JAG in the Box

1-2-2

If you're wondering what's going on in my neck of the woods, then the answer is easy enough: work. It consumes me. I like my job here, but it doesn't leave much time to do anything else. And when it does, "update the blog" isn't always at the top of the list. But guilt is pretty compelling, so here we are.

My last post dealt with all the conveniences and niceties of life here; this time I'd like to go the other way. There are lots of little inconveniences and down right pains with life around here, but there's one big one I'd like to concentrate on at present. Well, actually, there are about 122 I'd like to concentrate on: the 122 steps I have to climb every time I want to go to the office.

I work on the 6th floor of a bombed-out building. For reasons I think are obvious, the Army isn't super-keen on installing elevators (which is probably for the best - they can't even manage to keep air-conditioners working in our spaces for more than a few days). That means that whenever I need to go to the office, I have to take a hike up 122 loathsome steps. Yes, I've counted. And for those of you who aren't mathematically inclined, that's one-hundred and twenty-two little instruments of torture. 1-2-2 little leg-melters. Cankle-killers. Knee-bombs.

Now, I'm in better shape here than I've been in a while, but 122 steps in 115 degree heat can wear on you. The stairs aren't open to the sunlight, so it's probably not 115 in there all the time, but it definitely ain't air-conditioned. And even if it was, climbing 122 steps for the 4th or 5th time in a day is like slowly trying to push your head through a brick wall.

Until about a month ago, we were on the 5th floor (a measly 97 steps). Until right before we moved, the bathrooms on the floor didn't work, so we had to trek it up and down every time we needed to answer the call of nature (which we minimized, clearly). And the worst is when you have to make the trek down and back with body armor, which many of our attorneys have to do every weekday. That adds around 50lbs or so, depending on the size of your armor. Not. Fun.

I've recently begun talking to the steps - cursing, to be honest - as I draw close to them. I used to think I could bend them to my will, intent on deriving some physical benefit from my many trips up and down them day in and day out. But recently they broke me. I just stood at the base the other evening staring up them. If I hadn't been wearing camouflage, I might have cried. (As you know, it's physically impossible to cry in camouflage.) I ultimately just turned and walked away. Work, that night at least, would just wait.

All of us deal with the stairs differently. One person takes out his frustration on the steps by stomping on each of them, individually, as he clods up the mountainous hell. Occasionally I have heard him murmuring to them under his breath as well. One person, apparently embracing his captor, concocted a "contest" to see who could walk up and down the stairs the most times in an hour wearing body armor. It ended up being a contest between he and himself. In 56 tortuous minutes, he made it up 13 times before going back to his room to spuke.

I'll just stick to cursing them.

In other news, our mustache contest is in full swing. Of the 12 or so who started, only about 8 remain. The two-month competition is slowly grinding to a close, and my glorious stache is, conservatively, in contention for the bronze medal (one guy has a full-blown acre of mustache between his lip and his nose, and this other guy - the step-stomper - is Indian, and well all know that nothing can beat an Indian guy's mustache). As you can see below, I'm trying to nurse a flat-top in an effort to accentuate the out-of-reg stache. Hopefully I'll post more pics (particularly ones of the other contenders) before it's all said and done.

In closing, I'm finally halfway through the deployment - a little more than half, actually - and it feels good. A few pals and I are going on R&R in about a month, which will be a nice break. That said, I'm ready to head home. October can't come soon enough.

For those of you in DC, Melissa and the girls are back; give them a call or swing by to see them - I'm sure they could use the company!

- pac

 

I'm fine. Really.

In light of some recent posting by others [*frustrated scowl*], I find it necessary to describe my life here in the IZ in a little more detail, emphasizing exactly how comfortable we really are. Yes, we are in a war zone, and yes, there are constant reminders of that fact (many less subtle than others), but in large part, I have a good life.

The workday here typically lasts around 12-14 hours. Now, that may sound like a lot, and I guess it is. But there are a lot of things to break up the day. First of all, we work 7 days a week, but since my unit's work is inextricably tied to the work of the Iraqis, we have weekends. Even though we work through the weekends, those days are less stressful than weekdays, and so we enjoy them much more. We typically come in to the office an hour or so later, and just enjoy a slightly slower tempo. It's easier on these days for me to skype and blog and read, although since our weekends are Fridays and Saturdays (Friday is the Muslim holy day), it can make scheduling skype sessions with folks other than Melissa a little more challenging.

We're also supposed to get a half-day off every week and one full-day off every month. Those are hit or miss, of course. Since being here I've managed to take off two half-days (today being my second), and no full days. Maybe next weekend.

Weekday mornings are hectic, but they're the most exciting part of our work. Afternoons are for unwinding and planning for the next day. Most of us exercise for a few hours every afternoon, which breaks up the day nicely. The gym facilities here are amazing, and we take full advantage of them. I've been in country for over 1 month now, and I can count the number of days I've not worked out on one hand. I'd like to say I can see some appreciable differences in my physique, but I can't really. I run for a full 30 minutes or more every other day, but I still feel like I might die at the end of it. Just when I start feeling good about the amount of weight I can lift, a lady will walk up and ask to borrow my weights when I'm finished. Part of it might be that I still eat like a 5th grader, but I'm comfortable enough with myself now to know that my eating habits are pretty much here to stay (along with a belly reminiscent a first-trimester pregnant lady).

The food is decent. It's free, which means I won't complain too much. We eat at the "DFAC," which is basically just a big cafeteria, but they try hard to spruce things up a little. There are a few other DFAC's of substantially superior quality within the IZ, and we travel to those when we've just had all we can take of the one on our FOB (Forward Operating Base). Those are great days; before deployment, I never realized how much eating with real silverware could improve your entire dining experience.

The food itself varies. Tonight, for example, I had a chicken sandwich, a [very overcooked] ribeye, and a hearty proportion of grease with a side of potato wedges. I splurged and had a scoop of Baskin Robbins ice cream (with about 4 ounces of chocolate syrup, of course), which is actually a little unusual for me. Those who know me well probably won't believe it, but tonight's the first time in several weeks that I haven't had a fresh spinach salad with dinner. I will admit though, as another friend here puts it: the spinach, etc, is really just a vessel to transport the salad dressing into my mouth.

We have a pretty good-sized MWR (Morale, Welfare, and Recreation) facility, complete with lots of movies to check out, a few big-screen tv's, couches, pool and ping-pong tables, and a modest library. I recently discovered that there's an Xbox in one back room, but I doubt I'll really ever have the time or motivation to use it. Regardless, it's there if I wanted to.

There are several local vendors on our FOB, and more than a few have a huge assortment of DVD's for sale. To say that the movies selection is pretty up-to-date is an understatement. Star Trek, for example, was available here a few days before release. Of course I would never contribute to copyright infringement, so I refrain. :-) It really adds something when you're watching a DVD and the shadow of a person in a movie seat stands up in front of the image and walks out to buy more popcorn.

We have internet in our rooms. It's abysmally slow and horrifically expensive, but it works. I can skype. I can facebook. I can check my e-mail and read SI.com. And I'm up to date on Lost. So I'm happy.

Best of all, I have good people around me. As with anyplace, people make the experience. The drawn-out lunches, relaxing cigar nights, and ping-pong smack talk keeps us sane.

So don't feel too bad for me. I'm just fine. And when I'm not, there's always more Baskin Robbins.

pac

 

I [HEART] Route Irish

"Route Irish" is the name that's been affectionately given to the thoroughfare between the Baghdad International Airport / Camp Victory complex and the International Zone (formerly the "Green Zone") in downtown Baghdad. It was once one of the most dangerous roads in the world, and while it's improved, it's still not exactly like a Sunday morning drive to big church. For example, one doesn't typically ride in vehicles call "Rhinos" or "Cougars" to Sunday School. Well, maybe this guy does. I mean, come on, "Zoo Guy?" Was "Mr. I Love Animals" already taken?

Anyway, I now live in the International Zone. And for the record, apparently "International Zone" is secret code for "awesome place where everyone carries big guns." I could just as well be on Mars. Well, Mars with a wild-west feel. And crumbly bombed-out buildings. And regular Muslim calls-to-prayer. And Turkish barbers. I'll explain that last one later.

I work in the same place I live, or at least within a short walk there. I'm finding new details out about my job everyday and slowly settling in on a schedule. I'm also still figuring out how much of it I can publicly describe on the internet, and how many pictures I can post about it. I'll err on the side of safety at this point and not post or say much, but it's pretty stinkin' cool. I like it here, and I'm gonna like my job. It'll probably be a little monotonous at first, but it'll get better. And I should be helping this country, as well as our exit therefrom.

We arrived in country on a C-10 that left Kuwait in the dead of night. We were sandwiched in the back on jump seats like cattle (but smellier) with our gear stuffed in on pallets behind us. They killed the lights before we landed, and I responded by playing Creedence on my ipod. Yes, I'm a tool. But not a Fortunate Son.

We stayed in tents a few nights while checking in, at which time I was advised that I'd be separated from the guys who I'd grown pretty close to during training. Kinda sucky, but then again we'd probably have ended up at a court martial had we stayed together. Can you be court-martialed for things like this?

So to summarize, I'm here, I'm healthy, I'm safe, I'm well-fed, and for the first time in a long time, I have a place I can call my own for more than a few days. It ain't much, but it's mine.

Well, mine and 2 other dudes and their 8+ seabags. At least it's a start, right?

 

And the time has finally come...

At long last, the training and planning and the thumb-twiddling appears to be over. Within the next few days, we'll finally be in Iraq. I'm not exactly dying to be in a place where hundreds and hundreds of people want me dead, but I'm sure ready to get this show on the road.

The culmination of our training and our time here in Kuwait came yesterday in the way of a 15km practice convoy in armed-up HUMVEES. These aren't your mother's hummers, nor are they the classic military ones I've driven before. The doors on them alone weigh more than 400 lbs, and they're developed to [better] withstand IED blasts. They drive kinda like the moon would if you put 4 wheels and a driver seat on it.

For some unknown reason, I was selected to be the lead vehicle commander in our convoy. As I knew then and came to find out better later, this was no small task. During the 2004-05 time frame, the life expectancy of a lead vehicle convoy commander in Iraq must have been something like about 15 minutes. The only more dangerous job would be the lead vehicle gunner, who would probably survive about 14 minutes less. Because it's a pretty fun gig though, I put in a good word to get my buddy Mike in that spot. You can read his account and see some of his pics here.

I exaggerate I'm sure, but they're dangerous jobs, and ones we'd pretty much never do in theater. The commander job basically entails me riding shotgun in the front vehicle in a convoy of 7 vehicles, manning the radio, telling the lead vehicle and others behind me what to do, navigating for the entire convoy, all while watching for all kind of trouble. They want us to be familiar with how to do convoys though, and someone has to do it. You can see me pretending to know what I'm talking about in one of the pics below.


Our vehicle was destroyed by a fake (but loud) IED in less than 15 minutes. There were a couple hundred local national participants on the course with us serving as actors; there were houses, moving cars trying to get into our convoy, bridges and overpasses...it was a pretty significant evolution. We came under sniper fire, it diverted my attention, and then kablooey...an improvised ammunition exploded 10 feet from my door. Fail.

Things got significantly better from there. The pressure sufficiently relieved, I was able to navigate the rest of the convoy the rest of the way without much more trouble. We came under fire a few more times and had to jump several sand burms at high speed (which was wicked cool, needless to say), but we made it out pretty well. Roundabouts, intersections, vehicle bound IEDs, suicide bombers and kids throwing rocks...all failed miserably. And best of all we had a good time. Mike got to fake shoot a crazy lady as she ran out of a building trying to blow us up; I've never seen a smile quite so wide as his after that.

All this training took place in a different area of Kuwait than where we'd been staying. Very remote, only a few miles from the Iraqi border. True desert. We were there for about three days and subsisted exclusively on MREs. Well, most people subsisted on MRE's. I ate a few, but survived mostly on a large cache of extra long slim jims and mini chips ahoy I shoved in my massive cargo shorts shortly before leaving. For those of you lucky enough to have never eaten an MRE, consider yourself blessed. Some are actually edible, but those go quickly. The second morning I pulled "chicken breast" from the box, and dug in heartily. It smelled like cat food, but tasted much, much worse. I was undeterred...for about 3 minutes. I caught the throw up in my mouth, swallowed hard, and snapped into a slim jim, confident that the real Tatooine would have much better fare.

God bless those guys who eat those things for days on end. I knew there was a reason I never joined the Army.

While there in the desert, we slept on the floor of a tent - the same tent that we attended class in, etc. It was air conditioned, so I couldn't complain much, even though we only were really there during the night, when it's relatively pleasant outside. I experienced my first sand storm there, which was pretty neat...until I had to use the head. For the record, if ever you must chose between using the potty in a sandstorm or holding it, choose the later. I chose poorly.

Notwithstanding the above, life is entirely good. I'm eating well, working out, enjoying a good internet connection and frequent communication home. I have no idea what Iraq holds, but I'm excited to get there...and get back.

Love to everyone back home, and Happy Mothers Day one week early; don't know when I'll get to do this again, so I wanted to go ahead and get that outta the way!

- pac

 

Sandfog

Wow. This place is sandy!

I mean, sure, I knew there was sand here. I've been to Bahrain a couple of times and the UAE once, so I know the middle east is sandy. But the base we're on here in Kuwait is out in the middle of nowhere (relatively), and the sand here is, at times, just like walking on the beach. If you've ever walked on the beach in shoes, you know how much energy you can expend just walking from point A to B. Whenever possible, we try to stay on gravel paths that the Army has laid for us.

Then there's the wind. I definitely didn't expect the wind. On the one hand, a breeze is welcome, since it offers some minor reprieve from the 100+ temperatures (and it's not even summer yet). On the other hand, the wind can really kick up the sand. And the sand here is so fine, it gets into everything...especially the eyes. One of the drill sergeants in South Carolina told us that one of the largest imports into Iraq and Kuwait was sand; odd I thought at first, but as he explained and as I now see, the sand they have here is too fine to adhere into anything like concrete. It's almost bad enough to make me reconsider rejecting the Army's direction to not wear contact lenses...but not quite. I hate glasses more than I hate sand in the eyes.

The blowing sand creates a hazy fog on the horizon up about 30 degrees into the sky; pretty cool looking, actually, even though it does contribute to the absolute desolate environment. The sun is often accompanied by one of those cool huge circular rainbows around it too; again, contributing to that feeling that I'm on Tatooine rather than Earth. "But Uncle Owen, I was going to Toshi Station to pick up some power converters!"

This morning I awoke to thunder. Loud, close, rolling thunder. I expected to go outside to find a monsoon, but was greeted by only a few drops here and there. I didn't get up in time to see the lightning, but people tell me it was amazing.

Living conditions here are a mixed bag. They're mostly letting us get acclimated to the climate and time change, so for the past few days we've mostly just been sitting around. We sleep on cots in 8 or 10 man tents, have to walk to porta potties to use the facilities, and take advantage of group showers in huge conex boxes. The water pressure is good though, and the showers are hot, so I won't complain. Occasionally you'll even see special porta potties that are bigger and have running water and nicer toilets. They've been aptly dubbed "Cadillacs," and are where we go when we really need to take care of, well, business in the head.

The food is good, even in the cafeteria, and if you get tired of that, they have things like Planet Smoothie, Taco Bell, McDonalds, and Subway. All of them are, of course, a little "off" in most things, like the meat tasting a little funny or something, so we mostly stick to the DFAC (cafeteria) which enjoys the added feature of being free.

Best of all, the USO is here, and they have plenty of things to keep us busy - 20 tvs with xbox and playstation, a huge room dubbed the "man-cave" with 20 lounge chairs and a movie screen, free telephone access to the states, etc. Just last night, about 5 of us stayed up til 0100 playing Monoploy and Risk. I lost. Terribly. They cheated.

In fact, I'm sitting at my laptop in the middle of a Starbucks right now. They do a good job of making you feel comfortable. We're not expecting the same in Iraq, needless to say, but I'm basking in it while it lasts.

In the next few days, we're headed to another location out in the middle of nowhere for some maneuvers. Conditions there will be even more primitive; no cots, no Cadillacs, and definitely no Starbucks. Just us, some tents, our sleeping bags, and some HUMVEES. They say camels, scorpions, and sand spiders are normal occurrences. I'll take the camera and get some good pictures then. Hopefully we'll be able to fend off the Tusken raiders.

This is the little area in my tent I call home. For a better set of pictures, a little more exposition, and some other JAG rambling, check out my buddy Mike's blog here. I've also linked it on the side of the page. He's clearly put a higher priority on blogging than me...

Hope life in the states is good for everyone. After I finished blogging in Maine, I secretly stepped outside, waited for everyone to walk away, and bent down to kiss the ground in the great United States goodbye - a tradition I started the first time I left the states for Italy, and one I continue to this day. I miss it already.

- pac

 

Day Zero

Today is the day. Departure day. "Day Zero" on the count toward coming home. I've never been more ready for "Day One."

We woke up promptly this morning at 0700 as directed, then went about the business of waiting for our 1730 flight. You stay classy, Army.

Now I sit, Indian-style, in the floor of the airport in Bangor, Maine, enjoying blisteringly fast internet along with 30 other sailors huddled close to power outlets like pigs to a trough. One last shot at the internet, phone calls home, and Americana in general. We're living it up.

Say what you want about this "Narmy" (Navy+Army=Narmy) beast we've been thrown into, but they sure do a good job of making you feel good about deploying - the local Columbia, SC Marine Corps League and American Legion gave us a big sendoff at the airport, complete with food, goodies, cheers, and more handshakes and neck-hugs than you can shake a stick at. Same holds true here in Bangor - military supporters abound. Awesome.

Seeing the red Marine Corps League hats made my heart smile, and I regaled more than a few about dad's status in their proud organization. I half expected to see his face somewhere in that crowd of red covers.

In fact, some guy just walked over and randomly took a mug shot of me and tells me that it will be available to view here after a few hours; something about clicking on today's date and the 8 o'clock hour. If you click, be sure to take special note of the short hair and three-day mustache I've got going. And yeah, I lost a bet.

Every person in this room is juggling a simultaneous sense of dread and excitement. There's comfort in this unspoken bond.

I'll close for now. No telling how long it'll be before I can check back in again; one thing about the Kuwaiti desert - it's great for convoy training for Baghdad ops, but not so good for wifi. We'll see. Until then, love to all, and pray for me as I try to sleep through Madagascar 2 on the plane in a few minutes. Don't get me wrong: I'm glad we're not making the trip on a C5 strapped to the wall like paratroopers, but it feels a little odd taking your pistol out of its holster, shoving it under your tray table, kicking off your combat boots and settling in to a little animated movie about dancing lions. Just saying.

- pac

 

A Slow Train To...

As is typical for me, my blogging has been terrible of late. Some of it is laziness, but most of it is the abysmally slow internet connection here in the barracks. I guess that happens when 60 guys are trying to download tv shows all at the same time.

The last two weeks have been, well, interesting. I'd like to say it's been all fun, but to be honest it hasn't. Rising at 0400, turning in at 2100, standing watch some nights, training during the day that either glosses over important stuff or overcomplicates the easy stuff...basically normal Army activity.

But some stuff has been pretty cool. We've burned through a lot of rounds on some pretty cool guns and trained on some other useful topics like land nav, which required us to find waypoints in the woods with only a map, protractor, and compass - a useful skill, albeit one I'll probably forget in short order. I could probably also disassemble, clean, and reassemble an M16 and a M9 in my sleep at this point; of course neither would actually be clean nor properly reassembled.

There's a lot of things I won't miss: chow at the DFAC, suprise MREs for lunch, wearing 60lbs of body armor for hours on end...but then I realize how the kids doing the tough stuff in Iraq and Afghanistan have to do those things all the time, and it puts it all in perspective. Still, I'm glad to have my body armor packed away in my seabag for at least a little while before having to put it on again. And I'm certain I'll miss this beautiful South Carolina Spring weather.

Soon we'll leave for Kuwait to play GI Sailor in the desert for a few more days. Blank rounds will be replaced by live ones, and beds/barracks will be replaced with sleeping bags/tents. From there, it's on to the real fun. I'm looking forward to settling into some type of routine and learning what, exactly, it is I'll be doing for the next half-year or so.

Tonight, several of us are going out in town and getting hotel rooms with the hopes of one last night in a real bed, with real tv, eating real food. Soon all that will be a memory, so we figure we should make the most of it while we can. That said, there's a real sense of excitement that comes with getting on the road, and most of us are just ready to head out.

I'll post again when I can, and I'll get more pictures up as soon as I have an internet connection that's faster than dialup...

- pac