90 days has come and gone. Three months in Iraq and nothing has changed......or has it? When I read my early blogs, they seem so innocent and imaginative. It was a wonderland with fresh new faces and a huge adventure ahead. I'll stay on for another 25 days and then take my first vacation. The wonder and adventure is damn near over for me now. I can speak enough Arabic to get just about anything across, I can walk by a tent or building and pick up problems or gossip, I have seen the country's scenery for the most part and now, I've started a new camp in between the lovely village of Fallujah and the beautiful resort town of Abu Ghraib.
When I made my first site visit here, I was told about the mortar and rocket attacks that plagued the base. Although the number of dead and wounded were not high, the likelyhood of being near an explosion was. The camp is in a pretty decent neighborhood for the most part, I mean, hitting the Dairy Mart for coffee in the morning is still pretty much out but it's okay. A few miles away however, a small portion of the population looks forward to seeing the smoke plumes rise up from my camp and the people running frantically to save their friends lives by holding their bare hands on open wounds and waving frantically for trucks to stop for pickup.
We were in camp around 5 days when the first attack started. 8:30a.m. I was walking towards the dining facility. Ahead of me and above the dining building, I saw a large black cloud of smoke. Then I heard the report. I was on the phone with my boss. The people at my company all joked with me the day I left Baghdad to come here. Everyone here knows what this area is like. IEDs, VBIDs, Rockets, Mortars, and a whole host of other exciting things to make the heart jump just a little faster. Everyone joked to make me feel better saying things like "Don't come back unless you have both arms." or "Make sure the hood they give you isn't too snug because you will get a nasty rash on the end of your nose." Joking about the nasties makes us all feel a little easier.
So I'm on the phone with the boss in Baghdad. I see the smoke, here the report and everyone in my camp just looks at me as I watch the smoke rise ahead. I knew what it was.......I just didn't want to believe it... I started yelling to my people to take cover "Yella!! Yella!!" (move! move!) I stopped thinking about the conversation I was having until my boss yells into the phone "What the hell is going on there?". "We're being mortared, I'll call you back." I hung up and my mind started racing. What the hell am I doing here? Where are my men? I looked to see that my men were in the bunker we built. It was hard work to build but now the men felt safe. The second round came in just seconds after the first. Then the third. Then the fourth. You could see the rounds heading East as they fell, thankfully, away from my camp. I got to the bunker and was relieved until the realization that all of my men were not there.
I ran out of the bunker and into the tents and buildings my men are staying in. There I saw people still trying to find their cigerettes. Lacing up shoes and boots. I couldn't believe what I was seeing! I'm out here trying to get them to safety, placing myself at risk so they could find their missing lighter so they wouldn't have to sit in the bunker without cigerettes!!! I grabbed people and shoes and started throwing each through the doors. The whole thing only lasted about 60 seconds but what a rush. The men were finally accounted for and safe. I went over to the South edge of my little part of the base and looked through binoculars at the impact site. Men and trucks running and driving wildly. People running with limbs, throwing them in the back of trucks. Workers pouring out of the front gate in a stampede. All Hell broke loose and I was watching it. I've tried to hide the bad things from my wife and family as long as I could but this morning, my wife read an email that I had forwarded her. It was a reply to an email I had written and I had told someone about the mortars. She asked "How many times has your camp been mortared?" I kind of froze. 'She's not supposed to know this stuff!' 'How?'
She actually said she felt better because she knew I wasn't being truthful with the things I've seen and done here. I told her that I'd tell her the whole story in 1 year. John Wayne's not here, Rambo would have ducked and Tom Hanks pretty much had it right. My hands shake just a little now if someone drops something in the next room or outside my door and stopping dead in your tracks and just listening seems to come with the territory but, I wouldn't change a thing.
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