There I was, middle of Baghdad, middle of the night.
Minding my own business. Making the short walk along the roadway between FOB Union III and the Embassy Compound.
Suddenly, a black van comes screaming up next to me and screeches to a halt. A dude wearing a balaclava jumps out and butt-strokes me in the head with an AK-47, knocking me into the barrier next to the road.
Grabs me by the shirt and tries to drag me into the van. I know the bad guys are looking hard for hostages and that it never ends well, so I was hanging onto the barrier for dear life.
Frustrated, the dude grabs me by the boot and starts pulling, pulling, pulling my leg.
Just like I'm pulling yours.
The shiner and accompanying seven stitches are courtesy of a pickup game of Ultimate Frisbee. I haven't played the game in five or six years, but obviously it is just like riding a bike: it hurts when you crash.
I was hanging in pretty well with a group I was spotting about 20 years in terms of bodily wear and tear. Unfortunately only six showed up for this evening's game, so it was 3 on 3. That makes for too much field with too few bodies on it and it resulted in a lot more running around than I had hoped for.
But, as I said, I was holding my own. Until the bottom fell out. The field is a sports venue covered with artificial turf, a new and, it turns out, not particularly good experience for me. First thing I learn is that you don't dive for anything. I get a nice Susan B. Anthony coin-sized raspberry on my elbow as a not-so-gentle reminder about two minutes into this thing.
Next thing I learn is that you don't want to be in all that much of a hurry changing direction because there is no such thing as "pivot" on this turf. Any effort to do so becomes a"sprain" as your foot remains firmly planted while the rest of your leg and body are executing the hoped-for change in azimuth. This took all of maybe five minutes to experience.
Things went well for awhile after that as I just accepted that if the frisbee is a foot out of reach it will just have to remain so until it hits the ground. Or if the guy I'm covering makes a highlight-film move to put distance between us, hurrah for him and I 'll just hope they throw the damn disc over his head.
But sometimes you just get caught up in the moment and lose situational awareness when it's just you and him, running full tilt into the end zone to catch up with a throw that went long but is settling gently. The disc is all you see, focused on it like a Hellfire on Taliban. Knock it away and the other team is denied. Fail to knock it away and have to make the long walk to the other end of the field. Up we went, still on a dead run but each now hoping to defy gravity just a tad better than the other. I slapped the Frisbee, but he gripped it at the same moment. Gravity resumed its control, which is normally OK but it turns out some other forces were at work as well.
The other dude came down onto the field with the Frisbee in hand. I came down into a six-inch high curb that marks the end of the playing surface. Still having a fair amount of forward momentum, the curb stopped my foot while the rest of me was very much a body in motion. The planted foot became the pivot point around which the rest of me now wanted to turn, which translated into a big-time smackdown. My right hand, right shoulder, and right side of my head all hit the concrete in quick succession.
I got a ride in the ambulance, a crack team of military medical practitioners surrounded me like a scene out of M.A.S.H., and now Humpty Dumpty is together again. Most excitement I've had in five months, and quite enough, thank you.
Doc says I should be ready to go again in two weeks. We'll see how long these lessons stay learned.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Random Acts of Violence
It's time, I guess, to speak of the unspeakable. The RAV. Not cute little SUVs from Toyota, but Random Acts of Violence.
It has been pretty quiet here in the IZ for quite a while -- seems like a month or so. That changed pretty dramatically today.
Today (Sunday) is part of our "weekend," meaning we don't report to work until 1200. That means turning off the alarm clocks and chillin' in bed until the mood moves you. The mood that moved us this morning turned out to be the "duck and cover" alarm at 0830, followed closely by one pretty impressive boom and one not so impressive one.
For some perspective, there have been a lot of duck and cover alarms since I arrived here five months ago. There have been a lot fewer accompanying booms, meaning the vast majority were false alarms. So starting the day with a rare double boom was a bit ominous and disturbing.
Two hours later, we get two more booms with no alarm at all. They turn out to be vehicle-borne IEDs outside the IZ, but those tend to be huge explosions and real attention-getters. Four hours after that we get more alarms and more booms and it is starting to become a real nuisance.
We get one more early in the evening, and this is the one that makes me think about RAV and the bizarre reality into which I have been thrust. I had just left the dining facility, after yet another most excellent feast, and was waddling back to the office when I heard a high-pitched buzzing sound somewhere overhead. It was a new sound to me, and a bit of a mystery until I saw nearby security guards sprinting for the nearest shelter.
Now, these guys are out patrolling every day, a few of their buddies have been killed by rockets, and they are sensitized to the sound. So it was kind of like the famous EOD t-shirt: "I'm an explosives ordnance expert. If you see me running, try to keep up." I piled into the shelter with them and another dozen folks (this is about a five foot by ten foot space, so a bit close. And, of course, hot).
Fortunately the rocket was way high and wide of the compound because it impacted before half of us reached the shelter. Which also probably why it didn't trigger the alarm. But that is where the RAV thoughts come in to play.
I have some close friends that were here when things were really, really bad. These guys were commanders of combat units, so they weren't comfortably ensconced in the most secure chunk of real estate in Iraq, as I am. They saw people die, some of them their own soldiers. In telling their stories, the death of soldiers was often ascribed to the fact that it just wasn't their day.
I thought that was a bit cold, but I'm quickly changing my mind. It is incredibly random, and here in the IZ maybe even more so. So far, all attacks are from rockets and all rocket attacks originate several kilometers from where we are. The weapon of choice is the Katyusha rocket. It is not a precision weapon. Hitting a target 3-5 kilometers away with one is kind of like trying to hit someone with a bottle rocket 50 yards away.
Or like me trying to hit a fairway with my driver on the golf course. You know the range and direction to the target, but the outcome is very much in doubt. But every once in a blue moon it all comes together and works as planned. That is the first part of the randomness. The next is whether or not anyone happens to be anywhere near where it lands. There is quite a bit of acreage here, and the kill radius of a 107mm Katyusha is fairly small. Still, there are areas in which people are almost always moving around, potentially at risk.
Which brings us to the final random factor: who is it that just happens to be moving around in the wrong place, at the wrong time? I am almost always either in my CHU or at my desk when an alarm goes off. I have been caught outside a few times, but always for false alarms. Until today. So for the first time in five months I happened to be in the open during a real attack, but it passed harmlessly outside the compound (as most do).
But it makes you think. Of the nearly infinite outcomes of the trajectory of that rocket today, there were some that would have been disastrous.
If it wasn't your day.
It has been pretty quiet here in the IZ for quite a while -- seems like a month or so. That changed pretty dramatically today.
Today (Sunday) is part of our "weekend," meaning we don't report to work until 1200. That means turning off the alarm clocks and chillin' in bed until the mood moves you. The mood that moved us this morning turned out to be the "duck and cover" alarm at 0830, followed closely by one pretty impressive boom and one not so impressive one.
For some perspective, there have been a lot of duck and cover alarms since I arrived here five months ago. There have been a lot fewer accompanying booms, meaning the vast majority were false alarms. So starting the day with a rare double boom was a bit ominous and disturbing.
Two hours later, we get two more booms with no alarm at all. They turn out to be vehicle-borne IEDs outside the IZ, but those tend to be huge explosions and real attention-getters. Four hours after that we get more alarms and more booms and it is starting to become a real nuisance.
We get one more early in the evening, and this is the one that makes me think about RAV and the bizarre reality into which I have been thrust. I had just left the dining facility, after yet another most excellent feast, and was waddling back to the office when I heard a high-pitched buzzing sound somewhere overhead. It was a new sound to me, and a bit of a mystery until I saw nearby security guards sprinting for the nearest shelter.
Now, these guys are out patrolling every day, a few of their buddies have been killed by rockets, and they are sensitized to the sound. So it was kind of like the famous EOD t-shirt: "I'm an explosives ordnance expert. If you see me running, try to keep up." I piled into the shelter with them and another dozen folks (this is about a five foot by ten foot space, so a bit close. And, of course, hot).
Fortunately the rocket was way high and wide of the compound because it impacted before half of us reached the shelter. Which also probably why it didn't trigger the alarm. But that is where the RAV thoughts come in to play.
I have some close friends that were here when things were really, really bad. These guys were commanders of combat units, so they weren't comfortably ensconced in the most secure chunk of real estate in Iraq, as I am. They saw people die, some of them their own soldiers. In telling their stories, the death of soldiers was often ascribed to the fact that it just wasn't their day.
I thought that was a bit cold, but I'm quickly changing my mind. It is incredibly random, and here in the IZ maybe even more so. So far, all attacks are from rockets and all rocket attacks originate several kilometers from where we are. The weapon of choice is the Katyusha rocket. It is not a precision weapon. Hitting a target 3-5 kilometers away with one is kind of like trying to hit someone with a bottle rocket 50 yards away.
Or like me trying to hit a fairway with my driver on the golf course. You know the range and direction to the target, but the outcome is very much in doubt. But every once in a blue moon it all comes together and works as planned. That is the first part of the randomness. The next is whether or not anyone happens to be anywhere near where it lands. There is quite a bit of acreage here, and the kill radius of a 107mm Katyusha is fairly small. Still, there are areas in which people are almost always moving around, potentially at risk.
Which brings us to the final random factor: who is it that just happens to be moving around in the wrong place, at the wrong time? I am almost always either in my CHU or at my desk when an alarm goes off. I have been caught outside a few times, but always for false alarms. Until today. So for the first time in five months I happened to be in the open during a real attack, but it passed harmlessly outside the compound (as most do).
But it makes you think. Of the nearly infinite outcomes of the trajectory of that rocket today, there were some that would have been disastrous.
If it wasn't your day.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Ranting
It is getting more and more difficult to find something interesting to talk about while sequestered here on the Embassy compound. Fortunately, there are occasional events in the world that lend themselves to opinions offered up from a Mideast perspective.
This particular event may be worthy of deep thoughts and insightful prose but, to peg the fun-o-meter, it is hard to beat a good old-fashioned rant.
So let's get it on...
We have reached an interesting temporal junction, at which two meaningful observations will be unfairly joined by the actions of a single idiot.
The two observations are 1) the 11 November remembrance of the victims of the terrorist attacks of 9/11 and 2) the 10-12 November festival of fast-breaking, or Eid al Fitr, signifying the end of Ramadan.
The cause of the unfair joining is the hair-brained "Burn a Koran Day" scheme.
What, in the name of all that is holy, is up with the Wrong Reverend Terry Jones and his First Church of Bigotry down there in the Sunshine State? This clown is threatening to set Christianity back further in one day than Jim and Tammy Faye managed to do with years of self-aggrandizement.
How does the pique of a doddering fool warrant blanket condemnation of almost one-fourth of the world's population? Approximately 1.4 billion people are not going to be enamored of Jones' little gimmick. I might be less incensed over his incredibly bankrupt vision if it weren't for the fact that 26 million of that population live within a six-hour drive of where I sleep at night.
The more extreme of those 26 million joyfully launch rockets at us just for bragging rights in their little zombie circles. I'm a bit concerned about what they might do if actually pissed off.
Fortunately, 99.9% of the 26 M are not interested in either inflicting or absorbing mass casualties and, instead, are vigilant and steadfast in their efforts to prevent it. Just the same, I'd rather they not be miffed and thus possibly inclined to be a little less vigilant for a day or so.
For Jones, I would not be too surprised if "his god" phoned in a cancellation on the whole book-burning thing. I'm inclined to believe that any revelation that might rise from the ashes will be less about divinity and more about Darwinism. The guy needs to read up on Salman Rushdie or talk to some of the folks at the Dutch publication Jyllands-Posten. At the very best he will lose some sleep; at the very worst he will never wake up.
Since the whole thing is already well beyond common sense, we can only hope that whatever the next-best-thing to common sense happens to be prevails in this drama. If not, and some American soldier, tourist, or missionary is harmed as a result, maybe "his god" will talk him into mixing up a little drink that will whisk him off into whatever special hell his namesake Jim now resides.
Let's keep each of the afore-mentioned observations in the proper perspective and allow each the respect they deserve. Remember -- always remember -- the events of 9/11 and the early sacrifices of a global war on truly evil beings: violent zealots with no conscience and no respect for humanity. And give an appreciative nod for the personal sacrifices made each year by hundreds of millions of moderate Muslims, validating their spiritual beliefs through physical trials of hunger and thirst and culminating those trials with a three-day celebration of fellowship and appreciation for all that Allah provides.
Now THAT is a RANT!
This particular event may be worthy of deep thoughts and insightful prose but, to peg the fun-o-meter, it is hard to beat a good old-fashioned rant.
So let's get it on...
We have reached an interesting temporal junction, at which two meaningful observations will be unfairly joined by the actions of a single idiot.
The two observations are 1) the 11 November remembrance of the victims of the terrorist attacks of 9/11 and 2) the 10-12 November festival of fast-breaking, or Eid al Fitr, signifying the end of Ramadan.
The cause of the unfair joining is the hair-brained "Burn a Koran Day" scheme.
What, in the name of all that is holy, is up with the Wrong Reverend Terry Jones and his First Church of Bigotry down there in the Sunshine State? This clown is threatening to set Christianity back further in one day than Jim and Tammy Faye managed to do with years of self-aggrandizement.
How does the pique of a doddering fool warrant blanket condemnation of almost one-fourth of the world's population? Approximately 1.4 billion people are not going to be enamored of Jones' little gimmick. I might be less incensed over his incredibly bankrupt vision if it weren't for the fact that 26 million of that population live within a six-hour drive of where I sleep at night.
The more extreme of those 26 million joyfully launch rockets at us just for bragging rights in their little zombie circles. I'm a bit concerned about what they might do if actually pissed off.
Fortunately, 99.9% of the 26 M are not interested in either inflicting or absorbing mass casualties and, instead, are vigilant and steadfast in their efforts to prevent it. Just the same, I'd rather they not be miffed and thus possibly inclined to be a little less vigilant for a day or so.
For Jones, I would not be too surprised if "his god" phoned in a cancellation on the whole book-burning thing. I'm inclined to believe that any revelation that might rise from the ashes will be less about divinity and more about Darwinism. The guy needs to read up on Salman Rushdie or talk to some of the folks at the Dutch publication Jyllands-Posten. At the very best he will lose some sleep; at the very worst he will never wake up.
Since the whole thing is already well beyond common sense, we can only hope that whatever the next-best-thing to common sense happens to be prevails in this drama. If not, and some American soldier, tourist, or missionary is harmed as a result, maybe "his god" will talk him into mixing up a little drink that will whisk him off into whatever special hell his namesake Jim now resides.
Let's keep each of the afore-mentioned observations in the proper perspective and allow each the respect they deserve. Remember -- always remember -- the events of 9/11 and the early sacrifices of a global war on truly evil beings: violent zealots with no conscience and no respect for humanity. And give an appreciative nod for the personal sacrifices made each year by hundreds of millions of moderate Muslims, validating their spiritual beliefs through physical trials of hunger and thirst and culminating those trials with a three-day celebration of fellowship and appreciation for all that Allah provides.
Now THAT is a RANT!
Friday, September 3, 2010
It has been three days since President Obama's speech on Iraq and two days since GEN Austin replaced GEN Odierno and Operation New Dawn replaced Operation Iraqi Freedom. Everything seems largely unchanged yet...somehow different.
The pundits came out in full force to weigh in on these events and articulated some interesting opinions, for whatever they might be worth.
The President seemed to get it about right. The military did everything asked of them and, I think, a great deal more. After the wheels fell off the bus that got us here, military commanders throughout Iraq found themselves refereeing a very nasty civil war while simultaneously trying to sort out and kill the truly bad guys and effectively run the entire country.
It took several years and several thousand American lives, but slowly the landscape changed, the level of violence dropped precipitously, and Iraqis set about trying to restore some sense of normalcy to their lives. The Iraq security forces, both Army and police, grew steadily both in numbers and in capability. The combined efforts of the Iraqi and US forces relentlessly pursued the bad guys, disrupting their networks, choking off their funding, and capturing or killing most of their leadership.
All of that gets us to where we are today. A weird mix of violence and hope in a country groping, almost blindly, for a future it knows exists but can't quite see. A country that 10 years ago had only two allowable TV stations to watch and now is a sea of satellite dishes. A country whose pre-war citizens possessed just a few thousand of the cell phones that are now ubiquitous. A country boasting 40% more available electricity then during the Saddam era, supplying only one half of what the demand has grown to be as air conditioners and refrigerators continue to appear.
A country whose local markets are filled with carts of available goods, but where, in any city on any given day, one of those carts might explode and kill dozens. This place is a work in progress.
It is time to give the country back to its citizens, to put more pressure on its elected officials to form the government and start taking care of the people. Massive obstacles remain and, as many close to the problem have articulated, the outcome remains in doubt. History, as always, will judg the wisdom of the endeavor and the efficacy of the toil.
Now, however, the wheels are back on the bus and it's time for someone else to drive.
The pundits came out in full force to weigh in on these events and articulated some interesting opinions, for whatever they might be worth.
The President seemed to get it about right. The military did everything asked of them and, I think, a great deal more. After the wheels fell off the bus that got us here, military commanders throughout Iraq found themselves refereeing a very nasty civil war while simultaneously trying to sort out and kill the truly bad guys and effectively run the entire country.
It took several years and several thousand American lives, but slowly the landscape changed, the level of violence dropped precipitously, and Iraqis set about trying to restore some sense of normalcy to their lives. The Iraq security forces, both Army and police, grew steadily both in numbers and in capability. The combined efforts of the Iraqi and US forces relentlessly pursued the bad guys, disrupting their networks, choking off their funding, and capturing or killing most of their leadership.
All of that gets us to where we are today. A weird mix of violence and hope in a country groping, almost blindly, for a future it knows exists but can't quite see. A country that 10 years ago had only two allowable TV stations to watch and now is a sea of satellite dishes. A country whose pre-war citizens possessed just a few thousand of the cell phones that are now ubiquitous. A country boasting 40% more available electricity then during the Saddam era, supplying only one half of what the demand has grown to be as air conditioners and refrigerators continue to appear.
A country whose local markets are filled with carts of available goods, but where, in any city on any given day, one of those carts might explode and kill dozens. This place is a work in progress.
It is time to give the country back to its citizens, to put more pressure on its elected officials to form the government and start taking care of the people. Massive obstacles remain and, as many close to the problem have articulated, the outcome remains in doubt. History, as always, will judg the wisdom of the endeavor and the efficacy of the toil.
Now, however, the wheels are back on the bus and it's time for someone else to drive.
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