Yesterday on Christmas day a colonel from another battalion stopped in to say hello and wish us happy holidays. We held formation at 1400 and he gave a speech and then the chaplain that accompanied him gave us all a blessing. I talked with the chaplain, a major, briefly before the formation. He said that our unit will be home this summer. He said that the enemy is being pushed off the supply line from the Iranian border to Baghdad up into the mountains. I told him that their resistance was like a blob of jelly: when you press down in one spot the jelly just squirts out to the side. then when you press on that spot it just moves again. What we're trying to do with this surge offensive is get them all at one time and be done with it. I'm not sure that's really possible but we have to stay positive. Every day we bring in more detainees for questioning, usually blindfolded and with zipcuffs on.
After the formation we all sat down to eat Christmas dinner. We had mashed potatoes, mixed vegetables, cranberry sauce, stuffing, and chicken instead of turkey. It was pretty good and everyone had a fun time talking. There was even an eagle ice sculpture which I helped prepare. The cook was all by himself trying to cut the plastic mold off so I decided to give him a hand. It took almost half an hour to cut the plastic off!
It has been getting pretty cold so we got a bunch of kerosene heaters. Because of the high ceilings in the building there's no problem with the fumes and we turn the heaters way up so the flame is high and it looks like a small fire. There's a bunch of ammunition and weapons around so we have to be careful.
The day before Christmas we fired the mortars. We used both trucks and fired more than 90 rounds. Usually we just fire a short distance and you can see the rounds impact, the "splash" it's called. This time however we fired at a target a few miles away. It was pretty loud in the truck firing all those rounds, even with double hearing protection of earplugs and a headset. The truck absorbed the shock of the cannon each time we fired, rocking down a foot or so. There was a lot of smoke from the cheese charges which are the small canisters of gunpowder that send the round flying. There was lots of yelling and shuffling to get the rounds out of the casings and hand them to the assistant gunner. It's the kind of thing you never forget.
I waited until Christmas day to open all my mail, but it turned out that I got too much and I didn't even open it all. I still have some packages for the new year! Thanks to everyone back home who sent me letters and gifts, I really appreciate the support. A big thanks to Dino Campanis of Bellefonte, PA for sending me over 120 care packages since June. Everyone still runs over to see what's inside them. I hope everyone enjoys the rest of the holiday season and good luck in the new year! Hopefully the war will be over soon and things will lighten up.
Welcome!
26 December 2007
15 December 2007
Day 253
When I signed up to be an infantryman two years ago, I was designated 11 X-ray. That means they can make you a regular foot soldier (11B) or they can make you a mortarman (11C.) I was trained as a mortarman. It's a pretty cool job; we fire a giant cannon with a range of four miles or so. In the current war however, the mortar is rarely used for combat missions. This leaves me and my crew looking like Maytag men on some days.
The leadership in our company has been trying to keep our nine man squad busy as the commander's personal security when he goes out on patrol. Four of us must stay back at all times on what's called the hot gun, ready to fire the mortar at any time of the day or night at whatever the target may be. Besides that I do a guard shift twice a day at the front gate, receiving visitors and keeping watch.
The local people come to the gate sometimes if they need something. One day a woman in the traditional black garb that covers the entire body approached the gate. I called for the interpretor on the radio and he arrived in a few minutes. She wanted to know the wherabouts of her son who was treated for wounds from a suicide vest. The last time she heard from him he was being treated at a U.S. medic station, but she did not know where. I'm not sure we could help her.
There is an Iraqi Army soldier at the gate at all times as well. They show up in mix and match surplus military gear left over from Desert Storm and play with their cell phones. I usually stand behind the small hesco barrier filled with sand and look through the frame of bullet proof glass that has been posted on top. Sometimes I get tired of that though, it seems unfair, and I sit to the side of the barrier with the IA soldier and talk a bit. This can be an interesting experience, because they speak only a little English and I know only a few words in Arabic. There is a lack of things to talk about as well, we're just bored. So we come up with simple things. Their favorite question is, "Ma'dam?" meaning are you married followed by "Baby?" which means do you have kids. From there they move on to their own marital status and state that it is good to have kids and am I happy to be single. Sometimes the guys have multiple wives and a whole bunch of kids. I have learned to count to 30 in Arabic and know basic words and phrases like sun, rock, alibaba (terrorist), and I'm bored.
I start my two hour guard shift at 0600. It's a bit cold when I wake up and the sun rises as the guard shift ends, providing a bit of warmth. There is a 50ft. wide corridor leading from the gate to the road 200 meters out to stop any hostile intruders. The whole thing is filled with trash, spools of concertina wire and stray dogs. I stare at this image waiting for visitors or possible enemy. The town is all around us, there are houses and people and various kinds of commerce here and there. Our building is right in the middle of this small city called Baqubah.
Sometimes the CLC (concerned local citizens) come by to talk, but they aren't much help. They're untrained civilians licensed to carry AK-47's. One day they were all lined up outside to have their pictures taken and get their licenses. I brought out a few sodas for them and they passed them down the line, each taking a sip. These people are poor. The IA guys get paid better than the townspeople, they get around $600 a month and think that's great. Even $100 a month is a lot here.
I'd like to wish a Merry Christmas to all the folks back home and good luck with the snow up north. I wish I could be there, but I guess this is more important. I'll still get presents mailed over here which is a consolation. Thanks for reading my blog and happy holidays!
The leadership in our company has been trying to keep our nine man squad busy as the commander's personal security when he goes out on patrol. Four of us must stay back at all times on what's called the hot gun, ready to fire the mortar at any time of the day or night at whatever the target may be. Besides that I do a guard shift twice a day at the front gate, receiving visitors and keeping watch.
The local people come to the gate sometimes if they need something. One day a woman in the traditional black garb that covers the entire body approached the gate. I called for the interpretor on the radio and he arrived in a few minutes. She wanted to know the wherabouts of her son who was treated for wounds from a suicide vest. The last time she heard from him he was being treated at a U.S. medic station, but she did not know where. I'm not sure we could help her.
There is an Iraqi Army soldier at the gate at all times as well. They show up in mix and match surplus military gear left over from Desert Storm and play with their cell phones. I usually stand behind the small hesco barrier filled with sand and look through the frame of bullet proof glass that has been posted on top. Sometimes I get tired of that though, it seems unfair, and I sit to the side of the barrier with the IA soldier and talk a bit. This can be an interesting experience, because they speak only a little English and I know only a few words in Arabic. There is a lack of things to talk about as well, we're just bored. So we come up with simple things. Their favorite question is, "Ma'dam?" meaning are you married followed by "Baby?" which means do you have kids. From there they move on to their own marital status and state that it is good to have kids and am I happy to be single. Sometimes the guys have multiple wives and a whole bunch of kids. I have learned to count to 30 in Arabic and know basic words and phrases like sun, rock, alibaba (terrorist), and I'm bored.
I start my two hour guard shift at 0600. It's a bit cold when I wake up and the sun rises as the guard shift ends, providing a bit of warmth. There is a 50ft. wide corridor leading from the gate to the road 200 meters out to stop any hostile intruders. The whole thing is filled with trash, spools of concertina wire and stray dogs. I stare at this image waiting for visitors or possible enemy. The town is all around us, there are houses and people and various kinds of commerce here and there. Our building is right in the middle of this small city called Baqubah.
Sometimes the CLC (concerned local citizens) come by to talk, but they aren't much help. They're untrained civilians licensed to carry AK-47's. One day they were all lined up outside to have their pictures taken and get their licenses. I brought out a few sodas for them and they passed them down the line, each taking a sip. These people are poor. The IA guys get paid better than the townspeople, they get around $600 a month and think that's great. Even $100 a month is a lot here.
I'd like to wish a Merry Christmas to all the folks back home and good luck with the snow up north. I wish I could be there, but I guess this is more important. I'll still get presents mailed over here which is a consolation. Thanks for reading my blog and happy holidays!
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