This blog has moved

This blog is now located at http://wisconsin-at-war.blogspot.com/.
You will be automatically redirected in 30 seconds, or you may click here.

For feed subscribers, please update your feed subscriptions to
http://wisconsin-at-war.blogspot.com/rss.xml.

Back to the World

Before we left for home from Iraq three months ago, most of us had big plans for what we would do when we got home. During the last few weeks, when work was at a minimum and boredom was at its peak, talk about life back in the world was rampant.

Everyone had their unique visions, but the collective dreams about what was to come were as follows:

*We would have time to spend with loved ones, and not take that time for granted.
*We would be engaged in unlimited, frequent love-making. And all of our fantasies would be fulfilled as gratitude for our sacrifices of the past year.
*We would have freedom from unrealistic, often petty demands. (Does not apply to married soldiers)
*We would buy new cars, trucks, motorcycles, boats etc.
*We’d get new houses or make home improvements
*We’d take an extended vacation before getting back to work.
*Wild parties would abound.
*Some would start businesses or get new jobs.
*We’d have unfettered access to consumer goods.
*We thought we’d feel apprehension about going unarmed.
*And finally, we thought everything would be easier having gone through the war.

These expectations made our final weeks and days in country almost unbearable. Tempers ran high, but discipline was still pretty good. Many were apprehensive about doing anything “dangerous.” There was a sense that we made it this far, and would hate to have something go wrong at the end.

When we finally took off for Kuwait December 3rd, and then on to the states, everything became almost a blur for me. This fuzziness was enhanced by a stop in Ireland. Not only was it may first chance since June to see a beautiful, green landscape, it was also a chance to have a legal drink. We were allowed two beers. Nothing was said about shots ...

Once in the States, we were greeted by a bunch of high-ranking officers who babbled on about a bunch of unmemorable crap. We then headed to Camp Atterbury, Indiana, where the whole voyage began last year. At the base we attended a flurry of briefings, which I believe were led by the teacher from the Peanuts cartoon. Then, there were medical and psychological tests and a pile of forms to fill out, get checked, signed and stamped.

Concurrent to this, we had to turn in our equipment. As expected, this was a colossal clusterfuck. No one knew what to turn in, where to turn it in, or when to turn it in. In the end, most people wound up with no jackets or gloves to wear, though it was snowing and bitterly cold. Others held onto a lot of their worn-out stuff, but they were threatened with having to pay for it. This bitter taste, however, was washed away by nightly trips to the bar. It was great to get a chance to unwind with everyone, reminiscing and dreaming.

Because our unit was made up from people from Ohio and Wisconsin, we parted ways that last day. This was a tough moment. Many of them were like family to me. After a long bus ride through a snowstorm, we arrived at a downtown Milwaukee reception hall. As we marched down steps to the ground floor we were greeted by thunderous cheers from hundreds of relatives and friends. After one last formation, we were finally cut free and taken up into the arms of our loved ones. Even in that moment of joy, there was pain. Four soldiers who served with us and their loved ones didn’t get the chance to share that moment.

SGT Gary Andy Eckert

SFC Matthew Kading

SPC Kendall K. Frederick

Capt. Benjamin Jansky

As for Me and My Dreams…

Well, I’ve done a lot of what I wanted to do so far. I’ve got a chance to see and spend time with a lot of my family and friends, but not as much as I’d like. I’m back in grad school at UW-M and working as a teaching assistant. Also, I’m now the Milwaukee bureau chief for WisPolitics. This is, admittedly, a puffed-up title, since we have no real office here, unless you count my living room as one. Regardless, the title does have a nice ring to it.

Right now I’m wearing three related hats. It is a bit of a struggle to do all of these things at least somewhat well. I found school the easiest transition, the reporting work the most difficult. By being gone for over a year I wound up really behind on political developments and was left with few sources. It’s hard to catch up with things that have happened while keeping abreast of what is happening. Also, my reporting skills we’re quite rusty. Having been at it for a while now, though, I think I’m getting it back. It’s a challenge for me, but I do enjoy it.

Despite offers of generous, tax-free bonuses, and the allure of travel to exotic locations, I have left the military. My contract expired this March. Part of me will miss being in the Reserves, but It will be nice to have my weekends and summers back, and the ability to plan my life without fear of future deployment.

I did take about a month and a half off before starting back to work, but didn’t really go on a big vacation. All the traveling of the past year kind of burnt the travel bug out of me. However, I do have a fishing trip planned for June. This I will do in my new boat, which will be pulled by my really nice Jeep Wrangler that is parked behind my really cool apartment.. (Thanks, Uncle Sam!)

Some things just haven’t come about yet. I haven’t yet started my own newspaper, used car business, real-estate business, t-shirt shop or landscaping service. I also haven’t been exercising like I planned and I still smoke like a chimney.

So far, my life as a full-time civilian is going well. However, I find it unsettling that I have to pay for housing, utilities, food, gas, medical care, and insurance. And, not only do I have to buy food, I have to cook it! And wash my own clothes! And clean my own bathroom! And pay taxes! And drive through the Marquette Interchange! Maybe they’re still offering that bonus…

Here is a view of the tent camp near our site. We believe some were there to escape fighting in the north, or, as is custom for many Muslims, to camp out for the holy month of Ramadan.

Sunrise over the new base.

Here is the area under the solar shade where the leadership slept at night, and sometimes during the day.

A dozer tears through rock with its rippers.

Each day the five of us would head out to mark more of the perimeter with pickets to guide the dozer operators. From left to right: Lt. Robbins, Chief Garza, Myself, Chief Day and Chief Franks.

A Marine Light Armored Vehicle keeps watch over the Soldiers and SeaBees as the work on the new base.

Sgt Bock gets a G.I. haircut in the field.

Soldiers and SeaBees heat water for coffee and oatmeal in the chilly morning.

Spc. Demott, devouring his 10,000th MRE.

This is the site after the first day of construction.

It’s been over a month since my last post. That time was spent planning and executing a mission that took me and crew near the Syrian border to build a base from the ground up. The following is the story of the last six weeks.

Navy Seabee Chief Petty Officer “Cigarza” Garza puffs on hand-rolled cigar while embroiled in a heated game of “spades” with Army Lt. Robbins and Marine Gunnery Sergeant Camacho and Navy Chief Day. The music of Frank Sinatra competes with the sound of a generator. The game is taking place on an Army field table, and its participants are seated on MRE boxes, cots and footlockers. Next to them is a tent, an Army GP medium, and surrounding it all is a ring of seven-foot, sand-filled Hesco blast barriers. Atop the ring of Hescos is a massive, tan mesh, providing shade from the desert sun.

When one steps from the ring of Hescos the wide expanse of the Western Iraqi desert comes into view. Army and Navy bulldozers, operated by a handpicked crew of soldiers from 1st platoon, A Co., 983rd Engineer Combat Battalion are pushing up a perimeter berm from the rock-hard desert floor, Seabees are building a bunker and a small building, all under the watch of Marines manning Light Armored Vehicles.

Standing here, I am amazed at was has taken place so far, and at how safe and relaxed I feel in an area surrounded by insurgent activity.

Ramp up

Several weeks before the mission here jumped off, myself, Lt. Robbins and SFC Board headed via helicopter to a base near the area to recon the site. This was the first helicopter ride for me and Lt Robbins, so naturally we were pretty excited. We weren’t disappointed. After a C-130 flight from TQ to Camp Al Asad we boarded the Marine CH-53, a large single-blade cargo and personnel helicopter. The bird itself has no built in guns, but two 50 caliber machine guns jut out from windows on both sides. Unlike the other military aircraft I’ve been on, this one has windows, and a hatch on the back side that only closes halfway, allowing for an unimpeded view out of the back of the craft. The birds fly in pairs, low and fast, sharply banking turns which put the helicopter almost completely sideways, making for either a thrilling or uneasy flight for the passengers.

We arrived at the base in the late morning, and by mid afternoon we were rolling out of the gate in lightly armored Marine “highback” Humvees. I remember thinking as we pushed across the desert that I never imaged I’d be sitting in the cargo area of a Humvee with five marines near the Syrian border. All went well on the way to the site, though we had some concerns about the nearby farmer and the people living in tents near the area.

On the way back, though, things took a turn for the worse. The Humvee Lt Robbins and SFC Board were riding in the back of struck an IED. Luckily no one was seriously hurt, but the vehicle was severely damaged. It could have been worse as the device only partially detonated. There, next to the unexploded ordinance, they all sat for the next several hours waiting for the Explosive Ordinance Disposal team to arrive.

Day turned to evening and evening turned to night. A vehicle approached the position of the downed Humvee and failed to respond to warnings to stop. A warning shot with a tracer-round was fired. The vehicle still approached. A Marine in my vehicle then let loose with several bursts from an M249 machine gun well in front of the vehicle. The driver got the message and turned around. Several days and card games later we were back at TQ.

To delay or not to delay

After about two weeks of planning and packing we were ready to head out. The mission before us was great--build a base from the ground up in the middle of the desert in an area rife with insurgent activity.

Our main concerns were security, maintenance support, medical support, and an adequate fuel supply. A secondary concern was comfort.

The 22nd Seabees were to coordinate the security, medical, maintenance and fuel support as well as securing the appropriate permissions to use the land we wanted. Sgt Bock and I took care of comfort, scoring a large generator and heater/airconditioner. I also packed along my TV and Playstation. Lt. packed a few decks of cards, which turned out to be critical to mission success.

We convoyed out on 6 Oct with our crew of 14.

At an overnight stay at a base along Sgt Bock’s and Spc Diaz’s Kevlar helmets were stolen from their trucks. This wasn’t discovered until right before the convoy left, and they drove the rest of the way without a helmet. Several guys offered theirs, but they refused to accept them. Luckily, we made it OK. The SeaBees got them two new helmets shortly after we arrived.

When we arrived on the 8th the mission was delayed. None of the supplies needed for the mission arrived, fuel support wasn’t available and the security element would be tied up until the October 15th constitutional referendum was held.

At this same time, up armor kits became available for our 916 semis, so we sent all four back, two driven, two on trailers, along with four members of our team. All we were left with was one armored 920 semi, so we were stuck.

While these problems were being worked out we assisted the SeaBees in digging two black and gray water lagoons for an expansion camp at the edge of the base. These ponds were on the west side of the camp, which we thought odd because this would cause the smell to drift over the camp since the winds blew from the west. But, since they were already started, we dug them anyway. The day after we finished them, the SeaBee Battalion, located at a base 100 miles away, decided the west side was not good, because their computer generated “wind rose” showed them the prevailing winds came from the west. No shit. So we dug two more. Our operators, with a full year of experience, shined, and the Seabees, who were only in country for a few weeks, noticed. The decision was made to let us operate their equipment to speed production, both on camp and on the mission.

We didn’t mind staying on the base though, primarily because they had an awesome chow-hall, which by one count, had 35 unique deserts available.

After two weeks of finagling we finally got cleared to go. Thing was, our trucks hadn’t arrived back yet. So the plan to move out with six bulldozers and one forklift/loader got shot to two dozers and the loader. Because our trucks were all gone but one, we had to hitch a ride with the Seabees, and we sat in the back of large cargo MTVRs with light armor around the back.

Meet your new neighbors

When the Army, Navy, Marine Corps team arrived at the location of the new base there was nothing but wide-open desert, a farm to the south-west and a tent-camp of squatters to the south.

A minesweeping team from the 3/6 Marines cleared a route to the site from the road, and we downloaded a bulldozer to “proof” the path. Well, the dozer ran out of fuel minutes later, not a good situation with the people from the tent camp looking on and all of our other vehicles stopped in the middle of the road with food stands lining the path. So Sgt Bloom took off another dozer and finished the proofing.

Our security vehicles took up positions around the area, and myself, Lt Robbins and Gunnery Sgt Camacho, armed with GPS and pickets marked out the corner boundaries of the site. We adjusted them several times so we wouldn’t encroach too far on the farmer’s lands. This was definitely a concern for the farmer, who approached us waving his arms and telling us to go 5 kilometers away, or something like that, because his English was very limited. In all fairness, he knew we were coming and was given a generous offer for the land, which he refused. Apparently, coalition forces killed one of his relatives and others were being detained, so he wasn’t about to roll out the welcome mat. In light of this, we thought it wise to at least make an effort to be good neighbors and adjusted our site as far as was tactically allowed.

Once we established our boundaries, the convoy rolled in and or dozers got to work. One started on a perimeter, which is slow going in the rocky sand, and another began digging a hole for a bunker. Another crew offloaded trucks and we set up a tent.

A crew got to work setting up latrines. This couldn’t go fast enough for me, since I’d come down with a case of dysentery a few days earlier, earning me the temporary nickname “Sgt Mudbutt.” Luckily, my unfortunate condition was improving by this time.

(With the addition of the latrines, which consisted of a wooden shack divided into four stalls with metal buckets under toilet seats, came a detail common to those in the “old army”—shit burning detail. Pulling the buckets, filling them halfway with diesel fuel and lighting it all on fire accomplish this job. While it is burning, one has to stir it frequently to aid in the incineration. Spc. Schultz was quite good at it.)

We constructed about 400 foot on the berm in one direction, out of 2 miles needed total, the first day. The portion of berm blocked direct access from the road, but the rest was wide open. So that night we slept with basically nothing surrounding us. Most of the guys slept in the tent, protected by partially filled Hescos and the rest of us slept under the stars in the hole the dozer dug .

We woke up the next morning freezing. None of us brought ample cold-weather gear. Once we got our wits about us we started a campfire to take off the chill. Since we didn’t bring any coffee making equipment, a major mistake, we raided MRE’s for instant coffee and heated up water in the medics specimen containers over a grill we cut out of the steel mesh from a Hesco barrier. Life was good.

Meanwhile the dozers continued, improving the bunker and pushing up more berm. Progress went fast on the berm and another good section went up, providing protection on one corner.

Beefed up security

In the afternoon of day two a platoon of Marines from the 1st Light Armored Reconnaissance arrived to provide security. These guys drove Light Armored Vehicles, nicknamed “pigs,” mounted with a 25 millimeter turret gun and several other weapon and advanced sighting systems. With only a small line of berm up, these gave a greater sense of security than the Humvees they replaced. When they arrived we pushed up fighting positions for them with the dozers at the corners of the base.


And then came the Calvary

On day three a convoy arrived, and with it were our trucks and troops that finally returned from up-armoring, with four more dozers in tow. A soon as they arrived the dozers were downloaded and started pushing up berm.

The SeaBee dozers were new in comparison to our broke-down fleet and had the added bonus of enclosed cabs. Sgt Bock, now SSG Bock, the old man of our crew with a kid’s heart, immediately fell in love with the D7H, a high-track dozer with a wide blade and plenty of power. He would get up extra early in the morning to claim it before anyone else could snatch it.

With these assets in place the berm flew up at a phenomenal pace. By the end of the day, we had a solid perimeter of berm surrounding the camp.

The SeaBee commander, LTC Read, told us after the mission was over that the people on base had a hard time believing the rate of progress our operators made. He became a believer, he said, on the first day we had six dozers pushing and he could see our dust cloud from the base seven miles away.

The convoy that came not only brought more dozers, but a prefabricated wooden building, more MREs and water and most importantly, two coffee pots and a re-supply of cigars for Chief Garza.

The following day we completed the other half of the camp, putting up three berm walls, making for two camps divided by a central berm.

At this time concertina wire was going up as well, adding another layer of protection.

Other improvements were made to the camp. The SeaBees put the wooden building up, made a shower stall by the latrines and set up a shaving station. The bunker was completed and the Hescos around the tent we completely filled. We hung a solar shade over the tent making an additional covered sleeping area.. We got the generator running and set up a heater for the tent. I dragged out my TV and Playstation and contests of Madden 2006 football were on.

Because the tent was crowded and heat is for the weak, the Chiefs, Lt and myself chose to sleep outside under the solar shade. The shade gave some protection from the elements and still allowed a view of the stars through the mesh. The only downfall was getting out of the sleeping bag in the cold morning air. It was always a hurry to get dressed and head to the fire to take off the chill.


Guard Duty

For the first few nights, while our troop levels at camp were low, Lt Robbins and myself helped pull nighttime guard shifts. One night, I was paired up with UT3 Sands, who proved to be a good conversationalist and helped the shift go by fast. While on our shift the generator died, and silence spread over the camp. Because it was past 2 a.m. there was no need to get it back running right away, so we left it off to enjoy the silence. The sky was crowded with stars and the Milky Way was clearly visible as it spanned the heavens. To the east, an occasional meteor could be seen streaking across the sky. It is moments like these that make the war seem far away.

But of course, peace cannot last, lest it no longer be appreciated. As morning approached we got the generator fired up again and took advantage of the hot exhaust to warm our freezing hands. Soon after, the camp stirred with sluggish life and troops crowded around the fire built by the tall and affable Chief Franks. In the distance, almost like clockwork, explosions could be heard from the near daily fighting in the wadi to the north.

Normally, when we’ve heard explosions at other times during our deployment, we’d have little idea what was going on other than vague, delayed reports. But, since the LAR platoon was here, and it was their people involved in the fighting, we got to hear the whole story. Usually the explosions came from an area known as “the wadi.” On the other side of the wadi was a town, and snipers there would target Marines. In return, the Marines would fire high explosive rounds at the building from LAVs and tanks, pilots fired a variety of ordinance from AC 130 gunships, followed by hellfire missiles from helicopters and occasionally 500 pound bombs from jets, not to mention hundreds of rounds of machine gun ammo from anyone within range. One of the LAV lieutenants commented that it cost a lot of ordinance to get the snipers, but that it has been effective.

Even with such overwhelming firepower, two Marines from the area were killed when they assaulted a sniper position after an initial volley of ordinance.

Over the course of the next two weeks, LAV platoons rotated in, and the camp became almost like a rest duty for them. It became a point of pride for us that we had made a secure base out of nothing.

During the week, the Marines let some of our guys ride in and drive the LAVs, which appeared to be a blast.

Hard working troops=amazing progress

With the work on the berms completed more than a week ahead of schedule, our operators moved on to digging black water lagoons—a.k.a. shit ponds. As was the case on several areas of berm, rock was a problem. About two feet down into the sand was nothing but a solid sheet of rock. The dozers had to use large metal teeth known as rippers to break up the rock so it could be pushed out of the hole. Busting up the rock was not only hard on the dozers, but the violent shaking caused by operating on the rough surface was hard on the operators. Each day they’d come in dog-tired, bodies aching and faces covered in powder. At the end of the day there was little reward but an MRE and cold water to wash up in. After five days of working on the ponds along with building serpentine entrances to the base, our work was done, six days ahead of schedule.

On one of the supply convoys that came in was a copy of an email that had a list of items that needed to be completed before we left, which was to be on the 7th of November. Under “had to be completed” was half of the camp berm and one entry control point. Under “bonus” was the other half of the camp berm and another ECP. Under “double bonus” were the lagoons. Our operators completed the double bonus portion six days ahead of the schedule set for the minimal requirements. The SeaBee command was astonished, and we were proud.

And in this corner!

With the mission completed it would be a couple of days before we could get an escort back to the nearby base. So this leaves soldiers with nothing to do—and that inevitably leads to mayhem.

It all started when our thin and decidedly un-athletic Lt decided to annoy Sgt Bloom, a beefed up Ricky Martin look-a-like, by tapping cigar ashes on him as he played Madden ’06 on the Playstation. After his game, Bloom approached Lt seeking payback. Now Lt happened to be holding a shovel, which he rapped several times across Bloom’s legs in a futile attempt to defend himself. In a flash, Lt was on the ground eating dust while being contorted into unnatural positions. Lt then resorted to his last line of defense, which resulted in several bite marks across Bloom’s side, and by some method, Lt broke one of Blooms fingers. Then Spc Robert Merkle, a Napoleon Dynamite-esque kid, came to Lt’s rescue and jumped in, only to be similarly twisted up into a tangle of limbs. Seeing that Bloom was wearing down, I took the opportunity to jump in as well, the result of which is unimportant.

After everyone was dusted off, several more matches ensued, a couple involving Spc Nick Lieb, a state wrestling champ, who quickly brought his opponents to submission.

Then came the grudge match—the feature fight of the night. In one corner, weighing in at 175 pounds was Spc. Merkle, who’s various quirks made him the subject of continual light harassment, chiefly by the 300 pound behemoth Spc. Christian Demott, who can bench press over 400 pounds and eat a Kiwi in a single bite. Naturally, Demott was in the other corner. Now these two constantly go back and forth. Merkle usually brings it on himself by telling some outlandish story or by doing something stupid like falling off a treadmill twice in one day. Demott, who has a wickedly funny sense of humor, seizes the moments. It was in a moment like this when Merkle warned Demott that when we got out to the field, “the gloves are off!”

Now it was time to pay the piper. I could tell Merkle wanted no part of it, but pride wouldn’t let him. Because I didn’t want Merkle to get killed, and because I thought it a funny way to make fun of Demott’s excessive size, I set up a sumo match. All Merkle had to do was push Demott out of a small circle. It was hopeless. Merkle charged Demott time after time, only to be repeatedly thrown to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Merkle finally won, but only after I redrew the circle in the sand so small Demott could hardly move in it.

The SeaBees stood around watching it all, but didn’t participate, because in the words of their corpsman (medic) Chief Day, “Horseplay leads to sick bay.” But, as Lt Robbins said, “In the Army we have aid stations, so that doesn’t apply to us.”

The Marines manning the LAVs got wind of our match, and challenged us to the next day to a round. We put our best guy, Lieb, against their best. They had two skillful matches, each winning one. After that, a few others wrestled, the Marines more or less dominating with vicious submission holds. Spc Deal, a kickboxer, put up a good fight too, though he was a bit out of his element.

Then we brought out the beast. Demott squared up against some less than 200 pound Marine. The guy had one advantage over Demott--he knew how to wrestle. When it started out, it appeared to be a match. The Marine was skilled and strong and appeared to be holding his own. That is until Demott wrapped his massive arms across the guy’s midsection and started squeezing him like a python. And he squeezed and squeezed and squeezed, crushing him with his ungodly strength, and the Marine, though in obvious distress, refused to give up. Demott let him break free. Moments later, Demott lifted him in the air, upside down, holding him at the ready for the pile driver, a famed move in the WWF where a guy’s head gets smashed in the ground. Demott let him down gently, and the Marine still came back for more. So Demott resumed his crushing technique, with a twist--squishing the guy’s head between his legs. Finally the Marine Lt called it off. The Marine needed some medical attention after that, but came out OK.

After that I went up against the Marine Lieutenant. We were evenly matched for size, but he had the upper hand on skill. I came after him fast and furious, getting him quickly to the ground. We were both very quick, and the match must have looked like something out of Loony Toons, with arms and legs flailing out from a clouded ball of activity in the center. The Marine Lt then put me in a wicked choke hold, crushing my throat, so I couldn’t draw even the slightest breath. At this point, I quickly broke his hold, reversed it, and made him cry out to mama! Okay, so I really tapped out. I couldn’t breathe for Christ’s sake! Dirty pool.


The Dynamic Duo

This was the first off-base mission where I was Non-Commissioned Officer in Charge. I’m used to supervising a work crew and being more or less hands-on. The job of the NCOIC is very much not that. My job was to make sure the big picture stuff is being handled and that workflow and manning stays on track. Running the jobsite itself was left to Sgt Bloom for the most part, who made it very clear he wanted us out of his hair.

So this left plenty of time for Spades, a card game very common in the military, prisons and I presume, military prisons. The game involves two teams, who, without revealing to each other what cards they have, bid on how many hands they can win. If the team wins more hands than they bid, they get “sandbags.” If you get the agreed-upon amount of sandbags you lose points. If you fail to make your bid, you lose however many points you bid. The game is played to 500 points, no ties allowed. Lt and me are pros at it. We have a simple strategy—bid our hands correctly, make sure our opponents don’t make their bid, and talk a whole bunch of crap and play mind games all along the way. Barring a string of bad cards, we are unbeatable. If anyone doubts this, feel free to bring it.

The problem with spades is that the rules vary by region, branch of service, neighborhood, school or prison system. There are all kinds of variations and “saving rules” for bad hands or to recover from large point deficits. There is 10 for 200, which if you bid 10 books out of the possible 13 and get them, you get 200 points. There is “blind” which, if you’re down by X number of points, you make a bid without seeing your hand and get double the points. Then there’s nil, bid no books, get no books, and win 100 points. Also there’s big mo and little mo, win a series of consecutive books and win a whole lot of points. Of course there are more, and all of these, except “blind,” Lt and I refer to as Namby Pamby, sissy crutch rules for people who don’t know how to play. Demott is a big Namby Pamby player who always wants to play nil. The Marines like big mo, little mo, nil, blind, blind big mo or little mo and every other Namby Pamby rule they can think of. Regardless of the rules, they all walked away from the table with their tails between their legs.


Back to Camp Al Taqaddum

With the mission done we packed up and prepared to leave. Our return from the field to the nearby base was delayed because our escort found an IED. While we waited to leave, Lt. and I gave Chiefs Garza and Day another sound whooping at spades. With the whomping sound of the IED blown in place, we rolled from the new base we had created. After a few days at the area base we headed back to TQ. The convoy was long and made a bit more difficult as one of our trailer axles had broke while we were on the mission. We had to stop two times to chain them up so the wheel hubs would stop dragging on the ground. But we made it back safely, and it was a comforting ride, as we were driving in heavily armored vehicles.

We arrived back to TQ tired, proud and happy to be back. I think I can speak for everyone there that this mission left us with a sense of accomplishment, pride, memories and friendships that will last a lifetime.

There are several people I didn’t mention in the above text who had significant impact on the mission. Sgt Mullins, who had minimal dozing experience, became an excellent operator, as was the case with Spc Diaz. Mullins also headed the mission to get our trucks armored, taking an additional risk along with his crew so that we could have a safer return journey. Spcs Short and Lieb also worked hard and helped speed the mission. Spc. Corcoran, too, was a tireless worker and even in the worst of times, never complained. Spc. Meadows worked hard as well, and provided entertainment by coming up with creative ways to “get” Demott. Also, I can’t forget to mention Chief Franks, who inspired us with his comical “word of the day” speeches, and because he was almost 7-foot tall, helped us pound in countless 8-foot pickets to lay out various parts of the base.

Danger and excitement have met me at every turn the last few days at Camp Taqaddum. Well, not exactly. For the last two days I’ve been driving a water truck on base to spread water on a field to aid in compaction. According to the task safety sheet in the truck the task involves two steps—fill the truck at the water point and water the field. That’s pretty much it.

The truck is an Iveco Eurotrecker with a 3000 gallon tank on the back owned by Kellogg Brown and Root, the Haliburton-owned company we assist from time to time. Now it would seem that KBR would have its own employees drive the truck, but to do so they need to have a commercial driver’s license, which apparently not enough of them have. Military personnel don’t need a CDL, we’re pretty much allowed to hop in and drive just about anything with the briefest of familiarization. My training basically involved “Hook the hose up here to fill it, turn this handle to empty it.” Which I became quite proficient at over the next two days.

The water truck is filled at the water point by the lake, known as the ROWPU, which stands for…well, who can keep up with all the acronyms around here anyway? The facility is actually pretty impressive, offering raw water from the lake, which I used, and purified water for showering and cooking. The plant, comprised of 8 Waterworks trailers, purifies 300,000 gallons of water per day by reverse osmosis. The water is stored in 50,000 gallon rubber bladders arranged about the area. An array of 144,000 or so of these would be sufficient to handle Milwaukee’s average yearly sewer overflows. Perhaps a good site would be adjacent to the Calatrava.

Anyway, I’d fill up the truck by the lake then head up the hill and around the base to the area I had to water. The truck is a clean, new truck that can really move. Even the steep hill to the top of the plateau was no match for the turbocharged diesel under the hood, or more correctly, under the seat. When the turbo kicks in it sounds like a jumbo jet revving up for takeoff, sans rumbling. But the abundance of speed and power is all for naught, because speed is the antithesis to proper water distributing. In order to get good saturation you have to travel as slow as possible. To aid in this there are four low gears commonly known as “granny gears.” The term, in addition to being insensitive, is actually a misnomer, for it is a turtle that lights up on the dashboard when the gears are engaged, not a granny.

For my first day I was ill prepared, mostly because I was roped into the task last minute as I was leaving for a job site. I had drank but one cup of coffee and brought along no water to drink. So about two hours into it I found myself nearly asleep at the wheel as I drove ‘round and ‘round the field and quite thirsty though I had 3000 gallons of water with me. The water trickling out the spreader bar on the back also had another effect. Dehydrated as I was, I found myself doing the pee-pee dance by the time I was finished with the first run.

By day two though, I became an expert. Not only did I bring water, but a thermos full of coffee and my MP3 player. I even seriously considered bringing a book to read as I crept across the field. I’m confident I could have handled reading and spreading at the same time, but I couldn’t imagine how I’d explain a 2 mph collision with an inanimate object. “But you don’t understand. The guy hitchhiked around Ireland with a fridge!”

Cold Snap

It felt downright cold this morning as I headed from my room to the showers. Soon after, a friend of mine checked the thermometer. It was 85 degrees. I fear I'm in for serious trouble when I return to the Wisconsin winter.

Ramadi Redux

Just returned from another haul mission to Ramadi, which for the first time, went fairly smooth. Perhaps the best part of the mission was that we didn’t have to stay there for any length of time, because Ramadi’s a pit. We arrived, handled our business and turned right around. Even though it was 2 a.m. Sunday morning, the people from H.Q. were ready for us when we got there and assisted us in unloading and loading our trucks, which took less than an hour.

We ran into a few minor problems on the trip there. I was driving a 916 tractor-trailer and the chains holding the semi I had loaded on my trailer came loose, which required rebinding. Not a fun thing to do outside the wire. Another truck broke down and had to be towed the rest of the way by our wrecker, but it didn’t slow us down.

Perhaps the coolest thing about this convoy was that it was the first one for several of the people on it. Two of our new guys, who arrived about two months ago, came along. Riding with me was Spc. Meadows from my squad. He was on the ball the whole time, even when we ran into the chain problem. Convoys have become fairly routine for me, and with him along it brought me back to my first convoy. The route to Ramadi is a rough road, pocked with potholes and old holes left from roadside bombs. Much of it is only paved for a single lane and when two convoys pass each other, mirrors nearly hit and no one slows down. Because we traveled at night, there is a hint of fear of what may lay in wait in the dark. The intense driving, with all the swerving, hard hits over bumps and the plowing through of clouds of dust, combined with the threat of enemy activity, makes for a bit of a rush, especially when it’s your first time out.

The best thing about it all was that we made it back in plenty of time for our Labor Day pig roast. Sgt. Sison roasted the pig for 14 hours over a spit and the result was dynamite.

Rhino snot’s been flying at Camp Taqaddum. No, a herd of rhinoceroses haven’t run amok here. Rhino snot is the nickname for a binding agent we applied on the sand at a recent project in an attempt to harden the surface and keep the dust down. Since we’ve always called it rhino snot, I have no idea what the product is actually called, but what it amounts to is concentrated Elmer’s glue. The rhino snot is mixed with water and applied with a water distributor trailer. Once applied, it dries quickly and presto!, no more dust. At least until the first truck runs over it.

The project we used it on was a fuel distribution point entrance here on base that suffered from wind erosion and an extreme dust problem. The constant traffic has pulverized the top layer of hard-packed sand into a fine powder, in some places over a foot thick. As trucks run over the dust they kick it up into a thick cloud, which the wind carries away. The cumulative effect left the area (the size of about three football fields) hollowed out like a bowl, with large potholes and steep elevation changes masked by the powder. Even at the 5 mile per hour speed limit imposed on the yard, driving through it was like riding a bucking bronco blinded by dust.

To fix the problem we soaked the area several times using a 6000 gallon water distributor with additional assistance from the fire department. This killed the dust. We then hauled in about 3000 cubic yards of fill using our scrapers, adding water along the way. After that we graded the surface and compacted it to make it smooth. What we were left with was a fairly hard surface to which we applied the rhino snot. Soon after it’s application though, we realized it wasn’t going to work. Traffic immediately cracked the layer of rhino snot. Even when we mixed it in and compacted it, which worked better, the surface still got ground up by traffic. Our next step was to be to apply it in massive amounts, while mixing and compacting it, but it’s been called off in favor of gravel, which though difficult to get here, was finally approved for the site.

So rhino snot was a bit of a let down, but to be fair, we were using it for an application not intended. From what we seen it would be good for keeping dust down on roadsides and helipads and the like.

I do know one thing that will eliminate the dust problem for me—getting out of here. That day is just around the corner.

Connected

For my entire deployment I've been about a week behind on the news. For a person like myself who is both a reporter and a news junkie, this is a subtle form of torture. Now I've managed to keep current on the major news events by catching snippets on the TV in the chow hall, but with all the competing conversations and the low volume of the set, I get little more than headline depth. About twice a week I've gone to use the internet, but most time is spent on email, with little remaining to peruse the news. The Stars and Stripes newspaper has been a relatively good source to provide depth to the headlines, but we get it about a week late, long after the world has moved on.

But now, my friends, that fog has lifted and I am once again plugged in! First of all, our commo guy, Sgt Lakomy, set up two Armed Forces Network antennas and assisted us in running cable to all of our rooms. The AFN service comes with seven channels, including a news channel that alternates between FOX, CNN and MSNBC. I can now watch hurricane Katrina churn toward Louisiana and watch the president's approval rating drop in real time. I also get to see what's going on over here, and what's going on over there concerning what's going on over here, without delay. Plus, I get to see the pundits weigh in on it all, whether they know what they are talking about or not. Pure bliss. I feel like I am again a part of the American conversation. All of us news and political junkies here are thrilled. We once again have informed conversation on current topics, and those of us who've served as news monitors and disseminators are now doing so with increased fervor.

On top of that, we've got internet installed in our area. Now the internet is less that 100 yards from my door. This should lead to increased blogging, emailing and casual surfing for me.

These changes are great and morale for all has been boosted considerably. It's amazing the effect a few antennas, cables and cords can have.

The Pool

Parts for the construction of a pool in our living area arrived over a month ago with much fanfare, but to this day they remain unassembled. No one doubts that a pool would be great and there's no shortage of volunteers willing to assemble it, but it's become one of those things. Kind of like the vintage car in the garage that one means to restore—someday.

There are several hurdles to overcome for the pool to be built. The first one being a lack of instructions. But since when has that stopped any man from doing anything? Another is the pool is oval shaped. This presents a problem because, once filled with water, the sides will bow out causing the pool to collapse. The normal solution is to set the pool partially in the ground, but because we're on a cement pad, that's impossible. We can solve this using Hesco barriers to support the sides, which can also be used to support the deck we plan to build around it.

Anyone who has assembled a pool knows you need a base of sand to put it on to prevent the liner from being puncture by pebbles and rocks and such. Being that we're in the desert surrounded by nothing but sand, I'm well aware of the absurdity of what I'm about to say. We can't get any sand. The sand here ranges from fluffy powder to rocky hardpan. Even if sifted, it's unlikely we'd come up with the normal type of sand found on beaches. Quality sand is trucked in on occasion to be used for concrete work and there is a chance we can get some if there happens to be a surplus.

So there's an outside chance that we'll actually get the big pool set up, but until then there's always Sgt Borneman's pool. Her husband sent her a 6 foot by 10 foot by 18 inch inflatable pool. The fire department stops by every weekend to fill it up and there's plenty of room for all. At last count, the pool fits ten.

Here's my long-promised tour of Camp Taqaddum. Due to security, I can't show everything, but the following photos will give a sense of what it's like around here.

You can read a bit about the history of the place at the following address: http://www.globalsecurity.org/military/world/iraq/al-taqaddum.htm

This is a view of the lake from atop the plateau.

Living it up

These old Russian jets were found buried on or near the base.

This bunker was converted into a small Post Exchange. Another bunker was converted into a coffee house. Open mic nights are held every week where people sing, recite poetry and tell jokes.

This is a shop owned by local nationals that sells electronic, souvenirs and bootleg watches, sunglasses, and DVDs.

This is the tea shop also owned by Iraqi nationals, where people can sit and enjoy a cup of tea on tables arranged outside.

The Iraqi internet café offers internet service at $4 per hour. The service is quicker than the military internet and the computers have less restrictions on them so people can download files onto memory sticks and use video chat.

Here's a picture of me by the lake. This palm tree is one of few trees on base and is known simply as "the tree." The water in the lake is cool, but we are not permitted to swim.

These are examples of our living quarters, called CHUs or Containerized Housing Units. Soldiers have built a porch onto the front of this one. Some have enclosed whole rows of CHUs in wooden framing and others have built decks in the areas between them. The white CHU with the net over it is mine.

This is the inside of my CHU. Though not large it offers privacy, air conditioning and all the essentials.

I apologize for my brief hiatus from blogging over the last few weeks. Several factors were involved, the chief one being I've just been too tired. I've basically been on a 7 am to 8 pm schedule. The day starts with waking up at 7ish, showering, brewing and drinking coffee, then assembling my crew to get to our project site by 8:30. We work until about 4:30 then my evening is filled with meetings, job recons and a trip to dinner, which I often skip in favor of microwavables because I'm too spent to go through the whole hassle of going to the chow hall.

The main projects I've been working on are setting up and filling blast protection barriers known as Hesco's. They're basically like flower planters made of steel netting lined with a felt-like material that come in 2 foot, 4 foot and 7 foot sizes. About four or five of these are linked together as a single collapsible unit and they can be linked together or stacked into any configuration needed. They are also gray and ugly. I'd suggest they come in a variety of colors to spruce things up a bit, but for some reason I don't think the military is too concerned about that over here. Because they're made of steel, they're heavy, especially the 7 footers, making set-up a back-breaking chore. This task we usually put on the customer, and we agree only to haul in the dirt and fill them.

The normal mode of filling them is using our 2 1/2 yard scoop loader or a small bobcat skid-steer loader. Our scrapers haul in fill, up to 18 cubic yards per load and build a stockpile as close as possible to the Hescos. The loader scoops it up and dumps it in. Pretty simple. It goes fast, but because I hate Hesco missions, I always want it to go faster. So instead of the usual loader and bobcat, I get Spc Bluma with his crane and clamshell and Sgt Mullins out there with his SEE truck (a type of tiny backhoe/loader) to fill them as well.

Because I'm the site supervisor, I'm usually on the ground directing the operation. I run around directing the scrapers to the stockpile area, checking the Hescos to make sure they are being filled properly and are assembled right, guiding equipment around obstacles and each other and once in a while picking up a shovel to tidy up sloppy fills. My job involves a lot of running, pointing, hand signals, yelling over equipment noise and smoking cigarettes. I wear a big, yellow construction hat, dark-tint, bug-eyed dust goggles and with all the running, yelling and arm flailing I imagine I look like some kind of insane maestro conducting an orchestra of earthmovers. Really, I think I'm more like Patton when he guided a tank crossing in the movie after his name, but I'm sure I'm the only one that sees any resemblance.

The worst part for me is when I'm downwind from the filling, in which case I become enveloped in massive dust clouds which make it nearly impossible for me to take a puff off my cigarette or breathe or see or be seen for that matter. This makes me totally irrelevant for those moments. Sometimes I think my guys are conspiring to dust me out on purpose…

Once in a while though, I do get to operate. Usually I'll hop in the bobcat, which I can run quite smooth and fast. When I run the bobcat, I become totally focused and I'm constantly doing something to move the job forward. Except for the other day, when I got a bit too focused after about four hours of running it and dug the bucket teeth into the side of a Hesco. The fine sand immediately began to pour out of the hole in the felt near the bottom of the fully-filled, four-foot Hesco. So then I had to operate the much maligned d-handled dozer, also known as a shovel, to dig it out enough to apply a patch on the inside. "Pack it up boys. Let's call it a day!"

Between all this and the sun and the 120 degree heat I'm left pretty drained as I end the workday and start the meetingevening. First SFC Schmitz goes to his meeting, while I take a brief rest in the air conditioned comfort of my housing unit, perhaps play my new Playstation 2, or watch the news courtesy of my newly installed Armed Forces Network line. (Which, by the way, is great. Seven channels, compared to the zero I had, of sports, news, movies and all the popular sitcoms.)

After Schmitz's meeting I go with all the squad leaders to Schmitz's for our meeting. We cover the business of the day and argue or bitch or laugh or all three and shoot the bull for a few minutes. Then, I assemble the squad, and along with SSG Douce (were tag-team squad leaders of first squad) and we have our meeting to put out all the information and job assignments and squash rumors and take complaints. Then it's often back to Schmitz's to give him information that comes from my meeting, and then usually back to find someone to get something that was missed, then back to Schmitz's give him what I now got that he no longer needs because what was supposed to happen is no longer going to happen because something else has to be done instead.

Then after all this I pile on my body armor and helmet and drive with SSG Douce to go eat a relaxing meal and perhaps hit the PX. Some nights this is followed by a trip to the MWR to make phone calls and go on the internet.

Usually though, I just retreat back to my room and read, play vids, and watch movies, promising to myself I'll make phone calls, write, clean and start working on my photo tour of Camp Taqaddum tomorrow.

Strangely enough though, I actually like it. The days have been burning by at a phenomenal rate and I'm fortunate have a really nice room in a highly secure area to relax in when the day comes to an end. I'm also well aware that it could be much worse. I'm thankful for the guys who go out and fight every day keeping the enemy on its heels so I have a safe area to work and live. I also feel good doing my job here as an engineer, because our efforts are going into making the quality of life better and the bases safer, in a way, returning the favor. I'm also thankful for everyone back home who has been sending me letters, emails and packages. Those things really help make the time here better.

Cpt. Jansky, platoon leader for our battalion's direct support maintenance detachment stationed with our company here at Camp Taqaddum, died Wednesday from injuries suffered in a motor vehicle accident on base. His death has been hard on a lot of people, from those who knew him here, those who witnessed the accident and most of all I can be sure, his family.

What's especially troublesome about his death for many of us is that it occurred as he was just going about his daily business driving on base. No roadside bomb, no sniper, no mortar, but a damn traffic accident. I guess so many of us here, with all the obvious dangers we face, think we're immune from the common dangers and tragedies that affect everyone else. But that stuff doesn't just stop because we're at war.

That night we watched soldiers from his platton carry him on to a plane in a flag draped coffin. I will never forget that, and I hope I never have to see that happen ever again.

Read a related article in the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel:
http://www.jsonline.com/news/state/jul05/344832.asp

New Guys

With less than four months remaining in our tour it may seem a bit late, but the Army thought it wise to bring our company nearly up to its authorized wartime strength with a batch of new guys. When we arrived here, we were a few short to begin with and some have gone home for various reasons.

Seven new guys arrived, all trained as heavy equipment operators. Since my squad was three short, I got five. So far they seem to be working out alright. They are motivated, eager to learn and some can actually operate equipment fairly well. They are however new, and it’s fun to see their eyes pop wide open when a mortar hits far off and watching them point when a plane swoops in just overhead or even when an armored fighting vehicle rolls down one of the roads on base. These things have become so common to us we barely notice them anymore—well, except when we hear explosions, then we all tend to rubberneck.

The day or so after the first of the new guys arrived, one of our convoys was preparing to roll out. In addition to various dump trucks and other assorted trucks, we have a team composed of soldiers in our company that provide convoy security. They drive in fully up-armored Humvees outfitted with turret-mounted machine guns and all types of high-tech mapping and radio-jamming equipment. Well, I was showing the new guys all of this stuff and one was very excited, eager for battle and inquiring how he could get on the team. I kind of felt bad telling him that the team was specially trained and that maybe, someday, he could be in a convoy as a passenger, and unfortunately, not manning a machine gun. Shortly afterward one of my guys known for his humor, Spc. Lancourt, put his arm around my shoulder and, mocking me talking to the new guy said, "Now, now young man. Let’s slow down a bit."

Aside from the unbearable heat over the last week, things here have been fairly humdrum. My work crew just finished leveling a portion of a large future living area and we are now starting another. While the job was a fairly easy one, I did learn the secret to turning the powdery sand here into a rock-hard surface. It takes a lot of water and a good grader operator to turn it under, followed by several passes with a roller. When it dries, it’s like concrete.

The Heat is On!

The heat here has been soaring. And just in case we cant tell that it’s blistering hot, the military has devised a system to let us know just how hot it is. Since there are no bank signs here on which to display the temperature, the military uses color-coded flags. They are also good for telling time.

If it’s green, it’s morning or late evening and comfortable. Yellow, mid-morning or early evening and a bit warmer. Red, and it’s about 11:00 and over 100 degrees or so. Black, it is the middle of the afternoon and super hot.

Even though there are only four flags that I’ve seen, there is rumored to be a white flag for the lowest level heat category. That flag will be unfurled shortly after hell freezes over, in which case it may drop into the mid 30s around here.