Birds Eye View of War!

ONE BY ONE

Skimming along only feet above the ragged Baghdad roofline the reality of my locale seems to sink in. From the Sniper emplacements that dot the roofs of the skyscraper buildings to the unmistakable American Military vehicles, tents and equipment that cover many key locations throughout the city. This was a Mecca of large proportions make no mistake about it. Without too much imagination one can almost visualize what life before OIF in Baghdad was like. Many homes look very much like many in the Southwest U.S. Many still sporting green lawns and some even with swimming pools. These are obviously the elite…many likely the doctors or businessmen that were selectively allowed to function under the rule of Saddam. There are many city parks with playgrounds for children and fountains that lay still baking in the desert heat. One of the largest buildings I’ve ever seen is in the heart of Baghdad. It looks like it was to be a huge Mosque for worship. Having never been completed the tall construction cranes stand still in an eerie ghost town like presence over the structure.

The presence of the U.S. Military in our loud, dark, mysterious and speedy Helicopters skimming along above the desert has not scared off the Iraqi children I can assure you. On almost every flight we make dozens of “Candy Bombs”, a simple zip-loc baggie filled with a variety of hard candies, lollipops and Tootsie Rolls with white streamers attached to the bags. When the children hear us coming you can see them running out of every corner and crack of every structure in sight. Hands waving, cheering and smiling faces likely hoping for another special delivery from the hearts of families all over the States that have mailed goodies to soldiers who in turn donate to the “candy bomb” makers.

I know we will never win this war on terrorism through words or fancy speeches. We cannot hope to suppress centuries of repression in one fell swoop. But, through the eyes and hearts of those little Iraqi children one thing is for sure. Those Americans with their loud, dark, mysterious and speedy Helicopters dropping goodies with smiling faces and waving hands truly are…one by one…winning the hearts of many.

LT Sims

“The men who have changed the universe have never gotten there by working on leaders, but rather by moving the masses…Working on the masses…is the stroke of genius that changes the face of the world.”
NAPOLEAN BONAPARTE 1769-1821

More news from the Front...

Ok, so maybe I’m not really at the “front” and it’s a little more like the “middle”. At any rate, over here in the “middle” we’re enjoying our nightly routine of inbound mortar and rocket attacks punctuated by sporadic small arms fire and IED explosions. But we’re not complaining, it could be a lot worse.

Chow on the other hand is truly superb! The government contractors via Third Country Nationals has truly cornered the market on how many different ways you can apparently prepare chicken and rice three meals a day. Don’t get me wrong, we are some how managing to see our way through each meal with only two different flavors of ice cream. But we’re not complaining, it could be a lot worse.

We have it pretty good here at Camp Anaconda, Iraq. We are living in 100 square foot rooms carved out of single-wide trailers even an Arkansas trailer park snob would be too proud to live in. But we’re not complaining, it could be a lot worse.

I fight my way through the daily barrage of pre-meetings, meetings and re-meetings. Baby-stepping my way through each day wondering if there will be a third flavor of ice cream at dinner? Do I feel guilty drawing combat pay here? Hell no! Do I feel guilty drawing my salary from Uncle Sugar tax free? Don’t be absurd! Do I regret not going Air Force? Hell yes! Ha ha…only kidding. But we’re not complaining, it could be a lot worse.

If I don’t have a single bullet, RPG or missile fired at me as I zip around the desert in my Black Hawk helicopter it will be a good year! I’m not here for the glory, or the air-medal, or bragging rights at the Officer’s club when I get home. I’m here doing a job that may be a little less “Hollywood” than most, however, I’m also smart enough to know the difference.

But…we’re not complaining, it could be a lot worse!

RUSSIAN ROULETTE…

BOOM!

Ever played Russian Roulette with a loaded weapon? That’s ok…me either. Well, until I was activated with the Army Reserves and sent to Iraq. Tonight is 30 June 2004. The official change over to the new Iraqi government. Tonight marks the second night in a row where inbound mortars have landed within a few dozen meters of where I sleep. When one explodes you can’t help but think about the flight path that projectile flew. If the wind was a little more out of the South I wonder how much closer it would have been that time. I lay in bed at night, staring up at the ceiling, wondering if the next inbound mortar is free falling out of the night sky right towards me. Right towards my paper thin aluminum trailer. I climb out of bed and grab my body armor. Which is one size fits all of course. So it barely covers my naval when properly worn. We often joke that the body armor serves one purpose…an open casket vs. a closed casket. It’s eye wash, but that’s neither here nor there. I grab my body armor, unvelcro the straps, and spread it out over my body on top of my blanket. I curl up and laugh a pathetic laugh as I close my eyes and attempt to sleep.

BOOM!!

TIME MACHINE

We are 150 kilometers North of Baghdad flying North by Northwest at 140 Knots at an altitude of only fifty feet. I am chalk two in a flight of two Army Blackhawk Helicopters. The landscape here is so completely different from the Baghdad area in so many ways. The fields below us are cultivated by hand not by machine. The tilled rows are therefore uneven but are pleasing to look at. The distant horizon to the East and the West is interrupted by jagged purple mountains. A broken layer of Altocumulus clouds high above are diffusing the early morning sunlight into beams of light illuminating portions of the distant mountains. I find myself gazing at the shadow of the lead aircraft as it appears to be dancing beneath his aircraft like it were a yo-yo on a string as the rolling hills climb up and down beneath us. The landscape is a colorful patchwork quilt of green, yellow and white. There are numerous wheat fields as far as the eyes can see. Rows of cotton fields that are a lush color of green with white polka dotted cotton blooms. There are even fields of corn growing as tall and green as any I have seen back home. Interspersed are literally thousands of sheep. The watchful eyes of a Shepard were guarding each herd. One Shepard in particular remains impressed upon my mind. We were coming up a gentle rise through the rolling terrain when I saw a mass of white and gray sheep running wildly from the sounds of the approaching helicopters. I thought to myself how strange it was to see these creatures in a time of fear running not away from one another but towards each other into a tight circle…circling the wagons I snickered. Then I saw him. He was on a high bluff overlooking the sheep and directly in our line of flight. He was dressed in the typical Arab garb only not wearing a kaffiyeh (headress). His Tunic was almost an out of place bright white with light blue trim. In his right hand he held a staff that was nearly two feet taller than himself. As we began to pass him out my door I could see our eyes seemed to meet each other’s. I raised my hand into the breeze and waved to my uncommon friend. He returned the greeting by raising his staff and partially waving with his free hand. Then, as if the clouds parted on cue, a ray of sunshine basked the Shepard and his herd in a soft morning glow. It was as if someone was putting an exclamation mark on my thoughts. As I pondered the peacefully simple life of the Shepard I thought about the significance of my location being ancient Mesopotamia and the birthplace of our religion. It was as if I had traveled back in time witnessing events that have apparently been replayed for generation upon generation. There were buildings and irrigation trenches that stretched on for miles that by all appearances been in place for centuries. In fact, the more I looked, everything looked as though it had been left untouched and seemingly unspoiled for centuries of our so called progress. These people are the Kurds. They are predominately Assyrian Christians by faith. They were outcasts and persecuted by the former Saddam Regime. Flying over a small outcropping of huts of mud and wood I notice a few children running, jumping and waving as we race by. A woman catches my eye as I see her raising her infant baby towards us as we pass. At first I wasn’t sure what to think. Then, it happened again and again as we passed over more Kurdish settlements. I have no way to know for sure what their intent was. Thinking back to the history of the Kurds with the former Saddam Regime I can’t help but think they are expressing their feelings of gratitude and appreciation. For not more than a few minutes flight further North U.S. forces have discovered another mass grave. A mass grave not filled with soldiers or men dying for their country or cause. It was instead filled by men, women and children. Everyone suffered the same cause of death…including children. A single gun shot to the head. Back home I know many have heard heated debates about whether our President lied to the American people about the Weapons of Mass Destruction. I know that many Americans feel that our presence in this country is unwarranted simply because we have yet to discover the missing weapons. With what I have seen with my own eyes, we have succeeded, we toppled a Regime the likes of Hitler. The Kurds were being erased from existence simply for their religious differences. I know we are here doing the right thing. Not just the right thing for the safety and security of our families back home but for the people of Iraq as well. I just hope that we do not over stay our welcome but we accomplish our mission here completely…to leave Iraq a better country, with a better future and a better place for all their children.

DESERT LIGHTNING

Tonight we had our first Thunderstorm of the year in the Heart of the Sunni-Triangle in Iraq. It was amazing. The entire night sky was filled with flashes and streaks of light. I felt like I was standing inside one of those huge static electricity balls you often find in Gag gift stores. Streaks of lightning seemed to arch completely across the night sky. They were zigzagging, diverging, then converging and slamming straight down to the desert floor below. The thunder seemed so crisp like it was a roar with a snap. I stayed outside my room watching Mother Nature’s own fireworks show until I noticed something so bizarre yet so remotely familiar. Rain! I couldn’t believe it! It had been only eight months since I last saw a rain shower. Yet, in a strange way, this put a huge smile upon my face as I listened to the light raindrops tap on the thin metal roofs of our trailer park. The unmistakable smell of fresh rain swept through the air. It was over almost as quickly as it began. It was just a small reminder of the simple things back home that happen around us and make up our normal lives that we all see, but, don’t really see. Take the time to smell the…rain.

"PERSPECTIVE"

As I sit here in my all leather, electric massaging, zero gravity chair in front of my big screen television complete with surround sound, in my one man room with satellite internet and of course air conditioning, I have to remind myself of the “reality” portal I am in. For as soon as I step foot outside my little “capsule” I quickly find myself in the middle of a war torn country. Even as I sit in a state of mental isolation I am reminded of the true reality that lurks without compassion outside these thin metal walls. Every time I hear a mortar or rocket explode I feel like I am living on borrowed time and just waiting until my luck runs out and one lands so close I never even hear the explosion. I have on occasion heard the rush and unmistakable whine of a mortar zipping barely over my trailer and impacting within eyesight and shaking my thin trailer.

Is it luck? Is it divine intervention? I’ll be honest, I’ll take luck, divine intervention, destiny…heck, I’ll take pure fricken magic if it gets me out of here unscathed. Some days you find yourself feeling an almost numb indifference to the grim situation. I suppose having absolutely no influence on ones own destiny is at times rather empowering. It is often said, “…When it’s your time to go…it’s your time to go!” Well, I can counter that rationalization with that’s like choosing to stand in the long cashier line even though I’m only holding two gallons of milk…or jumping lines over to the shorter and quicker Express Lane! After all, if it was my “destiny” to get out of the store “quicker” it wouldn’t matter which lane I was in…or would it? Sometimes I feel like I’ve just entered into the Express Lane and there is nobody in line in front of me. Damn it…why didn’t I get in lane number ten?
One thing I have noticed to my amazement while being over here. Your world seems to collapse in around you. Your circle of influence contracts to within a very small radius. Yet, almost inversely proportional, your mental “world” seems to expand exponentially. You begin thinking about loved ones, friends, even people you are at odds with back home in an entirely new light. I find myself constantly thinking about things. I’m a rather analytical person and I try to understand every thought that surfaces. It comes all the way down to one word. It's a simple three-syllable word that seems to collectively wrap up my thoughts into one tight little package. Perspective! If that doesn’t seem to be descriptive enough for you…I might suggest that you yourself lack that very simple thing in your own life.

It’s no different really than I never truly understood what it was like to be a parent. To literally be MY parents until that wonderful day when I delivered my own son into this world. Within a matter of minutes I was holding my son again and he opened his beautifully innocent eyes and looked straight into mine; straight into my soul. Unfortunately, perspective is a rather elusive thing. For most people wont arrive at this destination by attending a class or seminar or even by reading a book about someone else’s “perspective” revelations. It’s a road each of us will have to travel. For that, I will forever be grateful for my 365 days of captivity in this time capsule in the middle of the Sunni-Triangle in Iraq. “Perspective” is mine and my life will never be the same again and I am so thankful for that!

"You must look within for value, but must look beyond for perspective."
Denis Waitley

American Soldier

A great song...

Letters from home...

Just wanted to share another song in case you haven't heard this one...

The Honeymoon is over!

It was a surreal feeling as the government contracted United Airlines Boeing 747 hurled itself down the runway at Robert Gray Army Airfield at Fort Hood Texas. I was in seat 1A sitting literally in the nose of the 747 in first class luxury. Glancing down at myself, I see the desert camouflage uniform with my M16 muzzle down against the wall in front of me and my Beretta 9mm pistol holstered to my thigh. What a truly strange way to be going to a combat zone. The mix of irony being armed and on a United Airlines jet deepened the already strange mix of emotions.

We were wheels up now climbing up into the clouds. I could see my neighborhood growing smaller knowing that I was leaving behind my wife and two young boys who could no doubt hear the sound of our plane thundering into the sky. I felt as though I was abandoning them as if I had a choice about where I was headed. With a short pit stop in Prague to refuel, we arrived at the Kuwait International Airport well after sunset.

After waiting for close to an hour, we saw a line of buses coming down the flight line, which would be our ride. A pleasant looking female, presumably Air Force, boarded the plane and gave us our official welcome to Kuwait. “Welcome to Kuwait. Shortly we will begin to deplane and load the busses just outside. Absolutely no headgear is allowed on the flight line. Please do not take any pictures until you arrive at Camp Wolverine. You are to walk as fast as you can and load the busses with minimal delay. There have been sniper incidents here in the past.” With that being said I glanced over at Bric Lewis, who was a fellow test pilot, he was looking at me and I could tell the very same thoughts were running through his head. “The honeymoon is over!" We arrived at Camp Wolverine with no issues.

After arriving, we began our process of swiping our Identification cards to begin receiving our Combat pay, family separation pay, hazardous duty pay as well as Federal Income Tax relief. With the briefings being completed, the supply sergeant distributed the combat load of ammunition to every soldier. Our next step in our arrival process was to load up on busses once again for a two-hour ride to Camp Virginia Kuwait. This would be our home for the next 30 days while we received our vehicles and equipment from the port and combat readied them for the convoy North into Iraq.

Climbing aboard the bus I did a quick head count to ensure the proper number of soldiers were aboard. I gave a quick briefing since I was the senior officer aboard. I want everyone to keep his or her body armor and Kevlar helmets on for the duration of the ride. All of your non-essential equipment needs to be secured under the seat in front of you. I do not want to catch anyone sleeping. I do not want anyone listening to headphones. All of the drapes on the windows are to be kept drawn closed. I want everyone to do a function check on the windows and see how they open. In case we receive incoming fire, nobody is to fire until ordered to do so. Everyone can hear my voice…remember it. Any questions? You could have heard a pin drop on that bus. I took a seat in the very first row. I am not sure but I have heard rumors that in the Middle East women are for procreation…but men are for recreation. Now keep in mind that I am sitting in the front row almost right behind the bus driver. I think my critical mistake here was to smile and nod at the bus driver when we made eye contact as I boarded the bus. Now in the U.S. this simple gesture would not have aroused any further suspicions. However, here in Kuwait, I think this Kuwaiti was rather sweet on me and he assumed I was sweet on him. I figured at the very least maybe this might mean I would not have to worry about us making it to Camp Virginia. At least I hoped. Arriving at Camp Virginia after a long trip from Ft Hood Texas I settled into my cot and passed out from exhaustion until the next morning

“Big camp…little bullet”

As the Forward Commander, I had to fly North to Iraq a week ahead of the Convoy to ready the arrival for the main body. I coordinated with the Air Force for thirty-five of us to travel via C-130 from Kuwait to Iraq. The majority of the Air Force flights at that time were being conducted at night in the hopes that the Iraqi’s were not in possession of any sophisticated weapons systems. The flight took a little over an hour and was rather peaceful. The red glow from the cabin floodlights bathed us in an eerie glow over the entire back of the C130. We knew when we were close to landing. The pilots began to nose the aircraft over and commenced a series of S-Turns loosing altitude over a very small area of the Earth below us. We landed and taxied off the runway as the Loadmaster lowered the tail ramp while we tried to adjust our eyes to the dark emptiness of the night. There were no runway lights, no taxiway lights and no airport beacon light like would be normal for back home. This was black. The pilots were wearing NVG’s to see as they taxied the aircraft to a stop. We exited the aircraft out the tail ramp while the C130 engines roared deafly loud. As we walked the half-mile to the marshalling area, we could hear the C130 engines rev back up as it taxied back out to the runway. We received another quick briefing instructing us on the various warning sirens and what each meant. They explained the whole series of sirens very much like Tornado sirens you hear back home. They were just as scary here as well. Each type of tone meant something different. Whether it was a ground attack, an air attack or a chemical attack on the base there was a distinctly different siren for each. At the time I remember thinking to myself I was not sure what was more unsettling, the fact that it might happen, or that it happens so frequently there were sirens for it. As I would later learn, it is a part of life here in Iraq to hear those very sirens waling at you numerous times each and everyday. Some days we would have as few as one or two inbound mortars or rockets, however, one day we had over fourteen inbound rockets and mortars in a matter of minutes. Several soldiers were killed and wounded that day. There really is not much you can do. Unfortunately, the sirens are turned on after a mortar or rocket has impacted. Therefore, I suppose the logic was, just in case there were multiple rockets we would be under cover. We would race out of our beds and into the concrete bunkers with our body armor and weapons waiting for the all clear. Of course, over time you begin to think it is a waste of time to duck into the bunkers. After a few months, the entire company began staying in their rooms. I suppose we collectively adopted the “Big camp…little bullet” theory. If it was our time to go…we would not even hear the alarm.