January 13, 2008

 

It's the Ventura Freeway! No, wait. It's Baghdad. Looks like the 101, though, doesn't it? In places, I guess, though with fewer buildings. And fewer SUVs. And cleaner air. (Ohh!) Still, your chances of getting stuck in traffic or getting shot are probably comparable, depending on the time of day. And people still race past you like bats escaping Hades, unless you have large signs on your bumpers that threaten the prompt use of deadly force if they cut you off. So I guess the analogy holds. Plus, I always got the jeebies driving around LA in a rental, because the thought of paying for a wrecked Cavalier that I might flip while scooting down I-5 was more than I could handle. Here, the same jeebies return, along with the heebies as well, because at least in LA the insurance covers the cost of recovering the wreckage. In Baghdad we have a pack / in pack out policy with HMMWVs, so after you flip your M1114, you then have to provide your own towing of the wreckage, too, which is a littering rule not even Californians have the heart to enforce. So in either location, I always call shotgun.

Welcome to the travel edition of the Travel Log. This week is all about driving, flying, and just simply getting around in Baghdad. It's an important subject for a team on the go, and of all the teams that have to pick up and go, a MiTT is certainly one that does it often. Iraqis don't give much thought to planning their goings out and comings in, but in the Army, we have it down to a science. Traveling by ground in Iraq is probably the most complicated and dangerous thing you can do without wanting to be dangerous and complicated, and of all the things I could compare it to, I think it most resembles embarking on a sea voyage in pre-industrial times. All the planning, stocking, and superstition that our maritime forefathers invested in sail-powered sea travel is strikingly similar to the care and voodoo with which we imbue our convoy operations. In fact, I think sometimes we give more planning to how we'll travel to the battle than to what we'll do when we get there. It's the way we imagined the explorers of old did it, I suppose:

Now then men, we've covered the current sea charts, the wind maps, the primary route, the alternate route, the return route, the ration plan, the watch schedule, and the guard shifts. Are there any questions? Yes, Vasquez.

Sir, what will we do when we get to the New World?

What?

The New World, Sir. Do we have a plan for what we do when we reach it?

We'll find the natives and ask them where the gold is. Duh. Any other questions? What now, Vasquez?

Sir, that doesn't seem very specific. Shouldn't we plan a few more contingencies for our actions at our final-

Now that's enough out of you, Vasquez! And where's that load plan I asked you for? I told you I want that hull STACKED this time, you hear? And no more cross-leveling the barrels. The whole last voyage my brandy tasted like herring. Off we go, men, let's get to sea!

I suppose it's not quite that bad, but we do put a lot of thought into our road travel. And why not? Mounted maneuver is what we do, after all, and who would fret over it to this extent if not us? So before every trip, we all meet together and pour over maps and talk through contingencies and routes and evacuations, and spend at least an hour prepping the trucks and checking the radios and stocking the trunks and gearing up, and then we call up to higher asking permission to cast off, and then move to the gate, through the portal past the guards and the wire and into the Great Wide Unknown, and throw off the tether to the little square base we call home, and then suddenly we look around and we are free and sailing. The Iraqi Army, of course, is conducting a war in their hometown, so when they say they are going, they leave, and their route is as whimsical as a trip to go get groceries, so they don't talk about traveling But we do, and I suspect at times we even enjoy it.

 

So behold: The M1114 HMMWV:

She's seaworthy enough for the waters of Baghdad, I suppose: a strong enough hull to keep 7.62mm rounds from mussing up your hair, fast enough to keep up with the slower traffic on the freeways, and small enough to fit through (some) alleys in the crappier muhallahs. Heck, she even looks decent just sitting in the mud, which is more than you can say for the finer crafts in the Air Force. Notice the antenna are a bit tall, so watch for power lines, and the gunner's hatch always stands to be modified, according to preference. It's the one feature we never seem to be quite satisfied with. If you are lucky, you might get the M1151 HMMWV, which has, according to the manual, "a heavier chassis and an improved engine." But otherwise, it's the triple one four. She burns diesel, or a cocktail thereof, and in the summer she's air conditioned down to a brisk 80 degrees when it's 110 outside. The down side? Well, she's heavy. The door is a workout to get open and closed just on a good day, and God help you if you have to have to open one at an inconvenient angle. What else? Well, let's go inside:

 

 

This is the view from the back left seat. A lot of stuff, right? We do fill our trucks to the brim with equipment, it is true. But it's all useful stuff, of course, usually for the purpose of enabling some method of communication when your other three methods don't work. And leg room? Yes, please! And what's that blocking the whole the right side of the picture- oh, the left leg of the gunner, whose buttocks are suspended naught 18 inches away from your right ear. Okay, it's cramped, we admit, but on voyages like the ones we take, a little bonding is just what makes the trip worthwhile. Plus, the engine is so loud, you'll want to be close enough to make your shouting intelligible. The back seat isn't too bad, actually. You don't have many responsibilities other than exiting the vehicle when it's appropriate, and you get your own little square foot of bullet-proof viewing:

 

 

It's even cozy at times. Like you really are in a submersible. Getting out of the vehicle in the city is allowed, but keep it short and purposeful. Remember, we're sailing, so while you can always open the hatch and jump overboard, you don't want to swim far from the ship, or stay too long in the water. The first time I dismounted on Haifa Street, it was like swimming in the Red Sea- currents of people swishing past you on either side, looking curiously at the large craft floating in the middle of the waves. You are always a spectacle when you stop and dismount, because people look around and wonder what the reason is. When you are moving, though, most streets just show a glimpse of life passing you by, uncaring:

 

 

I like traveling here in the inner streets, myself. You are safer on the smaller roads where there are tons of people and traffic than you are rolling down the remote highways. It's in the middle of nowhere where you are more likely to run into trouble. This, for example, is Route Irish, the only good road to Baghdad International Airport:

 

 

This was the IED capital of Baghdad a few years ago, and you can see why- either side of the road just looks like you're about to see yourself on al-Jazeera in grainy VHS footage getting sprayed with nitrogen-packed goodness. But now we've set up Iraqi checkpoints every kilometer and run clearance missions several times a day, so the road is simply too difficult to try and sabotage for an insurgent of mild to medium spiciness. Now and then an especially bold maneuver succeeds, but most of the danger has shifted outside of Baghdad, on roads looking similar to this one.

 

So maybe driving isn't your cup of chai. Would you prefer flying, then?

 

I don't blame you; most people do. This is the vehicle of choice for putting around Iraq by air: the UH-60 Blackhawk. It can seat 11 comfortably, but why be comfortable? You're flying! Plus, you are probably traveling with at least two pieces of luggage, and in a Blackhawk, you go in first, and your luggage goes in on top of you, stuffed into any nook that still exists between the passengers and the ceiling. It's like the crew chiefs got their training at Fed Ex. The view from the back looking forward isn't much, but I think I prefer the view out the side:

 

Iraq from the air: it's like you aren't even there, but only looking at postcard pictures. Even on a muddy, rainy day, it still has a certain charm.

 

Hey, speaking of the weather, it snowed in Baghdad on Thursday! We stepped outside to go catch our Blackhawk flight to Camp Victory, and lo, white flakes, from the sky. I would have taken a picture if the snow was sticking, but it wasn't, and the flakes wouldn't have showed up on my camera. It would have looked like a February day in Seattle, and that's nothing much to look at. But the Iraqis were delighted, and Captain Loay told me he had never seen snow in Baghdad before. His father called from Samarra and said the whole ground was white up north. It was like the war stopped for the day, and the kids came out to catch the flakes and the adults stayed inside and lit the kerosene lamps and called their parents to exclaim about the weather and ask grandma if she could remember such a day as this. There wasn't a single attack in Baghdad, showing that even a terrorist can be impressed by little white flakes. We might be able to end the fighting all together if we can figure out a way to give Baghdad a snow day every now and then. As for me, I'm certain that this year has been colder than the last winter I was here. Every morning when we go out to ready the vehicles, everyone is bundled up like we're invading the Falklands.

Holy Shiite, it's been cold- 35 degrees on the average morning. Of course, this summer it will still be hotter than Prometheus' rear, and I'll be complaining about that in six months, I'm sure. We never seem to invade countries with pleasant climates. Either we're freezing off our buttocks in North Korea, or sweating them off in Hanoi and Baghdad. Maybe dictatorships tend to settle in harsher regions because democracy requires large amounts of people to venture outdoors on a daily basis, and that's a bit much to ask in some places. You don't often hear about throngs of popular unrest in Portugal or Rio. Which is too bad. I wouldn't mind an invasion of the Riviera this summer. A peaceful one, albeit. Would be a shame to rubble up Monaco.

This cold month also brings the Muslim holiday of Ashura, which for Iraqi Shias is a ten day commemoration of the death of Hussein. Hussein was the grandson of Muhommed and the son of the first imam, Ali. He was killed on a battlefield outside the current town of Karbala, south of Baghdad, and there is a prominent shrine marking the spot. If you want to be hard core you can make a pilgrimage there yourself, but for most Shia they celebrate the holiday by fasting first, then demonstrating in their local neighborhoods by walking around in black robes and whips, except for the last day, which features white robes and swords. Major Kareem is Shia and will probably celebrate it this year with his sons, and he even offered to pick me up an Ashura whip, which would be fun to receive. The whips don't hurt, necessarily, but the idea is to walk around the block in a mournful manner, whipping yourself lightly on the back and shoulders while crying, "Ah, Hussein!" Then on the tenth day you dress in all white and tap yourself on your forehead with the blade of your sword, so the blood can show up on your white outfit, and give an especially lugubrious performance, hopefully with tears, if you can muster them. I haven't seen an Ashura demonstration yet, and I probably won't, given the privacy that the Iraqi Army prefers to give them. So no pictures of that, most likely- you can google it to get an idea. I think it's an interesting concept to have a holiday where you are supposed to be sad. It seems counterintuitive to a holiday, and I wonder if Shia children ever experience guilt that they are actually excited and happy to see Ashura coming up, during a season when they are supposed to be somber and glum. As a boy I sometimes felt guilty that I wasn't totally thrilled to show up at church on Easter Sunday when the whole decor screamed CELEBRATE! HE HAS RISEN, so I wonder if my Muslim teenage counterpart ever felt a need to repent of his secret joy as his family drove down to Karbala and the whole Ashura spirit in the air proclaimed MOURN, FOR HE HAS FALLEN. Shia religious custom seems to commemorate the more sobering times of their history, though, in a similar way that Jews often commemorate theirs. They are both religions that have had a tough history, I guess, but I wonder if it's healthy to dwell of the worst of times. I mean, I feel bad for Hussein, don't get me wrong. To be struck down like that in the prime of life is quite a shame. But I wonder if there isn't any more cheerful news to root through to turn into an annual event. It would be like commemorating St. Peter's lack of faith on the Sea of Galilee by making a pilgrimage to Lake Erie each year for ten days and drowning a chicken. I think I'd break out a sword on the last day, too.

 

Alright, it's time for more signs! As you know, I'm a big fan of signs, and signs out of context are the funniest kind. This is one outside the entrance to a dining facility at Camp Liberty:

 

I love this one because it gives you no clue as to what those measures might be. Just, you know, random measures. To fight terrorism. You feel like the guard of the door might whip out a blow dart and fire a shot into your neck, then roll your collapsed body into an X-ray screener. Or men dressed in black suits might come out from behind the T-wall and lead your dining companion away for questioning. Just random measures. Sorry for the inconvenience.

 

Bad focus, I know, but I still like this one. Mainly because it's a sign that only exists because people have to be told not to touch unexploded ordnance. A rocket thuds into the ground fifty meters from your position, and whoa! Check it out! Something to mail home to the wife! This is also the kind of sign you would want in your college dorm room, or stuck on your guitar case. DON'T TOUCH DUDS. Good advice, in both war and peace.

 

This one isn't war related, but it's still my favorite. Because this guy isn't just tripping. He's going over with gusto, hands thrown in the air. Stick figures always seem to display emotion in their body language that real people just don't possess. I've never seen anyone really trip like this, reaching desperately skyward for something to hold on to. Usually when you trip you just lurch forward awkwardly and either bite it or you don't. But stick figures do it with style, and our boy on the sign is no exception.

 

 

This is a sign that only crusty old sergeants are allowed to post, and I'm glad they do. Makes a military work environment uniquely military. Reminds me that I'm not in the corporate sector, where it's still uncouth to make signs that overtly threaten people. I'm fond of signs that are generally pushy and unfriendly, because it's a very human experience to be insulted by an inanimate object. It's something animals will just never understand.

 

This one is also pushy. And logical, too. No one needs to hear slamming doors.

 

This last one isn't pushy, but it's a surprise treat for you:

It's an Iraqi anti-terrorism sign!

The civilian pumping gas says, "I have to fill up my vehicle, but my pocket is empty!"

The terrorist says, "We in the militia appreciate all your support!"

The line at the bottom says, "Report activity that supports terrorism." And then lists the numbers to call. The sign, of course, taps into the truth that most of the black market in Iraq goes to support militia and criminals, so buying fuel and goods from underground sources just goes into the pockets of the people who keep the city poor. Not a bad work of public advertising, all told.

 

Alright, that just about blogs me out. Next week: the recruiting drive for the Iraqi Army. Pictures with our friends. And other things that just might happen between now and next week- you never know. Until then, stay warm and safe, wherever your travels might take you.

You all rule,

 

Jeff