posted @ 07:31...

Another day as a soldier deployed to Iraq as part of Operation Iraqi Freedom. Proud and noble we stand, bringing freedom, hope, and justice to this war-torn region. Yeah.. uh huh. Want the truth? We’re actually just trying to stay cool and stay alive. But you probably figured all that. I saw a sign in a palace we visited the other day. It was in one of the JAG offices that’s off to the side, and therefore doesn’t receive the benefit of the air conditioning that’s piped into most of the huge building. The sign simply said: "We’re in the desert. The desert is hot. Now quit your whining."

I couldn’t have said it better.

The palace was pretty nifty. With my hand sliding along the marble banister as I ascended the marble stairs, I could feel by the slight inconsistencies that it was hand-carved. The ceilings were also hand-carved, but very detailed and precise. The two-tone marble columns that surrounded the center of the palace interior were probably 150 feet high. Hanging from the center was one of the largest chandeliers I’ve ever seen. Made from thousands of little pieces of crystal, it had to have measured at least 15 feet across.

I was told that this palace had belonged to the now-bullet-riddled Uday. I don’t know when he’d started living here; the place was built sometime after the first gulf war in honor of the "brave and glorious Iraqi soldiers who had driven the army of Iran out of Baghdad" during the the Iran/Iraq war in the 80’s. (Got all that?) So it was all relatively new. The weirdest thing was the bullet holes in the guard towers outside the palace (courtesy, I assume, of the red, white and blue). The palace is built on a lake, with part of the lake forming a moat around the building. I could see where one of the bridges to the palace had been bombed (again, courtesy of our big toys).

Another thing that was interesting to see was that within some of the large, ornately decorated rooms, there stood rows of American-style cubicles, just like you’d see in any state side office building. Uday obviously hadn’t installed these. This is where personnel from all over the place do their thing. I don’t know who they all are or what most of them do, but it seems like one of the more cushy places to work. Can’t really complain here though. We’re quite comfortable compared to soldiers in other parts of the country.

posted @ 10:42...

To those who have left comments here, thanks. I appreciate you all letting me know you're reading. It's amazing how lonely you can get, even when there are hundreds of people around. Tonight was a rare treat: I got to talk to my wife for two hours. I got access to a DSN line and basically made up for the week since I got here that she didn't hear from me at all. After the two hours, the thing beeped at me and hung up, but I wasn't in a position to complain. Wow. Two hours...

Am I the only one who has a great relationship with their wife?  I don't usually hear other guys talking about their wives the way I talk about mine. It's kind of weird.

Some obviously have reasons: There was a soldier a while back whose wife started sleeping with an officer from his unit once the soldier was deployed. Everyone was appalled, obviously. From talking to most other guys, though, I get the impression that they actually think in the back of their minds this could happen to them. Do they not trust their wives? Do they have a reason to not trust their wives? Am I the only one who trusts mine? Some may say I’m naïve, but I trust her completely. Pretty weird around here… especially considering that Fort Drum has a reputation as the installation with the highest divorce rate among soldiers. The theory is that because so many 10th Mountain Division soldiers are deployed so often, for so long, their wives eventually find methods to satisfy their needs, desires, and boredom. By “methods” I mean “soldiers who aren’t deployed.”

Here's to a great spouse. She's definitely the "better half," and she probably deserves better than me... but don't tell her that! :)

posted @ 05:18...

Warning: This post contains my whining about my not being in Northern New York with my wife and newborn baby... again.  Anyway, I just heard “Cats in the Cradle” this afternoon, the song by Harry Chapin. You should all know how it goes, but for those younger types, it’s that song that talks about how he had a kid and put off spending time with him. Eventually, the kid grows up to be just like him, never finding the time to hang out and have a good time as father & son.

One of the things that we had planned to do was, every Saturday I would let my wife sleep in and wheel the baby in the stroller up to the coffee shop and have some daddy & son bonding time. It’s kinda sappy, but it tore me up to hear that song today, because I’m thinking, “But I would spend time with my son! I promise!”

I was raised by some great parents. My dad had (still has, in fact) a job where he’d have to go out of town quite a bit, but never for more than a few days. My favorite childhood memories were of Saturdays, in which my dad and I would go do stuff… One of the earliest images in my mind is standing in a little motorcycle shop in Billings, Montana, where I grew up. He was there to pick up some parts for his old Honda. I was there dreaming of all the cool dirt bikes I saw. Another early memory burned into my cerebrum is from when my brother, sister, and I would help my dad wash the van. It was a ’73 Chevy, formerly owned by Mountain Bell, but he had customized it: the thing had a cool metallic green paint job and a sporty orange stripe.

Anyway, my point, which nostalgia has prevented me from getting to, is that I want to be the kind of father that my dad has been to me. There are so many guys who get women pregnant and just take off. And here I am, wanting nothing more than to be there, and can’t. Alright… whining over. Back to your regularly scheduled blog-reading.

posted @ 09:43...

We're here to "win the hearts and minds of the Iraqi people."

That's the mantra we hear from time to time. It's a way to get us to think twice about shooting first and consulting the Geneva Convention later. So, winning hearts and minds... If you'd asked me before I made the trip North, I would have had a snappy comeback, like, "Is that before we shoot them?"  But along the way, the only Iraqis we saw were friendly. Not only were they friendly, but most gave us a thumbs-up. Some just waved. A few even clapped. One woman even offered to let us ride her camel. (No, that's not a figure of speech.) Well, these people's hearts & minds are won. Can we go home now? I know, I know... the bad guys seem to hide from us. Terrorists are largely cowards.

Sadly, there are a minority who want to basically pick up where Saddam left off. One group, who was suppressed under the tyranny of Saddam is now free to do what it pleases. Unfortunately, in what seems quite ungrateful from my perspective, a member of the group was quoted in Time Magazine as saying something to the effect of, "We will fight until the U.S. is out of Iraq."

Hey, you're welcome there, sport! Of course, these people are also dangerous. One editorial cartoon I saw recently in the Stars and Stripes had opposing factions shouting to an American Soldier, "Will you just leave already so we can kill each other in peace?!"

Back to the non-combatant type of Iraqi people... It would seem a lot of them are beggars. During the trip up here, just about all of them asked for food and/or water. Do they not have any? Weird.

posted @ 07:12...

Since I can’t get on the web every day, and since I can’t trust Blogger.com to actually let me publish each post when I want, I may consolidate posts, like this one. So pretend this post is actually several posts, written over three days or so.

You can get a nice mountain bike from the PX for around $75 or so. I live over a half-mile from where I’ll probably be working, and my job requires a lot of walking back & forth. One of my main jobs is to process Article 15’s for several different battalions in the brigade. When I complete one, I deliver it to the battalion. Problem is, these guys are so spread out, I could be hiking all over camp for much of the day, and I’ve already got some crazy blisters on my heels. A bicycle would help a lot, plus it’s good exercise. My legal NCO just bought a TV and a DVD player. Lots of other guys I know are getting Playstations (plus games). I’m not too concerned with any of these things. Have I made a good enough argument to spend the money? I talked to the beautiful wife and she said we should probably wait a few paychecks. That’s okay; I’ll be here at least a year.

An "Article 15" is the term for a non-judicial punishment. This is essentially a fairly serious offense, but not serious enough to warrant the hassle and expense of a court-martial. If a soldier fails to show up for formation, gets in a fight, or loses track of a "sensitive item," he or she may be given an Article 15. Most of them so far have been for soldiers leaving their weapons in the latrine, or just altogether forgetting where they put them. The weapons are always eventually found. Possible punishments include forfeiture of pay, extra duty, reduction in rank, restriction to the unit area.

Lots of soldiers come to military attorneys for advice. I got some advice today from one. He said to use duct tape. Supposedly that’s the solution to my blister problem. So I drained them and covered them with duct tape (known in the Army as "100-mile-an-hour tape). We’ll find out if it works.

Lots of helicopters are flying over. A Kiowa Warrior practically buzzed me this morning as I was coming out of my room. Had I been quicker to look up, I might have been able to see the pilots’ facial features. Those things have pretty quiet engines though. I didn’t know it was so close until it was right on top of me. I guess that’s the point.

The accommodations here at Camp Something-or-Other are some of the best in Iraq. Each room has AC, as I believe I’ve already mentioned. The dining facilities are very nice and have CNN and ESPN on big plasma screens. The one thing that could be improved here is access to DSN phone lines. There are AT&T trailers full of phones, to put it simply, those are a rip-off. First of all, they only take AT&T phone cards. Second, they take way more minutes from your balance than what it says on the card. I know that pay phones take a little more, but I have a card that actually has 600 minutes on it. When I went to use it in the AT&T trailer, the friendly computer voice at the other end said "You have 47 minutes for this call." On the other hand, DSN lines allow us to call a military number that can connect us to a switch in the states. From that, we can simply dial the 800 number on the phone card – any phone card – to make a call.

posted @ 11:22...

We made it to the general central-Iraq area. I don't know yet if I should disclose exactly where I am, although this base is pretty well protected. All kinds of security checkpoints. But to cover my butt for now, I'll just say we're somewhere near Baghdad.

Our trip was uneventful, except for an incident w/ a 5-ton, whose brakes locked up and bumped into another 5-ton. They're all okay, but skidding off the road and then bouncing off across the desert shook those guys up quite a bit. Otherwise, no incidents, no attacks, no threats. We're here, and we're safe. Every once in a while, we can hear an explosion. They're mortar attacks that are probably about 8 miles away from us, but it's still pretty loud. Right after the boom, you'll hear the blackhawks. You might think this is scary, and you know, I thought beforehand that hearing explosions would be too. But personally, I think it's exciting. I guess that's because we're so removed from it at this point.

One thing I got to do that was cool was to sit in the gunners' turret of our Humvee for a few hours the other day as we were driving up through southern Iraq. It was one of those rare times when I actually felt like a real soldier. Well, technically I am a real soldier... but go find an infantry guy, who is shooting and getting shot at, and try to tell him the legal guy is a real soldier. Laughter will ensue.

posted @ 02:40...

Just realized through my site stats that a guy named Alan has put a link to my blog from his. He's linked to a lot of different stuff, but I was excited to see that somebody had linked to mine. Thanks Alan. If I had a link section I'd reciprocate, so hopefully this is the next best thing...

posted @ 12:16...

[NOTE: Brian is no longer at Camp Buehring, Kuwait. In July 2004, he moved North toward the area of Camp Liberty, Iraq. This post was written a long time ago. For current posts, please visit the home page.]

I’m going to try and be somewhat descriptive with this post, to better give you (my dear non-existent reader) an idea of what things are like here at Camp Buehring, Kuwait, as we await the day we drive North to Baghdad. By the way, it would be cool to know that someone’s out there reading my drivel… so feel free to leave comments.

The wind blows harder during the day, so the sand storms are bigger. But sometimes the wind and sand stop altogether and it actually looks like a nice day. And it would be if it weren't for the fact that it’s nearly 120 degrees. I was walking to chow yesterday and the following realization suddenly hit me: "I'm standing out in the middle of the desert, in the middle of the day, in the middle of the summer." This would have been unsettling if there weren't cold water and plenty of food waiting for me just 100 meters away.

As the sun goes down, the temperature falls to a more comfortable 80 degrees. The thirty to fifty generator-powered floodlights reveal the haze of suspended dust particles, carried on the slight breeze. No matter where you go in camp, the constant rumble of huge diesel generators is inescapable. You get used to it after a while. Besides, you don’t mind the noise when you remember that these generators are providing the electricity that powers the air conditioning, lights, and this laptop.

Things aren’t completely primitive. The showers are decent, as long as you can get in there before the water runs out. Otherwise, you’re washing under a trickle. There’s a Burger King and a Subway here, which are both surprisingly similar to their stateside counterparts. Set foot in the Subway, and you’ll think you’re in a miniature dollhouse version of one back home. The sandwiches are the same, right down to the method of preparation. I found it odd. The PX isn’t bad; sort of a double-wide trailer building containing the bare necessities and more.

For some guys, preparing the Humvees for the big convoy north is a twenty-four-hour-a-day job. There's always somebody making some kind of improvement to one these dilapidated diesel-powered beasts. Illuminated through the haze are rows of the vehicles, with their rolls of concertina wire (extra-sharp military-grade cousin of barbed wire) strapped to the hoods, hand-made armored doors hung somehow to the sides, and a spare tire tucked in or on there somewhere too. Some of these trucks look a little like the Beverly Hillbillies' truck might have looked had Jeb and the family decided to invade Iraq. Some of the armored Humvee doors were made to be armored doors from the factory. But some, like the ones on my vehicle, are nothing more than a door shape cut out of a quarter-inch thick slab of steel. There are also sandbags lining the floor boards, to minimize any damage that might be caused by landmines and IED's (improvised explosive devices).

With blistered heels, I amble back to the sand-colored ten-man tent. It's arranged in line "dress-right-dress" with all the others. Coming through the door flap, there are the bare-bones military cots arranged, feet to the outside walls. Each man’s gear is piled loosely near his respective cot. A Camel-Bak (hydration system), Kevlar helmet, and night vision goggles are among the goods. There’s also a Kevlar body armor vest, with bullet-proof plates inserted into front and back compartments. Attached to it are magazines full of ammunition, pouches of medical dressings, and a few grenade pouches. My hope is to not need any of this stuff. The driver of my Humvee said to me today, “If we get shot at, I’ll be crapping my pants, and driving as fast as I can away from there.”

Okay, sounds good... Me? I’ll be crapping my pants as I shoot back.

posted @ 12:12...

I can't seem to get Blogger to actually publish my posts to the website. So for now I'll keep posting like normal, and when I eventually get the thing to publish, all my posts will appear like nothing was wrong. But it's pretty frustrating for now, knowing that the blog isn't truly live. Anybody else using Blogger ever had a problem with this? Comments/solutions/etc are welcome.

posted @ 05:34...

In another few days I'll be in a huge convoy. We're going to Iraq. I don't really know what to say, except I'll write more when we get there (assuming I have an internet connection). I don't know how my brain will react if I come under fire and have to shoot somebody. I'll probably repress all emotion and then vomit later on. We'll see. The Colonel says we won't have anything to worry about as long as everyone stays awake and alert.

I heard that a battalion commander and their sergeant major died last night when their driver fell asleep and flipped their Humvee. They were from the 1st Cav (out of Ft. Hood), which is the division we'll be falling under while we're in Iraq. If you pray, pray that we stay awake.

posted @ 03:10...

Well, it's finally happened... after 30+ hours of labor, little Vincent was born on the morning of the 9th at 5:51 AM Eastern Time. He is 21 inches long, and weighs 7 lbs., 5 oz. He has long toes and little tiny ears just like daddy. I'm so excited... I just received pictures of him yesterday. Maybe I can get one up here soon.

The wife has been resting. He's learning how to nurse. Both grandmas have been there playing with him, and are all set to start spoiling him. Just a year or so to go and I'll be home. Thanks for all your prayers everyone!

posted @ 15:06...

It's 1:00 am here in Kuwait, and I just woke up to a flashlight in my face and a leiutenant telling me my wife was in labor. When I got ahold of the hospital, though, the nurse told me that my wife wasn't even there yet, and that they'd told her to go out to dinner. Turns out, the doctor simply decided to induce labor because the amniotic fluid was low, and she could be in there for a few days. Well, I don't plan on staying awake for a few days, so she's going to get ahold of me when something actually happens.