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Last Shift: Quitting Time: Turn Out The Lights

Well let’s see. Its cold here. That’s good. Not many missions. Just every now and again. The locals are waiting for us to leave, and kinda keeping it quiet to see if we really do leave.

The polo shirt and khaki cargo pants guys are taking over everything. The world’s biggest embassy. Interesting. I’m sure the locals will open their arms to them once DOD is finally out. (Although I think Sadr has other plans.)

It’s like a Going Out Of Business Sale around here. Units are ripping out everyday with no backfill. Ripping is “Relieved In Place” (RIP). We’re leaving the local government with equipment, installations, and vehicles. The vehicles – cars, trucks, and SUVs – are the things that crack me up. I’m sure the DOD paid top dollar for all the vehicles and now they’re giving them to the local government for pennies on the dollar. They’re pretty well used. I think I’d rather buy a used taxi or rental car than use these.

I got a bunch of new guys out here, some pretty young. They’re crew chiefs, gunners, and maintenance, and 18 to 23 years old. It’s funny, they can only drive the trucks and SUVs that have automatic transmissions. They’ve never seen a stick shift and we don’t have enough time to teach them. Also funny, they still carry their cell phones around, but there’s no cell service here. They don’t wear watches so they use their cell phones to tell time! It’s a whole new generation.

Knowing this is my last rotation is kinda bitter sweet. Throughout the war I’ve made a lot of friends from the different units that we always run into out here – from the teams we work with, to the many other aviation units deployed here. The TCNs (Third Country Nationals) always remember us. They’re the guys who do our laundry, serve us food, do the day-to-day cleaning, and are mostly from the Philippines. They’re a work force that will soon be out of work and headed home, some for the first time in 4-5 years.

Everybody around here will keep tabs on what the locals end up doing with the freedom we purchased for them with American lives and treasure. Interesting – we kinda feel vested, but really don’t have a good feeling for the future of this country. Too many blood feuds to be settled. My bet is somewhere between the Wild Wild West and Mad Max. We’ll see.

Did we effect change? Yes and No. We rid the country of a tyrant (Saddam) and his two miserably evil sons (Uday, and Qusay). But we’ve also set up the country for the Shi’ites to take over under pressure from Iran. A more stable Middle East? I don’t know. These folks have fought each other for generations. Maybe stable as a moving target, or an adjusting scale.

For me and the other reservists, I guess we go home and go back to work. Strange, this will be very strange. Kinda forgot about the normal 9-5 grind. I’m so used to being in some third world country and on the road, it’ll take some getting used to. Weekends? Football games not at 2am? Actually being home for the holidays and special occasions, without Middle East deployment as an excuse to keep from showing up?

I still remember the beginning of the war and guys crawling all over themselves trying to get here and do their duty. We didn’t want to miss the biggest game. Nobody thought it would or could last this long.

I’m lucky. I’ve met and worked with a lot of great people, and I’m returning home in one piece. I’ve lost friends both here and in the other theater, lost one marriage, and about 5 girlfriends have giving me walking papers for not being home on holidays and usual special occasions. But I still feel lucky.

Peace – j

Paradigm Shift: Going To Zero

Well The President has said we will all be home by the holidays: Going to Zero. The chow hall line is getting shorter but it has also got a lot better dressed. New kids in fresh cargo pants, different color polo shirts, and no weapons. They’ve shown up on the block with clip boards and a bunch of shiny new rides; Suburbans, Range Rovers, and Explorers. The Department of State travels in style. Really, I don’t know what they’re doing, but it seems like a true paradigm shift.

We’re all still mourning the accidental death of Muammar Gaddafi, where an apparent errant bullet accidentally pierced his skull. Accidents happen.

Each day we drive by facilities that have been here now for about 9 years, and we wonder about their situation after we leave. How long will it take the Iraqis to destroy every one of them? The Iraqis are really not big on maintenance and care of facilities. But then again, in a third world country I guess the hierarchy is food, water, then shelter. We all envision a more austere “MAD MAX” civilization after we leave.

It’s likely that the first thing the locals will do with their new diggs is pull out all the electrical wires, burn them, and sell the copper as scrap. Then they’ll erect lean-tos using some of the million-odd concrete T-barriers (Bremer Walls) as the main support. Then they’ll move the family and goats right in.

Don’t get me wrong, we have no love lost for these installations. But within each structure has gone the treasure of our nation. Over 4,400 American soldiers’ lives, more than 32,000 wounded warriors, costing hundreds of billions of dollars. [see this iCasualties for the most exact numbers.] And this Going To Zero thing – really? I think the money flow and personnel are just getting a name change, a make-over from DOD to DOS and from military to contractors. But that’s just an opinion (disclaimer).

Now back to the important crap. The food here is horrible. Whoever came up with this drawdown plan never ate here, and/or probably never stepped foot outside the Green Zone. I can’t get into where we are or where we were, but the old neighborhood was 100 times better for circle-the-wagons and get-out-of-dodge exercises, and the food was 200 times better.

Its a little depressing seeing guys leave who I’ve been friends with and fought battles with down range, and thinking about no longer working with my buddies from different branches. But I’m sure a nice place will be found where we can meet up again in another third world country. I’m hoping, like I’ve said before, that it’s a country like Canada; close to home, better food, and beer.

Peace – j

Beginning The Final Days

Yes the eleventh time. “Should I stay or should I go?” That’s the song playing inside all of our heads these days (See the Clash video here).

Should I stay or should I go?
If I stay there will be trouble.
If I go it will be double.
So you gotta let me know [DOS/DOD/AMERICA].
Should I stay or should I go?

Well interesting times. Beginnings and endings of conflicts are always interesting. Let me see. Everybody remembers the last chopper (UH-1) out of Siagon? (Great footage here and here.) Hopefully this will not end that way. But wheels are really moving, and they’re circling the wagons to either pre-position to return home, or redeploy to some other part of the world.

Let me see…. We have moved our little home, and as with all new neighbors it takes time getting used to. Here the big conventional Army is very interesting: not rude, very polite. But also very inquisitive of who the new guys are, what the hell we’re doing here, and why we don’t wear the same uniforms as everybody else. They don’t know whether to salute or run away.

We enjoy the big Army. Things the big Army enjoys are:

1) Standing in Lines. No shit. Standing in a line is where they feel comfortable. They will choose the longest line, under the notion that its longer so it has to be better than the short line. It’s amazing. And again, all of these kids are great Americans. But we differ in lines. We always go to the shortest line and get whatever is there. We usually don’t have the time.

2) Correcting each other over uniform violations. The uniform violations are awesome. They leave us alone. We could show up in a Scream Mask wearing flippers and they would politely just look in the other direction. But if they catch one of their own not wearing his reflective belt in the right manner or not wearing it at all, or if they catch one of theirs in PT gear wearing the wrong color socks to work out in, they fall over each other to yell and demean that individual. I think they believe it builds their esprit de corps. It’s actually quit entertaining. I am just happy if my boys have clothes on (kidding: Deputy Commodore).

3) They like to salute, and we’re not used to that in a combat zone.

Other than that a lot has changed. The State Department is here to save the day. Easy to spot out: facial expression, not happy to be here, don’t really know how they got here, not wearing uniforms but always wearing sunglasses day or night, and pretty much think they are better than the lowly soldier that has been fighting this particular war for over 8 years. Seeing that most of the Department of State types here were still in high school when this thing started.

They’re now running out of a lot of food items: soft drinks for one. Everyday it’s a little more crowded in general and there’s a lot less room in the chow hall. But the lines are long, so the Army is happy anyway.

My trip over was fun. I got to stop in 5 countries on the way over because of maintenance and weather. So it took 4 days. Actually, not fun, but made it safely anyway.

A lot more to write.

-Peace J

The Fraser From Iraq Show

Finally got around to updating the images of The Fraser From Iraq Show. Included some new stuff. A few more changes coming up, but not much. Don’t know if any more pictures will become available.

Nasty Neighbors

Let me see…. What’s going on over here? Well, it’s still cold. Spring has not sprung. We are still wearing long-johns. But everything is shutting down, closing shop, getting smaller every week. The footprint of America is slowly being removed, even though this country is suing the United States for a $billion because of the footprint we left in their capital city with T-Barriers (because of mortar attacks) and MRAPs and Humvees (because of IEDs) driving through it. (???) How much does freedom cost? I guess a $billion isn’t very much. But instead of suing us, how about a THANK YOU note!

Anyway, it’s getting smaller. Let me see…. The contracts on cleaning the Cadillacs (bathroom trailer) have terminated, so portable bathrooms are back in fashion and are a sign of things to come. There’s only one place on the base where you can get your haircut now. No more fast-food joints. The supplies at the only Exchange are few and far between, although you can still get Red Bull. Once they stop the Red-Bull supply I am outta here. It’s in my contract.
(Continued)

Freaking Winning!!!

Alright, this isn’t going to be a PG-13 post. So get the kids to another room. “Earmuffs!” I’ve found out what the Middle East needs; a TON of COKE, HOOKERS, PORN STARS, and a dictator named CHARLIE F**King SHEEN!

WINNING — WINNING — I need this to go viral! I need Charlie Sheen to see that we can really use him. Gadaffi? Who the hell is Gadaffi? In a week we would only know that the peaceful land of decadence is now run by the man named CHARLIE FREAKING SHEEN.

WINNING – I think I am gonna have that painted on the side of all my helicopters. We now live our life out here by saying “WWCD” – What Would Charlie Do?
(Continued)

The Cost of Freedom

Well I know there’s the ticker calculating money by the second on the main page. But lets get a little deeper than the bill that the waiter magically slid on the table while we were eating this delicious meal.

Human lives lost in current theaters via hostile acts are 3,750. Now this is a statistic that no one can put a value on, and is often bounced off other war KIA statistics like WWI (940,000), WWII (406,000), Korean War (50,000), Vietnam War (58,229), and Gulf War One (147). All these numbers are somewhat disputed, but this is an approximation from the information I have at hand.

I suppose that an actuarial bean-counter somewhere puts a dollar value on loss of life, considering what training cost the government, economic impact on GDP, loss of projected future earnings, blah, blah. These are the big picture costs and numbers that the talking-heads like to kick around who’ve never stepped foot in a war zone wearing a uniform. And like all statistics, the numbers can be twisted to backup whichever side of the debate you’re on. Really, these are all meaningless terms when it’s your father, mother, brother, sister, son, daughter, or friend who doesn’t come home.

I want to highlight the intangible costs from the wounds that can’t be seen or healed by coming home. The costs that are not easily talked about. These are the value-added-tax portions of the equation. Things like PTSD; a lost job for the Reservist/Guard soldier even though the government says it will protect and ensure the soldier gets his/her job back; the interview or job rejection due to veteran status because a veteran might pose the risk of being a incompatible employee, or because remaining in the Reserves/Guard risks be called back to active duty and thus cause a loss disruption to the company.
(Continued)

Leaving on a jet plane

Well here it is again, like so many times before. Crawl on the C-17 headed for the undisclosed location. Find a nice place to lay down on the ice cold floor of the big bird and take an Ambien. Wake up in Someplace, in Europe. Get off the plane, grab something to eat, get back on the plane. This time I get told that in this certain country that started WWII we can’t take off for our undisclosed location because it’s now quiet hours in this European country that started WWII.

The pilot said, “Hey sir, there isn’t much that we can do.” I said, “Can we call somebody?” There followed a few phone calls involving me reminding certain individuals that we were not going to Hawaii for a vacation. Plus, asking the simple question of who cares about quiet hours? Didn’t we win that war, and doesn’t the winner make the rules?

We actually got permission to leave 15 minutes after the start of quiet hours. Small victories. I really like how the British military treats flying in this country that started WWII. They believe that this certain European country is still under occupation. But us politically correct and polite Americans would never do that. Hell, if I were a dictator of a 3rd world country, I’d immediately declare war on the US, tell the population to hide in bomb shelters or caves, and wait for the Americans to arrive after the bombing. Then surrender and get our whole civilization rebuilt to the sole superpower’s standard of living.

I just heard there’s a country that is suing the US for a $billion because of the Humvees and T-Barriers that were put up in their capital during our stay to provide freedom from their dictator. A dog that bites the hand that feeds it then ends up on death row at the pound. – Peace – j

1st Dispatch from the 10th Deployment

I sent this note to Fraser:

Commander – your report is due.  Folks need to know there are still wars going on.  Fly safe.

He replied:
Apocalypse Now quote —-
Hey, man, you don’t talk to the Colonel. You listen to him. The man’s enlarged my mind. He’s a poet warrior in the classic sense. I mean sometimes he’ll… uh… well, you’ll say “hello” to him, right? And he’ll just walk right by you. He won’t even notice you. And suddenly he’ll grab you, and he’ll throw you in a corner, and he’ll say, “Do you know that ‘if’ is the middle word in life? If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs and blaming it on you, if you can trust yourself when all men doubt you”… I mean I’m… no, I can’t… I’m a little man, I’m a little man, he’s… he’s a great man! I should have been a pair of ragged claws scuttling across floors of silent seas…

Happy Fourth of July!

Around here, the 3rd and the 5th of July are exactly like the 4th of July. Every now and again I’ve received email from friends, and being from non-military backgrounds they make some interesting statements like, “I hope you have a great 4th!”, or “Are you guys going to have a big parade, a cook out, and fireworks?”

It just kinda makes me laugh, because these friends have no idea of what I actually do and where I do it. I don’t blame them, I really don’t understand the 9 to 5 lives back home.

The only reason I know its Saturday here is because the Chaplin brings bags of popcorn to all the units. Literally, Saturaday is the only day of the week I can honestly say I know what day it is. Sure, I can tell you its the 22nd POD (period of darkness) or the 26th POL (period of light). But what the hell is the day of the week? I kid you not. Until the Chaplin walks in with popcorn, I don’t know if it’s Wednesday or Sunday?

Well, everything’s the same here. It’s still freak’in hot.

I guess the stock market is crashing back home, and everybody is worried if Tiger Woods will have enough money to split and still survive, and if Lebron James is going to stay in Cleveland. All very important stuff which crosses our eyesight for about a millisecond, then fades away into the minutia.

Our issues that replace those otherwise exceptionally important topics are things like: What is for chow? My air-conditioned is out. The internet is down. The aircraft is broken. The Team wants us to do WHAT? The printer just ran out of ink. (Mission products chew up ink and kill trees one sheet of paper at a time.)

It’s funny, when I do come home, it really takes a week just to feel normal again. Normal for me seems to be a moving target to lock-in on. You kinda have to readjust to the new scale of importance and forget about the picture in the rear view mirror. Gotta forget about sand storms, living on the ass back end of the clock, freaking 12 hour missions, rubber chicken for dinner (again!), rumors about “NEW DAWN“, and when this is all gonna be over.

Anyway, I’m thread drifting. I really do hope you all have a fantastic Fourth of July with watermelon, hotdogs, apple pie, fireworks, beer, and baseball. Have fun, but please don’t send any pictures. Have a blast, but please don’t let us know about it. I’m just looking forward to popcorn on Saturday (thanks Chaplin) to figure out what day of the week it is.

Peace – J

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