures There are even herds of water buffalo in East Baghflares over the road ahead of me, which bothered me, dad.

I asked directions from a non-English speaking pedes Several cars, including a large Mercedes sedan were parked on the street. A man opened the trunk and trian and then from a soldier who told me I had just one more manned check point to pass. then walked over to the man at the table.

Message to Judi:

The two spoke and gestured and the man who … While in that last stretch, the darkest of the opened the trunk gave the other some money. The sell- trip, a jackal walked onto the road ahead of me. He er quickly walked to the flock, unhooked one animal didn’t move until I nearly reached him and then he from the chain, then lifted it in his arms. It was pretty slowly ambled off the road, as if he didn’t care. He large but the shepherd, being quite strong, snatched was gaunt, existing on a thin edge, but not unhealthy. it off the ground with little effort. It struggled some I followed this creature of the Bible and other ancient but the man kept its legs tightly pinned so it couldn’t tales with a flashlight as he trotted over the dusty, escape. He carried it to the Mercedes where the other littered field. guy stood with his hand on the open trunk lid. The I felt very far from you. sheep seemed to realize something bad was happening

It was after 01:00 when I finally turned onto the because as she got closer to the street and the expen-

road that took me into Camp Slayer and boy was I glad. This place with the lake side palms and bombed out palaces feels like home. It was like Mars five weeks ago.

I don’t want you here. We joked about you getting a job here so we could be together but I wouldn’t want you here. It’s mean, harsh and cold. You are kind and sweet. You need to be safe in our home in a society at peace. Knowing you exist there where people like you are happy makes life here tolerable.

5.

Five explosions in the space of about thirty seconds shook the house and woke me at 06:30 one morning shortly after the wind storm.

It was time to get up anyway so I may have been just waking when the window shook slightly and made a little rattle. I wasn’t sure what had happened until I heard the second boom and the window rattled again and then three more booms and rattles. Then there was a lot of gunfire which I generally didn’t hear on that side of the base. Something could have been happening so I went out to see but everything was normal. Traffic and joggers were going by so the gunfire was probably just the firing range down the street and the explosions could have been controlled detonations.

6.

Lockheed’s Safety Officer back in Florida saw to it that the teams had hard hats, safety harnesses, gloves, eye protection and all the things modern, industrial operations need to comply with OSHA requirements. That was good although incongruous.

It was the rockets and mortars that presented the real safety problem.

Eleven mortar rounds hit the site in one attack and the attacks came several times per week. One day

late in 2006 sixty rounds hit the FOB.

The guys on the site were furious that face shields and respirators had been provided but no blast protection. The Army was very busy filling sand bags and placing T walls around their own quarters and offices, they even wrapped their TOC with Kevlar blankets, but the safety of the balloon crew wasn’t a high priority for them.

East Baghdad in the summer of 2007 was nightmarish. Men rode out of FOB Loyalty daily onto narrow streets full of trash, mined with IEDs and occupied by armed men who hated them and boys who threw stones.

Surge troops were coming in and more were being assigned to incomplete installations.

Requests from contractors for quarters and blast protection on the FOB was important but often lost in the noise.

Whenever the balloon crew asked anyone other than Lockheed Martin for help with Force Protection they were asking for limited resources already allocated for uses other than the protection of Lockheed Martin personnel. Major Morris and the junior officers and enlisted men who moved T walls and built bunkers agreed with the Lockheed crew. Our company should have arranged for the delivery and installation of blast protection when they installed the site. What little sympathy soldiers may have had for us was utterly overshadowed by their resentment. Soldiers and officers thought contractors were very well paid mercenaries and although Army personnel looked forward to their benefits, pensions, and jobs like ours as soon as they retire, they still resented us.

In addition to mortars landing on the site, and the DFAC, the crews’ quarters had been hit. An RPG exploded in John Goodman’s room. John, who came with the team when they arrived in February, wasn’t in

his room at the time. The destruction was a perfect example of what a rocket propelled grenade is supposed to do after it enters a room or vehicle. Everything in it was destroyed. No one would have survived.

According to others at the site Keith had taken to wearing his vest and helmet all the time and spending every minute he wasn’t at the camera or the mIRC in the bunker.

July, 2007 1.

On the night of July 3rd, around midnight, I was on a Blackhawk over Baghdad to take the PTDS night shift supervisor position on FOB Loyalty.

Non-stop flights to any destination in the war zones are rare, unless you’re a General or brigade commander. The rest of us have to wait while all the other stops are made along our route. Since I didn’t know what Loyalty looked like and it was dark I wouldn’t know when we got there so I wrote the name of the FOB with a question mark on my hand. The sign allowed me to deal with the noise and at the second stop I showed the crew chief the palm of my hand. He shook his head, held up two fingers and mouthed the words, “Two more.”

I had no idea where I was which made me a little nervous. If I found myself on the ground and had to find friendly territory I wouldn’t know which way to go. I promised myself from then on when I traveled I’d carry a compass and have knowledge of the route.

Once beyond the wall I was over hostile territory. The Victory Base Complex is in the war zone but it’s very secure. The enemy reaches in with indirect

fire but they can’t aim at anyone except tower guards.

Outside the wall it’s different. There, hundreds of men with weapons can have you in their sites.

As soon as we cleared the wall the crew fired countermeasures flares to attract heat seeking missiles.

The flares are fired forward and slightly down and away from the aircraft and they ignite either before or immediately after leaving the tube. I was by the window which is pretty large in a Blackhawk. On this bird it was an open hole, with no glass or plastic in it so my view of the flare and the city below was unobstructed and it felt like I was in the sky lit by the nearly full moon with the dust and the flare and the helicopter that was accompanying us just a few hundred feet to our side.

I’d been looking forward to leaving the safety and isolation of the VBC. In the air over the city flying fast and low was what I wanted. Finally being there was a big step, and I realized the significance of the moment as it occurred. If I’d been flying the helicopter myself or on foot and occupied it would have been different. As a passenger with the outside air and deafening wind filling the dark cabin I could observe, think and feel.

The LZs (landing zones) at each stop were as dark as the night sky. Only three of us got out at Loyalty so the two Blackhawks were on the ground and back in the air in less than a minute. The deafening noise faded to silence. A truck was there to meet the two soldiers but no one else was around so I asked them for a ride to the balloon site. It was close enough that I could have walked but they didn’t mind giving me a ride. We knew where it was of course. Everyone within miles knew the balloon’s location.

There’s no outside lights on the FOBs and trying to find your way around on an unfamiliar base can be

disorienting. You never want to be anywhere in the war zones without a flashlight.

2.

There were distractions from the routine and the difficulties on FOB Loyalty. The pool was the best one. It was in a metal building on the south side, almost against the wall. No one mentioned it before I got there so when I happened upon it I was very pleasantly surprised. Swimming is my favorite form of exercise and for the previous couple years at home I’d been swimming daily in the high school pool down the road from our house.

There was a small, outdoor pool on Camp Slayer but it wasn’t really big enough to swim laps in and it wasn’t open at night and there was a big pool in the Al Faw Palace on Camp Victory but it didn’t have any water in it. The one on FOB Loyalty might have been the only one in the city suitable for real exercise available to soldiers and contractors.

After leaving my shift at 10:00, or later if I had to work overtime, I’d go to the pool and swim a mile.

Leaving there in the blazing heat and sunshine after a hard swim felt great and in the afternoon sleep came very easily. It was why I was able to establish and keep a steady sleep schedule there. In most of the places I worked I couldn’t.

On two occasions there were mortar attacks while I was swimming and with my head in the water I couldn’t hear the alarm. The attendant, an Indian gentleman who took great care of the facility, shouted and waved his arms until he got my attention before he ran out to the bunker, which was pretty brave. I followed him, running in shower shoes over the ankle busting size stones they’d spread just about everywhere.

3.

A couple hours before daylight, with sweat pouring out from under the vest and helmet, when our location and the circumstances were completely forgotten, we heard gunfire. Turning toward the sound we saw tracers coming over the wall near the guard tower and toward us. The same feeling I’d had before when Winston and I were outside at Site One and a single round zipped by came over me but this time it was much worse and I couldn’t take cover. The troops in the tower fired back and more rounds came in. Terror seized me and I had the urge to leap out of the basket just like those who jump from burning buildings. It was nearly irresistible and completely rational. Two broken legs seemed better than a rifle bullet in just about any part of my body. But rather than jump Ron

and I made ourselves as small as we could as I swung the boom away from the balloon and took us down, at a sickening slow pace.

August, 2007 1.

The hastily assembled command center with Ethernet cables and extension cords hanging out of ceiling tiles over folding tables supporting dozens of cheap computers couldn’t have been what they pictured. They’re office workers, not leaders of men.

And what they know of what the soldiers in the field do makes them glad they’re in the office, because the actual warriors aren’t conducting the fight that was in their minds either. They’re riding in heavy, uncomfortable cars on city streets hoping the pile of trash or displaced curb in front of them isn’t an IED. Sometimes it is. Sometimes friends are killed, suddenly.

Engineers have one of the hardest jobs and occasionally they suffered under Lt. Colonel Dunham’s scrutiny.

Getting things built can be hard anywhere but doing it in Baghdad where every car is potentially a bomb really slows things down. With all the main avenues lined with fifteen foot tall blast barriers even getting from point to point can be an ordeal. Sometimes the engineers gave Dunham good news but because they were good men more often they were disappointed with what had been accomplished that day so they handed the microphone to the next man or woman with their eyes cast down, even though the rest of us knew they had nothing to be ashamed of.

Actual fighters are few compared to those of us who support them and the supporting units aren’t really known for supporting each other. They do, but many operate on an “every man for himself” basis.

Dunham knew that and the difficulties that every one of his subordinates faced. That knowledge affected his final words to each of them which were rarely harsh but humiliating the individuals who stood in front of him who gave the wrong answers was Dunham’s duty and he didn’t hesitate to complete it.

2.

Rick installed an Ethernet connection into the bunker just outside the GCS for a private place to call our wives or conduct personal business. I was sitting in a chair outside the bunker chatting with Judi.

Seeing her on that little screen and hearing her voice was the best part of every day. We may have

been talking about Danny or our other son, Patrick or what her plans were for the next day. It was a couple of hours past sunrise in Baghdad and early evening in Delaware. I could hear the morning traffic just outside the wall. Iraqis are fond of horns that play short tunes.

The irony struck me whenever I heard La Cucaracha blasting from a car on the streets of a city at war. The sun and heat were rising and I was looking forward to the end of my shift at 10:00.

I heard the rocket a second before it hit. It passed directly over me so Judi and I both heard the whoosh of the motor and then the explosion as it smashed into a gas station just outside the wall. There was an article in Stars and Stripes about it but I found out before it was revealed in the paper that thirteen Iraqis were killed.

As soon as I heard it I pushed myself over backwards in the chair to get on the ground so the computer slid off my lap and landed in the sand. It wasn’t damaged so after the blast I heard Judi calling out. She wasn’t panicked but she was pretty excited.

I picked up the computer and pointed it at me so she could see I was all right but I was wearing my sunglasses around my neck and since she was expecting an injury Judi thought the object on my chest was blood and I’d been hit. Then she did scream but realized almost right away what she was seeing. I took cover inside the bunker in case more rockets were

coming and continued our call.

Chapter 43 Because of the frequent IDF attacks Mike Camp refused to work the day shift. He was one who wouldn’t work in the lift above the wall too. He claimed acrophobia as the reason even though that should have made him unable to complete the training and unqualified to get the job in the first place.

His, and some of the others’ perception of the danger and their refusal to work at certain tasks and under some conditions made it harder to run the site. It seemed to me the risk wasn’t as great as they thought.

I thought the odds of being in the kill radius of any rockets or mortars that landed on the FOB were low.

Also, we knew that although some of the enemy teams were pretty good at hitting their target most weren’t.

Quite a few rounds missed the FOB completely. I made a graphic I thought would verify my perception and counter their’s, but it didn’t.

Instead it pointed out the chances of being killed by one of the many rounds that landed on the FOB weren’t small. Rather than use it to make people feel safer I posted it on the wall in the TMOS in the hope that it would get them to wear their protective gear when working out on the site.

September, 2007 1.

Determined to sleep as long as I could, I settled in at about 1400. An hour later, while very deeply asleep, an RPG struck the side of the building about forty feet from my bunk.

When it impacted the wall I heard it as if wideawake and I remember it clearly. The concussion and thunder filled the room and my skull but there was also the astoundingly complex sound of the projectile penetrating an inch or two into the concrete and shattering it, the shrapnel and aggregate crashing into each other and the mix spreading out in the blast.

I was on my feet immediately. Mike Camp, in his bunk on the other side of the room wasn’t, although he certainly heard the blast. The rest of our shift was up too. Don and Spikey Mikey (whose nickname requires daily hair gel application) were up on their feet. The explosion occurred outside their room, just feet from where they lay sleeping.

There was a lot of commotion on the ground by the time we got outside. Investigators were already there and several men were tending to a soldier lying on the ground. He caught a piece of shrapnel but he was alive.

We walked around the side of the building that faces the perimeter wall and the street to see the impact point just above the third floor balcony. A few feet lower and the center of the blast area could have been Mikey’s spikes. Lower and a little east and I wouldn’t have the memory of the sound, or anything else ever again.

Another big problem in the early weeks was the trash fire that burned continuously just a hundred meters from the site.

All the FOB’s trash was dumped in a pit. There was a contract with a local hauler to take the trash off the property but the pile was on fire so he couldn’t haul it out. It was suspected the hauler was the one who kept the fire going.

The smoke from tons of paper, wood, plastic and rubber was sickening. It was worse when there was no wind. Then the smoke would hang in the air. Others could get relief by going indoors but if we were working on the platform we couldn’t escape for hours at a time. Some of us developed pretty troubling symptoms. Rick was affected the worst. He had a cough and hoarse voice for days. I hounded Major Morris about it and eventually had to attend the Mayor Cell meet-

ings to insist that the fire be extinguished and the trash hauled out. Although Morris told me he was dealing with it the Mayor, a Sergeant Major, didn’t know the aerostat crew had a particular problem with the trash fire until I brought it up at the meeting. Morris had never even mentioned it to him. They did finally put the fire out and kept a camera on the pit to discourage anyone from relighting it.

(In the years to come the effects of the smoke from burn pits in Iraq and Afghanistan would become one of the health issues veteran’s groups and advocates became interested in along with the effects of other “work place” hazards including depleted uranium munitions and armor, oil fire smoke, air born particulates, ground water pollution, contaminated soil and heavy metals ingestion.)

2.

The new brigades were assigned to big FOBs in or near the city districts where the insurgents operated or entered the city. Most of the troops at Loyalty were with the 2nd Brigade Combat Team of the 2nd Infantry Division. Many of them spent five days at a time on Combat Outposts and then came back to the FOB for a few days to rest. I doubt many of them read Patreus’ manual but their commanders knew what they were supposed to accomplish. At the nightly commander’s brief I heard about the missions and initiatives that improved life in the neighborhoods. Everything that was done in that respect was very difficult.

Road or utility work that could be done in peacetime with one truck and five men occupied ten times as many people, trucks and even aircraft. But even minor improvements were important to the Iraqis. Bit by bit security and living conditions were improving despite the fact that many of the men on those patrols, if not all of them, had no interest in the population. They just wanted to get through their time at the COP and get back to the FOB. It was hard on those men. The conditions they endured were awful and the danger constant. They seemed to handle the stress pretty well but there were signs and even open demonstrations of their dissatisfaction.

One day a General and others were in the DFAC with some of the sheikhs from the city. It must have been an important meeting. It was the only time I ever saw a general on Loyalty and the sheikhs were dressed in fine clothing. The robes, called Dishdashah or Thoub, that many Iraqi men wear and their Gutrah, the scarf like head coverings, were pure white and the Ogal head bands were expensive.

The DFAC staff had set up a buffet for them at one end of the room. Two of the sheikhs were serving themselves when a soldier at the table next to mine raised his M16 and pointed it at them, put his finger on the trigger and pretended to shoot them, pursing his lips and making a noise like a bullet being fired then jerking the weapon up simulating the kick.

His buddies laughed but he didn’t. Neither did I or any of the others who saw what he’d done. We all understood the incredible risk he had taken, the insult that had just been offered and why he did it. I hoped none of the officers who were hosting the Iraqis saw it and apparently they hadn’t because no one confronted the soldier for acting out, as if he were one of the Marines in Haditha.

3.

All the DFACS I frequented in Baghdad had wide screen televisions and so did the MWRs (Morale, Welfare, and Recreation facilities) and USOs. The ones in the DFACs carried AFN, the Armed Forces Network. It’s pretty much standard TV with all the broadcast networks, ESPN and a movie channel. It also carries the Pentagon Channel.

There are no commercials. Instead, the time that would be allocated for McDonalds®, Ford® and the others is for public service announcements and propaganda. All day we’re exhorted to use our seat belt, don’t use smokeless tobacco, be a good neighbor, respect our room mate’s privacy, don’t shake our babies or commit sexual assault, don’t gamble, do eat breakfast and exercise and don’t leave things on the floor at home. (You could trip.)

They’re all thirty seconds long. In one we’re on a construction site watching heavy equipment and listening to rock music. In the last eight seconds the camera pans to reveal toddlers wearing hard hats playing with toys in the dirt. A graphic fades in that says, “A Workplace Is Not a Playground” then, “Keep Your Children Safe”. That one really got under my skin. It was SO stupid.

I had a hard job and it required a lot of general knowledge and problem solving. The soldiers spent their days repairing blown up trucks and tanks and surviving fire fights which they wouldn’t if they were as stupid as the people the PSAs could effect. None of us appreciated being reminded to eat breakfast or not to shake our babies.

The recruiting ads and other propaganda were worse. “The Few. The Proud. The Marines”, “An Army of One”, “I am an American Airman” and

“Accelerate Your Life” can’t have their intended effect after you’ve taken the bait and especially after you’re living the consequences of the decision to “volunteer”. When those spots played new men rolled their eyes or looked at their food and those who had been there a while pretended not to see.

4.

The date and time of the commercial flight from Kuwait City established when I needed to be on my way out. Since all the military flights are subject to delay and cancellation I had to give myself extra time to complete the leg from FOB Loyalty to the VBC and from there to Ali Al Salem Air Force Base in Kuwait.

At least eighteen hours is needed on the Army LSA at Ali Al Salem to get visas for entering and leaving Kuwait.

This time I didn’t need the extra time so I had a few idle hours on Camp Slayer and an extra day in Kuwait. At Slayer I was able to linger at the Green Beans Cafe for breakfast and coffee which was pretty nice and as soon as I could get off U.S. military property in Kuwait I hired a cab and checked into a hotel in Kuwait City. My own room with my own bathroom was marvelous. Even Arab language television was nice.

Unfortunately it was Ramadan so going out during the day was difficult because of the extreme heat and the prohibition on drinking anything before sunset. I did go out for a walk in the afternoon in the neighborhood south of my hotel, the Ritz Salmiya. It’s not a bad neighborhood but there was little to recommend it. I did walk past a girl’s school and saw a lot of young people in their school uniforms and their parents and others there to pick them up. I didn’t see any other Westerners.

October, 2007 1.

Just a few days after returning to Site One I developed flu type symptoms. Jason advised me to go to the TMC (Troop Medical Center). I was pretty sick and he pointed out that getting hurt or sick in Iraq can be much more serious than if I were home. The TMC on Camp Slayer had lots of meds including antibiotics and the staff included a Major who was a nurse practitioner but they weren’t set up to handle anything significant. There were a few specialists and surgeons at the hospital in the Green Zone and if they couldn’t help the next stop would be Landstuhl Regional Med-

ical Center in Germany. From there the next step was to go home. That’s a lot of traveling in helicopters, C-130s and C-17s which is bad under normal conditions but doing it during an illness would be a nightmare. If I had to make that whole trip in the weakened condition I was in the recovery time might be weeks.

The Major in the looked me over and said that a bug was going around and it seemed I’d caught it. It wasn’t serious yet but some of the victims had pretty high fevers. She asked me if I’d been under any particular stress lately. I raised my eyebrows slightly and looked around the room to indicate what must be the standard response, “Aren’t we all?”

She got it right away of course so she rolled her eyes and said, ”You know what I mean.”

2.

2000 Pound Bombs dropped near Dan’s Base Unable to visit Dan in Salman Pak. Stars and Stripes article about B-1 air strike. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder; mine, Dan’s, other soldiers’ and Iraqi civilians’ When Danny and I were together back in the states he explained the essence of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It’s the fight or flight response out of control. I knew the feeling. For me the response was less out-ofcontrol than it is for Dan but I still know the feeling.

The trauma for many Iraqi civilians is many times greater.

There were nights in my quarters as I was watching an episode of the Sopranos or a movie, immersed in the story and disassociated from the war an explosion would occur outside the wall. The noise and sometimes the concussion from an IED, car bomb or a suicide bomber would bring my mind back to the world in an instant. A tightness in my chest and despair for those near the blast, like an electric shock in its suddenness and strength would strike me.

Sometimes the UTAMS network worked as it was intended and pointed the camera at an explosion before the blast debris even reached the top of its trajectory. Then, from my seat in the dark and quiet GCS, I’d see the blast scene as the dust was obscuring it, maybe even before the survivors realized what had happened and while some had only moments left to live. When I heard explosions outside the wall from my room I thought of what I’d seen on the monitors.

That was a unique vantage point, unlike any in history. We could be as close as a few thousand feet from the warfare, close enough to hear it, but is was still a remote view. We were different than the other UAV operators in that respect too.

Dan was on the streets and kicking in doors, risking his life and killing people. I hope it doesn’t take too much time for his stress to fade. Civilians who barely survived the concussion and blast from 2000 pound bombs may be permanently traumatized.

The stress and its effect must be proportional to the trauma. Children and mothers afraid for themselves and each other, everyday, will be affected for years if not forever. Many American soldiers will never be the same either.

December, 2007 1.

On Christmas Day I had to ride to the big PX on Camp Liberty and I bought a hot dog to eat in the truck on the way back. It was pretty good and I laughed as I had that thought and realized it was my Christmas Dinner. The first I’d ever had away from my family.

January, 2007 1.

Decompression is the perfect term for the feeling that washes over you on the first leg of the commercial flight. The profit motive is much better than whatever motivates the military personnel for getting real work done and there’s no better proof of that than the experience of air travel in the two different systems. The feeling from leaving the one run by the government and entering the free market is a release of pressure and an escape.

Major Ogden was my boss at Loyalty when Major Morris was off-duty and he was nothing like Morris.

He was interested for his own sake, just because that’s how you’re supposed to be and it makes life better.

He came to the site several times and sat with me at the camera once for an hour. He was self-motivated and an aid to me and others. Being the way he was saved lives. Through him I discovered how to use “moving target information” that was sent to us via a mIRC channel every few minutes. It was cryptic, obviously automated data that nobody in our operation understood. Major Ogden put me in touch with the Air Force personnel in the TOC who explained it to me and from then on I used it to spot vehicles that could have been used by enemy mortar teams on their way to launch sites. When Ogden learned how I was using the data he was pleased and even more interested in

us. He was a great guy.

May, 2008 1.

The air conditioning wasn’t on in the airplane.

It took forty-five minutes for the crew to finish loading and whatever else they had to do so we sat, sweat pouring off of us. Everyone was silent and still, each doing their best to endure what would shortly become unendurable if the fucking airplane didn’t get off the ground soon!

There was no relief from the heat as we took off and spiraled up over the airport to gain altitude. It wasn’t until the last half of the two hour flight that any air started to flow out of the tiny overhead vents.

I had a window seat and I couldn’t take my eyes off the city that I now knew better than any place I’d ever lived in my life. I knew most of the neighborhoods and many of the streets, not by name but by relation to each other, and the river and how they appeared from the balloon camera at each site. The winding Tigris and each artificial lake and all the canals were more familiar then the cities I grew up in, Wilmington, Delaware and Philadelphia. Most of the neighborhoods were dark and the streets empty. I knew that at that time of night most of the people were on the rooftops trying to sleep. I was glad that my last view of Baghdad was with my own eyes and not on a television screen.

June, 2008 1.

Over the coming months I’d fly in C-17s several more times. All the final descents into Bagram and Kabul were pretty steep. On one occasion the pilot warned us to “prepare for a tactical landing”. I thought

it would be like the others with the only difference being the announcement. One of the Air Force crew members followed up the pilot’s notice with urgent commands for people to sit and buckle-up. Others knew to stow loose items and it was a good thing that almost everyone responded quickly because there was little time between the announcement and the initial dive, which was a free fall. A few things, one or two back packs and helmets, were snatched out of the air as they rose up in front of their owners, but everyone had buckled their seat belts so there were no weightless people floating about the cabin. At the end of the dive we pulled up. Judging from how hard it was to lift my head off my chest we must have been near or over the G load limit. Then we dropped into free fall again but this time when we exited the dive and all my organs seemed to flow into my pelvis we were in a hard turn. There are no windows and vertigo had completely overcome me so I had no idea the direction of the turn. The same sequence recurred two or three more times. When it was over and we were finally on final approach it was clear that many of the others were fighting nausea just as I was. Many were rubbing their necks too.

2.

Going south from Bagram we flew at a thousand feet over the Shomali plain. In earlier times this plateau north of Kabul was a garden and the capital’s source of fruits and vegetables and where city dwellers would picnic on the weekends. There are more land mines there now than anywhere else in the world so picnics are pretty uncommon and most of the twenty-mile-wide plateau is desert. There’s much less growing going there now and the trees that could have provided cover for combatants or lumber or firewood for residents have been cut down. Deforestation is a huge problem throughout the country.

Kabul is twenty-five miles south of Bagram. Our

first stop was about thirty minutes into the flight so it was at one of the first FOBs south of the capitol which was a little east of our route. Plywood buildings, towers and a few tents surrounded by Hesco® walls was all there was at the FOB. Most of it disappeared in the dust kicked up by the rotor blades. A couple guys got out and as they left to resume or start their tours at this featureless outpost we handed some crates and boxes to those who came out to receive them. With no papers signed or words exchanged we were back in the air in just a couple minutes.

By then I was extremely tired and wishing the trip was over but I was glad the remote and dreary place we’d just left wasn’t my destination.

3.

… seconds later a third tower fired their machine gun and then there was silence.

The night was cool but not cold. The air was clean and thin since there was no pollution or dust in the sky and the elevation of the plateau we were on was nearly 7500 feet. There were no lights and the moon hadn’t risen so it should have been very dark but it wasn’t. Looking up I saw it was the Milky Way that lit the ground.

I’d seen it before when I lived on the Oregon coast where the ocean air is as clean but from the porch here I was looking through a mile-and-a-half less atmosphere. It’s beauty had a greater effect on me than the gunfire. I stayed outside continuing to gaze into the cloud of stars and letting my mind drift until I got cold. As I fell back to sleep that sky was my last

thought. It’s an image and a moment in time I can still conjure when I need to relax.

4.

The Poles ran the DFAC and although the food was good it was unsanitary. By the time I got there for my first meal the flies had gathered. I discovered that although the food was good if you didn’t get to it as soon as it was served the flies would get it. To deal with that I had Judi send about fifty pounds of canned goods and other packaged foods and until that arrived I ate mostly MREs (Meals Ready To Eat) and animal crackers. There were twelve pounds of them in my quarters. She sent a solar shower too because the bacteria levels in the fresh water tank were too high. They corrected that before Judi’s package arrived but for the first week bathing was done outside with bottled water.

5.

A Polish convoy was hit by an IED on June 21 at about 01:00. One of the Polish soldiers that’s often in the gym when I’m there told me there were four casualties including one KIA. I overheard him telling an American officer so I asked him about it and told him I was sorry. He thanked me and shrugged. He said, “What can you do? It’s war.”

July, 2008 1. Captain Ellis, who was the medical officer,

was another one I’d talk to occasionally at the gym

and elsewhere but he was more serious. He had a good attitude and did his job real well but he was older than the others and had seen the worst so he was more serious.

One day while he and I happened to be at the sinks in the shower house at the same time. I was shaving my face and he was shaving his head. A Specialist came in and told him the people he was supposed to meet at 1400 were at the ECP. He looked at his watch and he said, “Let ‘em wait. They can ‘insha’Allah’.”

He said the mandatory Islamic response for anything that one plans to do, which means “if God wills” as if to say, “They can kiss my ass.”

While he continued to pull the razor over his scalp I asked him what was his meeting about. He explained how the pharmacists poison their customers in Afghanistan. They sell medication to the parents of sick children by the color of the pill.

Red pills cost more than another color, say blue which are more than another, maybe yellow.

No matter the illness or symptoms the patient gets what he pays for, by color.

Ellis said, “I had a three year old brought to me, and a four year old, another kid was 11. A thirteen year old was brought in three times. Every time I had to give him CPR. The last time he died. He was on twenty different meds.

His parents kept buying more expensive colors, ‘till he died.

2.

While we were on the platform in the early afternoon finishing with installation of the camera a herd of camels appeared just outside of the FOB between us and the village to the west, Wasel Kehl. It was a large herd of about a hundred animals driven by

a handful of men, maybe Kuchi, the Afghan nomads.

We all got our cameras, took pictures and video and watched them slowly go by.

The high plateau we were on is dry with very little growth. Beyond that was either low, bare hills or barren mountains. There was little for the camels to eat and the herdsmen probably ate the camels. There was no truck or chuck wagon with them. The animals are valuable so there may have been a worthwhile reward at the end of their journey but in the meantime the men that drove the herd led a very hard life.

Afghans are nothing if not stoic.

Capt. Ellis mentioned it.

He said he treated mine victims whose limbs had been blown off who came in on their own and children with terrible wounds who didn’t cry. They are very tough people.

Chapter 93 Another Balloon Loss 3. The crew changed during the month. Nick left the program. Chris went home on leave and while he was home decided to stay which was bad for several reasons. First, he had to be replaced before anyone planned. Second, all the personal property he left behind had to be packed and sent to him and his quarters had to be cleaned. In Chris’ case this was a nasty task and we were pissed off at him for making others do it. He left dirty clothes and food on the floor which drew rats. I wasn’t asked to help but the guys who took care of it were tempted to just sweep it all up and drop it in a crate, rat turds and all, but that would have been a biohazard, so they cleaned everything and packed it properly.

August, 2008 1.

One of my only other prolonged encounters with any of the soldiers on FOB Zormat was at the bar-b-que they had every week. Burgers and hot dogs were grilled on the back deck of the MWR so it was like home. I was only there for one of those. While I was enjoying an overcooked patty and some baked beans the Specialist next to me was writing a letter.

He said it was to one of the guys from their unit who was home in the hospital. His friend had lost a leg when an IED exploded under their HMMWV less than a mile from the FOB. He said several soldiers who were assigned to his unit on the FOB within the past year had lost limbs and a few had been killed and everyone on the FOB at that time had survived at least one IED explosion and some had been hit three times.

I thought of Danny and how afraid we were when he was in Iraq. He had been through five IED explosions.

Impersonal things I kept up with before like the elections and professional sports that might offer a connection to home had become unimportant to me. Only personal matters could make home less remote. We spoke for a long time and made each other laugh.

The space I was in during the call was a small Conex we used for a break room on the site. There was a TV and plywood shelves that held canned soup, ramen noodles and snacks bought at the PX or sent from home. Plywood and two-by-fours had been fashioned into rickety lounge chairs and I was in one of those.

Maps, aerial imagery and geospatial data had become my vocation so I could place myself on the earth in my minds eye. When I said goodbye to Gabe and as the sound of our voices was replaced with complete silence I pictured the metal box I was in from above and zoomed out until I could see the FOB and then further out until in my imagination I could see the plateau I was on surrounded by mountains, plains and the Indian Ocean. My friend’s voice coming from the small speaker on the computer took me home. The imaginary, wide angle view of my location cleared the previous illusion. The reality of the silence was as powerful as the galaxy of stars I peered into from the porch in Waza Khwa.

2. In a

minute the General was back in the lead bird and we were airborne. The relief was absolutely, one-hundred per cent complete. At Site Z I had been unneeded, unwanted, unsafe and bored. I was never so glad to leave a place in my life!

The flight was fantastic, nape of the earth through passes, up and over ridges and then free fall down into the next steep valley, at maximum speed. If anyone was waiting on one of those ridges with an RPG our lead pilot wasn’t giving much of a chance to kill the general. The shooter would have to have been very quick to shoulder the weapon, aim and shoot before we were past him and behind cover.

The flight into Zormat in a Chinook, nine days before was a very different matter. They almost always fly in pairs so there were two big, relatively slow flying helicopters making their way through narrow passes. At times we were very close to the valley walls

and then we were an easy target, especially the second helicopter. Getting to where they could have taken the shot would have been very difficult but it would have been an easy kill. And there was absolutely no place to land. Any landing would have been a crash. I felt a lot better in the speedy Blackhawk going out than I did in the lumbering Chinook coming in.

3.

Listening to them laugh about what they’d been through together was a great way to spend the wait. They were from FOB Tillman close to the Pakistan border so they had been through a lot. Many had survived numerous battles, attacks and IEDs. Some of their friends didn’t. They laughed about hard walks over the mountains, fire fights, skilled mortar men and bad commanders. One of them, a sergeant, about 25 years old asked me what I was doing there and with the question, invited me into their conversation. I told a couple stories of my own, about Baghdad, which they were glad to hear. Some of them would go there eventually.

Their stories, the way they told them, and the way the others listened and responded epitomized what men can mean to each other. Nothing false could have been offered. No fact was questioned. All wanted to know what each had seen or suffered and all who listened wanted each tale to end in a victory or a laugh. Not all did, but everyone was glad they heard what their comrades had to say. It made me very proud and it made me think of Danny. I told those men a few things he had told me and they listened just as they had listened to their fellow soldiers. They respected me because I was the father of one of them, and Danny’s stories were like theirs.

At 0230 we got on our gear, picked up our bags

and went out to the runway in almost complete darkness. There were about seventy-five of us, mostly soldiers. Nearly as many, or more, got off the C-130 we were waiting for and filed past us as we walked to the plane. A few of those leaving waved to or saluted those coming in.

October, 2008 1.

The Guam National Guard took over the FOB from the Poles in August.

There were a lot of women with them, many of whom worked in the DFAC. The meals were better and conditions more sanitary. They stood over the food constantly shooing the flies and we were treated as if we were being served a family meal.

One night one of the guys, who ran a restaurant in Guam came to the site and barbecued steaks for us.

He marinated them in a soy, lemon, garlic sauce and they were very good. I ate two. He also made a stew with coconut milk, beef and some of the canned vegetables Judi sent and he steamed rice and grilled lobster! It was one of the best meals I’d ever had and one I would never have imagined having in Waza Khwa.

Another Chamorro, Dave, ate with us. Dave was in charge of the troops that manned the towers. While we were eating one of his men walked by on his way to the tower by the site and stopped for some of the stew. Dave asked him if he had seen the ghost. I asked what that was about and he said one night a couple of his men were on top of the Hesco® barriers by one of the towers installing or repairing the concertina wire when they saw an American soldier in full battle gear.

He was on top the Hescos® with them and appeared to

have walked to them from another location on the wall because there was no ladder or other means of getting up anywhere nearby. Walking on top of the wall would have been unusual behavior and there was no reason for anyone to be doing it so the others were surprised.

When they asked him who he was and what he was doing he didn’t answer. When they asked again he turned and walked away and according to Dave, “Disappeared in the darkness.” Dave also said that others had seen him since and the consensus was that he was the ghost of soldier who committed suicide there the previous year.

Walking back to my quarters in the darkness I considered what a tragic plight it would be to be a lost soul burdened with sixty pounds of battle gear wandering this lonely plateau. In a few years when all of us leave he would be so utterly alone.

2.

Friction between team members was a fairly constant condition and there were some extreme cases.

When Al Thomas rushed me it was a pretty aggressive act. One guy was fired for threatening someone with a knife. During one period when I was in the program office every day I would overhear the Country Manager on calls with people at the sites. Heres what he said during one of those calls: “How, how, ho, how did an employee choke you” “What I’m trying to find out is how did he choke . . .”

“Why was he in arm’s reach?”

For the next several minutes the man on the other end of the line did all the talking and the manager in the room with me listened. What he was hearing caused him to rub his neck, cover his eyes, sigh repeatedly, shake his head, vigorously run his hand through his hair, roll his eyes, rock back and forth in his chair and ride it around the room. When he was finally ready to tell the choking victim what he thought or what to do he remembered that I was there and told me to leave. By then his forehead was red from all the rubbing and his hair was mussed. He looked like he was the one who had been choked.

I waited outside the door and although I couldn’t hear what he was saying I could tell when the conversation was over. When I went back in he was standing over the phone, staring at it. He looked at me and I had to laugh. He looked like he’d just gotten out of bed after a bad dream or an earthquake. He wasn’t ready to laugh but he did smile before sitting down to e-mail

Human Resources about another incident of workplace violence.

Chapter 104 Spain and Portugal 3. Our route was over Saudi Arabia, Jordon, the eastern Mediterranean, the tip of Italy and the coast of Spain. Being over the places from the Bible and the classics after living in lands once occupied by Alexander in an airplane with people from those territories was thought provoking. The beers I was enjoying helped me relax and I let my mind drift and be uplifted by all that others had done. Sumerians from where I’d been in Iraq had invented writing. The innovations of the Persians and Greeks, Rome and Egypt all led to the civilization and technologies I was enjoying at that moment and the reunion with my wife.

If it weren’t for the perspective gained from my isolation I wouldn’t have been thinking of all that but because I was I spent most of the trip looking out the window and realizing how lucky I was. The wider perspective, the war on terror, the causes for it and the causes for which it is fought have little to do with me. I have no control or affect over them so I’m not sorry for not being a victim and I’m glad that my skills are of value to my country. I’m not proud either and there’s no guilt. Mercenaries don’t suffer the guilt of the righteous.

Judi was outside of customs waiting for me. It was so good to see her! We hugged and kissed and gazed at each other. We literally just looked into each other’s eyes for at least a minute before either of us moved.

November, 2008 1.

While dimensioning and photographing a row of 14’ barriers I heard a dull, loud thud, like a charge detonated under soil. You hear a lot of thuds and booms at Bagram and I rarely knew what they were.

This one was close so I was more concerned than usual and when soil and stone rained down around me I decided to see what had happened.

The T-wall I was measuring was in a wall protecting large fuel bladders that were on the same side as me. The explosion was on the other side. Two young Afghan men were working next to one of the bladders past the end of the wall so they could see the ground where the blast had taken place. I motioned to them to come my way as I walked toward them. We

met at the end of the T-walls and they explained that a piece of heavy equipment that was digging there had struck a mine. We couldn’t see the operator but we could see another person in the yard. I yelled to him and asked if they were OK and he said yes. They were probably protected from the blast by the grader blade that set it off.

One of the workers said there are still a lot of mines in his village and a lot of amputees. Thinking of the maimed children he sees at home his face hardened and he said he wants to kill the Russians for it.

It’s going to take several generations before the hatred Afghans in Bagram hold for the Russians will fade.

2.

Some very fit people worked out in that gym.

Army Special Forces, Recon Marines, Navy SEALS and elite Airmen were all there at one time or another. Some of those guys Silvas, Portugal were crazy about their workouts, yelling and banging into each other like they were at football practice and some of them looked like NFL players, huge and ripped.

They were an inspiration to the rest of us but they were a little disturbing too.

I didn’t know any special forces people but Danny did and he’d worked with them. Often when I was with someone waiting for a flight we’d see them with beards, no weapon and out of regulation uniforms. I saw one with a patch on his sleeve that simply read “Fuck You”. Occasionally people I was with would tell me something they knew about them or offer some anecdote. I knew what they did, we all did. Mostly, they killed people and they didn’t talk about it.

So in some cases the guys in the gym were out killing people and maybe losing friends during the workday and in the gym afterward winding down.

From their bodies it was apparent that their physical training was outstanding. Being American Special Forces and at war there was no doubt their tactical and professional skills were excellent and they’d been well trained in those disciplines, but from the way some of them behaved in the gym it was obvious they had been affected by the killing. I hoped that the same precise and effective instruction they’d been given in preparing their bodies and minds for combat had been offered and assimilated for their psychological well-being.

3.

We were in the lead vehicle and at one point I turned to look at the one behind us to find angry expressions on both faces in the front seat.

Our guards in the other car were displeased too.

It took fifteen minutes to travel south three hundred meters from the river to Maiwand Square, the vicinity of some of the worst fighting during the civil war in 1993.

At the Square, a broad intersection with the monument to the 1880 Battle of Maiwand in the middle, we turned right. Maiwand Street is wider than Nadir Pashtu so even with the all the carts, tables and stalls lining the street there was room for traffic and we were able to move at the rapid pace preferred by the professionals.

Unfortunately, Holly wasn’t very good at it, hitting more holes than a good driver would and failing to lead well. After we got out I overheard the driver of the second vehicle complain that she didn’t block for

him at circles as she should have. Those SUV’s are heavy and require a sense of mass and a degree of control that Holly hadn’t mastered. Wes had tried to tell her what to do but it didn’t help and he took the blame saying that he should have directed her better.

December, 2008 1.

A few minutes later I saw a man on his roof. The house was on the route I was scanning and since they were paying me to be suspicious I waited to see what he was doing but he wasn’t setting up an ambush. He was tending his pigeons, an obsession with many Afghans, kaftar bazi – play of pigeons, is a national passtime. He let them loose from the coup and watched as the flock circled the house several times and then flew in widening circles. He didn’t take his eyes off of them and I pictured how he must have appeared to his birds.

Further down the road I saw a man butchering a freshly killed sheep on the ground in front of his house and then a motorcycle traveling west toward the city carrying an entire family, mom in her burka, dad and two children.

A little girl dressed in a school uniform and carrying her bookbag was on the back porch on the second floor. The distance between steps to the ground was so great the child had to almost climb down them and the old woman with her, who may have been her grandmother, was taking a tremendous risk with each step. I thought how odd it was that they had to deal with such an inconvenience.

2.

The first leg of the trip back took us over the Hindu Kush. I looked out the small window on the port side of the C-17 as we passed over those snow covered peaks. I’d done the same thing when we were over southern Iraq on the first trip into Baghdad.

Those mountains and that desert are as different as my mind on those two days. The one landscape was frozen peaks and the other burning sand. Those and the others I’d seen on the ground in Afghanistan and in Greece and Spain and from the air over the Arabian Desert and from the camera on the aerostat had made home a broader idea than it had been and my love for that idea and that place had become far greater than the love I’d had before for my country.

Coming to realize the value of home and that it is a separate and much more important thing than country was the best thing that happened from going away. Little of what happened or what I’d seen was expected. The unforeseen effect, the alteration and expansion of fundamental concepts, was the value of it all.