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Just
before the war began my crew and I were flying in
support of Operation Southern Watch, enforcing the
Southern No Fly Zone. An Iraqi MiG 25 attacked us
from Balad Airbase, causing us a moment or two of
anxiety before he turned away to avoid our fighter
cover. I can't tell you how satisfying it is to be
sitting at Balad now, writing this to
you.
It
was a pretty flight out here this afternoon.
Everything is greening up here and everywhere we
went people were working in their fields. The
fields are patchworks of 20X30 foot plots,
separated by hand-dug irrigation canals. They are
everywhere. I can't imagine the work involved in
digging so many trenches, but I see the felaheen at
it everywhere. They bend over their hoes, raising a
fair cloud of dust. They straighten to wave as we
fly over.
As
you get away from the city the houses change from
the haphazardly stacked cubes of cinderblock. In
the country the houses spread out a little, and
assume some individuality. Some are surrounded by
the ubiquitous cinderblock walls, but others
feature stockades of lashed-together palm fronds.
Today seemed to have been wash day for most.
Brightly colored lines of laundry fluttered on
roofs everywhere.
Again
we flew low over palm groves. The dates - long a
symbol of Iraq and essential to its economy - are
being harvested now. The orange-colored dates and
the stems from which they depend are a bright
surprise at the center of the green fronds.
Interspersed between the palm groves are wide
expanses of vineyard. Olive trees are common too,
and eucalyptus trees. All flash by beneath us with
an occasional dog, herd of goats, or pair of
cattle.
Balad
Airbase - one of Saddam's biggest airfields - now
bristles with the equipment that destroyed him. Our
black-green helicopters crouch at one side of the
field, and on the other, the sharp noses of our
fighter jets poke out from the hardened aircraft
shelters that used to house MiGs.
I
visited one of these huge hangars today. It was an
amazing irony to see our aircraft sitting in a
hangar, the walls of which still bore warnings and
labels written in Arabic. Some of the warnings "It
is forbidden to smoke" still apply, but the rooms
with labels like "Weapons section" and "radio
section" have been put to other uses. My hosts were
amused to find out what the labels said. They'd
been working there for months without knowing.
As
we stood in the hangar a siren went off, warning us
of incoming rounds. We walked into the back of the
hangar and heard an impact far away. Almost every
day at just about the same time, someone lobs a
mortar or two toward the base. It's a desultory,
half-hearted effort and it's met with derision
here. Life, and the mission, continue without
pause.
This
trip started well enough, but when I got here none
of the people I really wanted to talk to were
available. The guy who was in charge of me took me
to see the predator squadron as a sort of
consolation. It was interesting to see these
unmanned aerial vehicles and to learn about how
they work, but not what I was there for.
Then
my handler took me to a trailer where I could spend
the night. My trailer had two window units and I
turned them both to heat because it was getting
very cold out. I'd been given a sheet and a blanket
but no pillow, but that was OK. I rolled my pants
up and used them to rest my head on. My show time
for my flight out was 0530. I arranged with my
handler for the folks I needed to coordinate with
to meet me at my trailer at 0400. We would go from
there to a secure facility where we could talk, and
then they would take me to the helipad. I hit the
sack at midnight, hoping to get some much-needed
sleep.
No
such luck. First, one of the ACs made a loud bang,
just as I drifted off, and began filling the
trailer with the smell of melting plastic. I
unplugged it and checked on the other one. It
wasn't burning, but it was pumping out cold air.
Nothing I did changed that. I left it on, just for
the white noise, because it was screening out the
sound of people crunching by on the gravel outside
my door. At about 0200 the AC stopped running. The
sudden silence woke me up. I heard people outside
talking about the electricity being out, and then I
became aware of the "thump" of mortars exploding in
the distance. I went back to sleep.
I
woke just before 0400, got dressed, pulled the
sheet and blanket off my bed and waited for my
ride. I was freezing. I lay on my bed with the
light on (the electricity had come back on) wrapped
in my blanket. Nobody showed up. I gave them until
0500 before I headed out on my own. About all I
knew of my location on the base was that I was
pretty near the helipad, but that I wasn't supposed
to be wandering around. Great. I found a trailer
with lights on and went inside. It was a medical
office. I asked the inhabitants where the helipad
was and they had no idea. By an amazing stroke of
luck I had the phone number for space-available
travel and they kindly agreed to call them for
directions. The conversation went like:
"Is
this space A travel? No? Do you have a number for
them? Well I have a captain here who's trying to
catch his flight to Baghdad." He spells my name for
them. "OK. He's on your list? Good. How do we get
him to you?" He writes directions. At the end he
says, "Park at the sign that says "Space-Available
travel?"
So
I got a ride there and made my flight on time.
Balad
airbase has a lot of captured equipment parked off
to the side; rows of MiGs, tanks, and armored
personnel carriers. Until recently it was possible
to climb around on it, write your name on it; do
whatever you wanted to it. Until, that is, a young
soldier climbed into the cockpit of one of the
jets. He was messing around and apparently pulled
the ejection lever. The seat launched into the air
and he was killed. Now nobody is allowed on the
captured equipment.
When
I got back to Bagdad I stopped in at the chaplains'
office. I'd stopped by a couple days ago to see how
they were doing. It's always fun to drop in
unannounced and tell chaplains that you're praying
for them. It always catches them by surprise. Today
I was in time for lunch, so a couple chaplains and
I went together. One of them, a navy commander,
asked me what I was thankful for during this
Thanksgiving season. I told him I was thankful, and
very aware lately, that many people are praying for
me. We had a great lunch together and after our
conversation I was encouraged.
I
dropped in on my chaplain buddies again today. The
first time I was in their office I noticed they had
some wooden crosses about 3 feet tall standing
around. There was one by each desk. I figured they
were just being stored there when they weren't
needed in the chapel. When I visited today though I
saw that I was wrong. In addition to religious
symbolism, Crosses make ideal places to hang your
flak vest and Kevlar helmet.
When
I was a kid I used to get over hiccups by
anticipating them. I would hold my breath waiting
for the next one to come along until pretty soon
they went away. I discovered tonight that I've
adopted the same approach when it comes to rocket
and mortar attacks. I realized I was walking along
with half my attention directed skyward, expecting
at any moment to see the telltale streaks across
the sky. I was listening for the thump of the
launch, thinking, I guess, that if I was constantly
prepared to hear a launch I'd never again hear the
impact.
It
doesn't work.
Tonight
has been calm compared to last night, but some
clown is still out there launching and leaving;
clearing out of the launch site before a counter
battery or reaction team can clean his
clock.
At
one base they got tired of the evening mortar
attack so they set up a counter battery. Radar
detects the incoming round, determines the point of
origin and provides a firing solution to the 155mm
howitzers standing nearby, muzzles pointed at the
sky. Before the incoming hits the ground, 155mm of
deterrence is on its way. Right back at
you.
Of
course it's trickier in cities. If we weren't so
concerned with avoiding civilian casualties we
could pretty much stop the attacks in one night. We
don't do that though. Unlike our enemies, we place
too high a value on the lives of innocent
civilians. This is a point I've never heard
addressed on the news. Some clown on the BBC the
other night was saying that tens of thousands of
Iraqi civilians had died because of American
aggression. What nonsense. I'd be glad to host the
the man who said that. I'd let him spend the night
in one of our flimsy trailers, listening to the
shriek of rockets overhead, feeling the shock of
the explosion and the rattle of stones on his roof.
By morning he'd be screaming for reprisals in the
local village.
Not
us. We take it. Sometimes on the chin. In ones and
twos our people are injured or killed. We mourn
them. We pack their personal effects and send them
home to their families and we press on, giving up
our safety in order to assure that of Iraqi
civilians. We don't do it for recognition, and we
don't expect to hear about it on the news. It sure
ticks me off though when I hear someone saying
exactly the opposite of what I know to be
true.
Steven
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