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It
was beginning to look as if I'd never get out of
Baghdad, except to return to my original station.
I've been trying since I got here to visit some of
the ground units we support, and have been
frustrated in every attempt. As far as visiting
Mosul is concerned, that frustration was nearly
balanced with relief. The news has been full of
stories about attacks in that area, and everyone
I've spoken here who's made the trip has told me,
"You don't want to go there."
That
may be so, but a certain (sometimes large)
percentage of this job has to do with performing
tasks I'd just as soon not. When it comes right
down to it, there's not a whole lot of choice. But
when it began to look, after several days of trying
to get on a flight, as if Mosul was just not an
option, I adopted the attitude, "well, I certainly
did my best, and if I can't get there, nobody can
say it was for lack of trying."
That's
what I was thinking last night when I was getting
ready for bed, which is also when I got the message
that I'd been approved for a flight that would
leave this morning. I wasn't sure whether to be
relieved or disappointed. Before I get any further
into that though, let me tell you a little about
where I'm staying now. I'm still in Camp Victory,
which is in Baghdad. Yesterday though, I was
evicted from my temporary lodging. I'd been staying
in the trailer of a colonel who just left the
office I'm visiting. Since he departed the same day
I arrived, the folks in his office just gave me his
key. Very neat, very simple.
Of
course, neat and simple are not the way we like to
do things. I'd started growing pretty cozy in my
nice big trailer by the time someone at billeting
figured out that the colonel had never turned in
his key. They came knocking on my door to find it.
I was still asleep at the time. They weren't happy
to see me, and I wasn't happy to see them either.
We arrived at a compromise, which is to say, they
tossed me out on my ear.
One
of the folks I'd been meeting with here a day or
two prior had asked me if I needed a room. At the
time I didn't, but I thanked him for the offer.
When I called him and asked if the offer still
stood he was glad to help me out. He gave me a
number to call and in no time I had an invitation
to stay at the Air Force House.
I
knew roughly where to look for the Air Force House,
and had a description to help me find it when I got
in the vicinity, so I packed everything back into
my rucksack, tied it to my back (on top of my flak
vest, of course) and had myself a good trudge
across the camp. I guess I'm getting old. 80 pounds
of gear on one's back should not cause so much
discomfort, I would think, unless that were the
case. Maybe it was the way the plates in my flak
vest kept trying to roll the straps of the ruck
sack off my shoulders, or the way my gunbelt was
digging into my hip. Maybe it was the 3 inch layer
of gravel that covers the camp, or maybe it was a
combination of all those things. All I know for
sure is that I walked only about a mile and a half,
but by the time I was done I was beat.
It
was worth it though. The AF House is one of the
lesser palaces that form a circle around the palace
I already told you about. Saddam built this one for
his daughter. It's about what you'd expect a tyrant
to build for his daughter - large, ostentatiousk,
opulent. I like it. Clambering through the door
with my pistol on my hip and my helmet on and my
pack on my back, I felt like one of the guys of the
82nd Airborne who swaggered into Hitler's Eagle's
Nest. The staff here put me up in a cot on the 4th
floor. It's an open bay dorm, which I'm sharing
with about 8 other guys, but there's a bathroom
just a few steps away and there's a laundry room on
the first floor. In my book, this place gets 4
stars.
So
that's the place I was invited to leave in order to
fly to Mosul, where, according to everyone I've
spoken to, I was bound to get shot - or at least
shot at. I know I'm being a little tongue in cheek
in telling this, but I'm actually not exagerating.
Every---single---person who's flown up there has
gotten shot at on the way in, been mortared while
there, and been shot at on the flight back. One of
ours was killed in a mortar attack there just last
week, and a senior master sergeant here described
precisely to me the sounds the bullets made when
they went slamming around inside his
helicopter.
Well
you can imagine how I felt, having just landed the
best billeting arrangement available, only to have
the sweet deal soured by the news that I was going
into Indian territory. I thought to myself that I
would file this experience under "be careful what
you ask for." Surprisingly, I had a very good
night's sleep. I can't explain how that's possible,
because I can tell you I went to bed scared. This
is just another situation where I'm certain that
peoples' prayers made all the difference. I said a
few of my own, lay down, and before I knew it my
alarm was going off. It's the best sleep I've had
since I deployed.
I
grabbed my stuff, left a note for the staff to let
them know that I hoped to be back tonight, but if
not I'd be back as soon as possible, and then
carried my gear to the office I've been working out
of. There a very grim major handed me the spare
magazine from his pistol. He was handing me 15 more
shots of 9mm ammo, but the expression on his face
would have been more appropriate with a cyanide
capsule. He drove me to the helipad in silence. It
was kind of him to drive me, but he really creeped
me out, and I was glad to sit alone in the ready
room for a while.
I
happened upon a copy of The Hobbit a while back,
and this was my first chance to make some headway
with it. I haven't read it since I was 8 or 9, and
have always meant to have another look at it. I
couldn't help feeling very close to old Bilbo every
time Tolkien mentioned how much he was missing his
cozy hobbit hole.
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Air
Force House in Baghdad
(click for a larger image)
This
is the inside of Al Faw Palace
(click for larger image)
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