What was it really like?

Surprising number of people are asking "What was it really like being in Iraq? Are we getting the right story in the news that we watch?"
Good question, because I asked myself the same thing while I was in Iraq. I would sit in the briefings in the mornings at the Strategic Operations Center and then listen to the Headline News later in the day. Not always the same story. What the coalition forces accomplish on a daily basis is not being reported. What the insurgents and criminals perpetuate seems to always be highlighted.
National News is competitive. The best stories are the ones that grab the listeners at an emotional level (hence the "yelling" shows of Sunday news and the No spin zone variety)...emotions sell advertising. "If it bleeds, it leads."
The hard work in Iraq is not emotional or leading-news-type stories. The hard work stories are the day in and day out slogging it out among the citizens helping to keep them safe and secure. Not a lot of glory and guys get blown up on a regular basis just doing their jobs. That is the high price of securing a dangerous country, but it is necessary and difficult; but not glorious.

Do the Iraqis want us there?
Overwhelmingly, YES. Scarcely a visit with an Iraqi that I had did not involve some part of the conversation centering around how grateful the citizens are that we are there and that Saddam is gone.
The insurgents and Former Regime elements that want Saddam back in power are basically thugs and criminals that preyed off of the citizenry. If lawlessless can be established and maintained, then their hope is that the coalition will leave and the vacuum of stability and power will allow them back into their positions of oppression. The plan is to provide enough continued stability in the country that their own forces can keep the peace...then we are out of there.

That is not always reported, but that is the way that it is.

What to wear? part II

I decided not to wear my Desert Uniform on the plane ride home. I packed the four sets of uniforms and realized that I would not wear them again....
When I got to the airport, there was another officer on the same flight as I; El Paso to Atlanta. He was wearing his DCU's for the flight.
As we boarded the plane and headed to coach, he took his assigned seat across the aisle from me, he in DCU's, I in my sweater and khakis, in preparation to go out to dinner that evening from the airport.
After we took our seats, a gentleman from First Class came back and told the other officer that he had a seat available in First Class for him. He was giving up his seat for the flight to the returning vet. Very thoughtful of the guy. They shook hands and mutually thanked the other for the service.
When in uniform, I had been stopped often in the airports and thanked for my service. That small gesture means a lot.

Once here at Ft. Drum, I decided to wear my DCU's one more time. The day that I returned to work I wore them again. The company commander drove to my office specifically to see me and welcome me back. "Sir," he said, "as the first commander in your line of command, let me be the first to officially welcome you back and thank you for your service and sacrifice while serving our country. Welcome home." Although I know that the "official" greeting is required and expected, I still appreciated it.

He also commented on my uniform. I am expected to wear it for the next week as part of the reintegration process. This signifies me as one returning and is supposed to help expedite the paperwork drill of getting me back into the unit and back to work. It goes without saying that the uniform does set me apart. When I first saw green uniforms among the desert patterns, they were out of place. Now the colors are reversed. I am the minority among all the green uniforms on post.

Next week I will be normal....

Fully home?

Before heading to Iraq, I was resonsible for providing briefings to returning soldiers at Ft. Drum, NY. As these soldiers returned from their deployment, I helped greet them at the airport, offer prayers, encouragement and presence. I have provided reunion briefings for returning soldiers for so many times, I have the briefing memorized.
Part of the getting home process always invovles lots of "welcome home" comments and speeches. I always begin mine by saying, "Everyone seems to say 'welcome home' to you, but I reaize that you are not home yet. You are on the way home, but only you know when you are really home. So let me welcome you thus far on the journey and I hope to make this briefing short and to the point, so that you can get home where you want to be."

For me, I have announced in the past that there are certain events that must take place before I am fully home.
I must hear the laughter of my children around the table at dinner.
I must stand with the congregation and sing praises in church.
I must fall asleep with my wife's head resting on my chest.

Then I know that I am home.

I am home now.

What I find different

Janet and I take a walk together every day.
As we walked through the woods the other day, we stopped and just listened.
Silence....nothing....
It has been a long time since I heard nothing. We talked about that on the rest of the walk.
"What do I find that is different or unexpected since I got back?"

Here is a short list:
*The quiet is amazing. There are no generators running 24/7. I am surprised at how normally I acclimated to the noise of the generators. They are everywhere and we don't even realize it.
*There are no helicopters flying overhead. I love watching helos fly, but there are none here at my house. No medivac or supply choppers flying in regularly every 45 minutes or so. Outside ceremonies are interrupted two or three times by helicopters flying overhead that are so loud that the speaker cannot be heard. We can tell the medical choppers that are on "milk runs" of normal delivery and cirucit rides from the ones that have patients. We comment to each other while at poolside in the evenings whether or not the ER at the hospital would be busy that evening.
*Seeing children! The International Zone produced a T-shirt that I did not get around to buying. It had a logo on the front pocket and on the back said, "The International Zone-Baghdad, Iraq. The world's most exclusive adult gated community. Security by Abrams and Bradley." There are so few children in the IZ, that I was not accustomed to hearing or seeing them around when I got home.
*Being able to hold a glass under a faucet and drink the water. None of the water in the sinks was potable. Brushing one's teeth with water from the faucet invited diahrrea.
*Using stainless steel flatware and real glassware and coffee cups and pottery....
We ate off of plastic plates with plastic ware and drank from juice cartons and bottled water.
*Sitting down at a restaurant and being served. I have stood in line for every meal and gotten up for any refill or forgotten item. It is nice to sit and visit without having to get up until the meal is over.
*A good shower. The water pressure was so poor in the trailer that the water just dribbled down the wall and splashed off the handle. Every shower was more of a standing wash cloth sprinkling that it was pathetic and generally the water did not get very warm. I shifted to considering my swim in the pool as enough hygiene to last for a day. Now I can stand in a shower with water pressure, hot water and not worry about the water running out or getting cold.

There are more things, but this is a good start.

The "Patton Slap"

General George Patton almost lost his career over an incident where he slapped a solder. If you are not familiar with the incident, the General was visiting a hospital where he encountered a soldier sitting on a hospital bed with no visible wounds. When asked about the situation, the General was told that the soldier just "couldn't take it anymore" and was in the hospital for evaluation, recuperation, etc.
The General blew up, slapped the soldier across the head with the riding gloves he always carried and screamed at the soldier....thus erupting the famous "Patton slap" stories and increased concern for shell shock, PTSD, post-battle symptoms, etc. The incident almost cost Patton his career, and he had to stand and publically apoligize to the hospital staff, the soldier, his command and anybody else that Ike thought needed to hear the apology.

I was tempted to go off on a soldier the other day. I was standing in line in Kuwait. I was the last in line ready to plead my case that I did not want to be in theater any longer and would get my own flight home on the Air Force rotator (which I did...thank you AF!).
After standing in line for a while, an NCO brought two soldiers to stand behind me in the line. One soldier was a Private First Class and the other had not rank, which means he was a Private (E-1) or as we say, "E-nothin.'"
"Stand here and give the lady this paper when you get to the front of the line" was their instructions.
The line moved slowly and the E-0 talked quickly. The two were from the same Division, by the patch on their shoulders, and I assumed were from the same unit, since they came together and had the same NCO escort.
E-nuthin was talking from the time the two of them got into line. "I am ready to go home. All I want to do is get home. I need to be home." But something was weird about the guy.
As it turned out, the E-3 was going home on R&R, well deserved rest from his time in combat. Judging by his worn uniform and the look in his eyes, he needed the rest. The other soldier was just "going home." To be an E-nothin' here means you probably lost rank. By the time a soldier gets through all the training required and gets to a unit, they should have enough time in the military to have achieved at least one advancement in rank. (The Army does not call the first two advancements "promotions" because there is nothing required of the soldier other than breathing and showing up for work. After PFC, then the promotions are deserved).
E-nothin' would not shut up.
I did not want to hear it.
"I just want to go home...," he whined. "I saw the Psychiatrist. I am not homicidal. I am not suicidal. I just want to go see my baby. My boy is 18 months old and I want to be with him. I know that he needs me..." The babble continued....incessant...whining...begging...trying to convince the other soldier (or himself) that he was justified in his decision to get out of theater and go home.
After a while, the soldier left the line to go to the bathroom. He wasn't supposed to leave the line without an escort, but who cared?
Then it dawned on me that this punk was being busted out of the unit and sent home for failure to perform. He had become a problem child, lost his rank, would not do his job and was being sent home for discharge.
I turned to the PFC and asked if he was the escort. "No, sir. I am just in line." The soldier was tired and worn thin. "You can tell Private nothin' that he can be quiet. You don't have to listen to him whine adn I don't need to hear his noise."
The soldier shrugged. I don't think that he thought it worth the effort and it probably would not help quiet the whine. He was respectful, because I was a Lieutenant Colonel, but I could tell that he had lost his incentive to change anything about the other guy.
As I stood in line, I began to think about the E-nothin.' He showed the typical symptoms of obsessive, self-absorbed, intrusive thought patterns. He convinced himself that it was for his baby's best interest for him to get home to see him. He obsessed on that thought until it became the primary focus of his life and all that he could think or focus on. Nothing else in his life would fit until he got home to his baby. He stopped working. He stopped functioning. All he could do was whine until he got his way.
Then I got mad.
"Who will carry his ruck...fill his spot...do his job when he went home to his baby?" Every person here came for a reason and a job and when one is gone, then someone else has to do extra work.
"Does he think that he came here for nothing and that he can just go home, like cutting class?"
"How much grief has he brought his unit?" He has been busted in rank, which means he is a problem child. He requires escort which means that some NCO who came to fight a war and make a difference is being paid to be a babysitter.
"What kind of drain is this on the command to take care of this baby?"
"Does he think we don't miss our family? our babies? our lives back home?"
"How self-centered/obsessive/idiotic is this punk to bring this kind of grief on the command who is trying to run a war and keep soldiers alive?"

I was feeling very un-Chaplian-like at the moment and I began to empathize with Patton. I was wishing that I had a pair of riding gloves.

The line was shorter. I was next to be called. I stepped forward and handed over my paperwork. I was told to head to another building and take care of my flight myself. I turned to leave. There was a Staff Sergeant standing next to E-nuthin' as his escort. I shook my head and pushed through the door, mumbling under my breath, "let it go and go home."

What to wear, what to wear?

I had planned to wear my DCU's, the desert uniform home on the plane. I got an upgrade to first class with them on my way from Dallas to El Paso the other day. A major and I had been together since Kuwait and were ending our trip together. We were the last ones on the plane in Dallas, just because we were not in a rush. As we approached the counter, the attendant pulled us aside and asked for our tickets. Later, the major admitted that he thought there was a problem and we may not have seats. I knew that she was upgrading us, because the plane was about 1/3 full.
She handed us our tickets with a "Welcome home" as we went to the gate.
The major was ecstatic!
When we got on the plane the first attendant asked, "Did you get good seats?"
"Yes," I replied. "Thank you."
"Welcome home."
That was very special. We were seated on the front row and were the first served. We did not ask for anything special, but it was nice to be served without having to wait and having her hover around asking if we needed anything.
I planned to wear my DCU's on the home flight, maybe scoring another first class seat. Then I decided not to. I am going from the airport out to dinner with my wife and thought I would dress more appropriately.
I did laundry this evening and I packed my DCU's in the duffle bag for the flight home. I realized that there will not be another time or reason to wear them again. That thought caught me by surprise. I have worn them every day for the last 7 months and then, it's over. If I deploy again, I will be issued the new style of uniform. When I return to Ft. Drum in two weeks, I will switch back to the basic BDU's that I have worn for the last 18 years. The DCU wear was a one-time uniform for a one-time mission...never replicated, never undone.
It has been a good ride, one of the highlights of my life, but when I packed the uniforms away, something ended.
I am going home....

Avoiding the Chaplain

When I first came to Ft. Bliss, there was a chaplain assigned here as part of the unit that was in charge of our preparation and deployment. I did not like her at all. I don't know if it was that she was loud, irrelevant, grossly overweight, or pretentous, but there was something....she complained about how the unit did not respect her position and tried to take her vehicle away, and how she maneuvered around the command to get an expensive 4 wheel drive rental at government expense...she whined about how she was not being fully utilized. She complained about how hard it was being a Reservist. Plus, she wanted me to help provide ministry to the soldiers while I was here...
I wondered if the rest of the folks going through the process with me were "requested to assist?" Did the cadre ask the mechanics who were deploying to go the motor pool and work on vehicles? Did they ask the medics to help with sick call or the clerks to handle the paperwork? Then why ask me to help do her job?
I wondered how the reunion briefing by the chaplain would go. I thought that her outgoing briefing was the next thing to horrible. How would the welcome back be?
As it turned out, the Chaplain Assistant did the briefing. Many of the assistants are quality soldiers and fully capable of doing the briefing. I am moderately impressed with him, and the briefing was, shall I say, "brief?" It was the shortest that I have ever seen; five Powerpoint slides, less than 4 minutes long. Obviously a "check the block" briefing and, to tell the truth, that was about all that we could stand or want at this point in the getting home game.
I just saw the Chaplain this evening as she was standing outside on my way into the offices.
She has actually gained weight, or else her dress uniform has shrunk. I was embarrassed for her, the Corps and myself. I turned another direction and walked behind her so that she and I would not meet.
I don't need this.

Back in the USA

Got stateside into Dover, MD.
Nine of us grabbed a taxi/van to haul us to Philadelphia airport.
The ride was the most dangerous event in my life in the last 8 months!
Underinflated tires on the rear of the van, 27 full dufflebags, 9 soldiers.
The interior light had to stay on because the dash lights did not work and the driver could not tell how fast he was driving. The heavy rear end made the front end light and steering was erratic. Add to that the fact that the driver kept answering his cell phone and we were all nervous. Many of us had not bothered with putting on seat belts because we were crowded in so tightly. Once we reached the interstate and the swerving started, we all grabbed and scrambled to buckle up.
"What a way to go," one guy remarked. "We get this far and die in a wreck to the airport."
"And there is no Purple Heart for that."

The trip, from when I left the Palace on the helo, to arriving at Ft. Bliss was 99 hours long. I crossed 10 time zones, missed lots of meals and sleep and glad to be here.

Went to bed earlier than I wanted to, at 6:00 p.m., but with the help of Benedryl, slept for 11 hours and got up at 0500 for our 0600 first inprocessing meeting.

I hope to be through in two days ....

Getting Home

What a way to leave the country.
Flew from Kuwait back into Balad for refueling and picking up more hitchhikers.
Just as we were getting to board the plane, the insurgents sent a rocket into the camp. When I say "camp" I mean something the size of a small town or city. I have no idea where the rocket landed, it was so far away from us. But that did not matter, the place went on red alert.
We decided to clamber into the plane for safety, but the crew met us on the ladder with their helmets on and their protective vests fastened. I could tell by the size of their eyes that this was an event that they were not accustomed to. The two other fellows with me agreed with me, "the attack is over. This is annoying. Get the plane loaded and let's leave."
The rest did not agree. They sprinted to the bomb shelter and yelled at us as they ran by to join them. We walked in and I read the paper for the 10 minutes until the "all clear" sounded.
Back to the plane.
In the next ramp to us was a C-130 starting up its engines. "They did not go to cover. They just stayed on board doing their pre-flight until they could pull the wheel chocks and leave," I mentioned to the Major with me. Wish our crew had us up in the air.......
We then left.

My last 10 minutes on the ground in Iraq was in a bomb shelter. How appropriate.

Getting home-3-

This has been one of the longest days for me.
I tried remembering when this trip started....Friday I left Baghdad for Camp Victory. I got to Victory and visited in the Chaplains office for a while. I dozed in the lounge chair for a few minutes waiting for lunch. The command Chaplain for MNFI came into the office. I stood when he came into the room. He said, "HI" then turned, went into his office and that is the last I have seen of him. I know that he doesn't appreciate me at the highest level (is that discreet enough) but I thought that with him being a Colonel, he would at least know what "polite" means.
Chaplain Mitch Schranz introduced me to one of his fellow Jewish Chaplains as a "mensch." He explained that the term is the highest compliment that one can give a non-Jew. Mitch and I have gotten along very well. He then went on with the introduction by saying that I was one of the finest presenters and teachers he had ever listened to in the Army. He concluded with, "I wonder to myself, 'what are you doing in the Army?'" Very gracious of him.
I went to visit my buds at Corps and had a great time. Spent the afternoon with them and was treated with honor...
I went back to the MNFI Chaplain's office to pick up my bags and say final farewells. The office was dark...the building was dark...nobody there. The generators were down 'as scheduled' so everyone left. Fortunately, the doors were unlocked and I was able to snag my gear. Otherwise, there would have been some concern.
I was nominally surprised that nobody told me that the office would be closed that afternoon and that I should take my duffle bags with me....
So, that was the good-bye.
I did see Mitch and Scott, the other chaplain, at the dining facility and visited and hugged them good-bye.

Flight to Kuwait...wait and wait.
Ride a bus to the airport in Kuwait City and snagged a flight stateside. First to Balad, back north of Baghdad, now I am in Spain...awaiting the next leg.
Once Stateside, I will grab a flight to Texas, then hurry through reverse CRC, if the folks there allow anything to be hurried.
THEN finally, to NC and home for a week.

Trying to leave-2-

Made it to the airport and got a flight to Kuwait. A C-5A that was configured for half cargo and half passengers. I got a good seat that was not a fabric bench along the wall. Slept about 40 minutes of a 60 minute flight. Since our baggage was palletized, I did not have to carry it all around with me.
I am lugging two full duffle bags of stuff that I did not use at all, but have to turn back in, a large back pack, a helmet bag stuffed with my personal paperwork, books, etc. and my helmet and protective vest.
All my paperwork is in order, and the only problem was just standing in line waiting my time. I was purposefully the last in line, because I don't want to fly on the scheduled flight. That will delay me a week by just waiting. I want to go AF hop. I was last in line so that worker bee on the computer could spend time with me and not be concerned about holding up the line.
Only problem: wrong line. Got to the right line and the folks said that the Army really doesn't like us doing that, but if the AF will let me fly, they cannot stop me. To me that sounds like permission!
Waited for two and a half hours for the Air Force liaison to get back to her desk. Once there, she really could help. She could not get the flight call signs to register. She suggested that I just go to the airfield (hour+ bus ride) and sign up.
Took the bus that left at 2200. Finally unloaded at a bit past midnight.
Waited at the counter while folks drank coffee in the next room. Decided not to chase them down; don't want them upset with me. Finally got the answer that I wanted, "If the Army doesn't mind, we can fly you."
"The Army said that if the Air Force doesnt' mind, then I can go. So nobody minds, let's go home." They laughed and I am manifested for flight later in the day.
I get the priviledge of calling back to the staging area and telling them that I will not be returning to stay in the tent for the next week.

Trying to leave

I am trying to leave this country....really I am. It just seems that there are not enough aircraft flying out of here with 1 empty seat that I can ride.
Had a great day visiting with my friends at 18th Airborne Corps Chaplains office. We drove to the airfield last night about 1000 (2200 hrs) to check a flight. The drive to the airport is only about 20 minutes max. The flight was cancelled. I once again pled my case, and was then informed that the airman had not looked closely enough at my paperwork. I was at the wrong counter. In a small tent/building with 8 desk/counters, you would think I could end up at the right counter, but NOOOO, I go to the wrong one. It really did not matter, there was nobody working at the counter where I needed to be, anyway.
Back to the office, where my hosts put me up on a fold out couch, sleeping bag and I have a shower/bathroom handy. I restart the effort later this morning.
Last night we changed to Daylight Savings time.
I was to be awakened at 0600 for a 0700 mosey from the office....but someone did not give the assistant good enough instructions. The knock came at 0500 instead. I was hoping to start adjusting my body clock to be back in the states, but did not want to start this morning....As it turned out, I got in a wonderful time of drinking coffee and visiting with Chaplain Tom MacGregor. We have been friends for 15 years now and I think the world of him. Great visit. Then to the airfield, again.