Yesterday we hopped on a Rino-- a big, lumbering, square bus coated in four inches of armor-- and rode to the International Zone, located in downtown Baghdad. The city is absolutely beautiful, vast and open with flush palm trees and ... yes, grass. There are five palaces built by Saddam within a five mile radius. We visited one of the shrines, The Forgotten Soldier, and a New Iraqi Army Soldier gave us a quick tour of the area. The Soldier said Saddam built all of the palaces and when in power only he was allowed to visit them and look inside.
In the distance, while he talked to us, a gun-fight broke out ... but within seconds heavy gunnery shot back and it quieted right away. The shots were so far away that it was only a barage of pops and tat-tat-tat. We didn't even have any of our gear on. We didn't even have our weapons with us. But it was so far away that it hardly even fazed me.
Later we visited a Soldier who went to the hospital after getting bitten by a stray cat (of all the things you can get yourself into in Iraq, this wouldn't have been one of my top guesses). We sat by the windows waiting, and all of a siren blared and a loud-speaker voice warning "Incoming... Incoming..."
"Move from the glass, let's go, let's go," one of the Army nurses shoed us away, but she was no more worried than a mother telling her children to hurry across an intersection. We huddled a few yards deep into the hallway and a loud blast exploded.
"Man, that felt close," I said.
"Oh, that was nothing. You should have been here yesterday," a young Specialist said.
"I don't think we'll can do our PT test today," someone said to a muscular guy wearing shorts and a t-shirt.
"Oh, we're taking it today. No doubt about it."
"Yeah, that'll make you run faster."
Later we returned to this lodging area where Soldiers go for "Freedom Rest" on pass. Beautiful swimming pool in the back with a 15-foot and a 35-foot diving ramps, all encircled by a stone court yard. War is hell, I thought to myself. Maj. Spagel and I went to the bathroom and changed into our swim trunks. We walked to the pool with a swagger, carrying our uniforms in our arms, ready to jump into the cool water on a hot day--
"Warning: Incoming. Incoming. Incoming."
Oh man. Just when we were going to relax. I turned back around and started jogging toward the building-- BOOM!-- I felt the explosion punch me in my ear. My heart double-rolled, and my jogging turned to a sprint. Then I realize the entire back side of the building is glass. No turning back now-- I run through the door, and run up the stairs as far away from the windows as I can. Then another mortar comes down, more faint-- barely audible over my own heart beat. Everyone who'd been relaxing outside ran in, and they all looked around for accountability.
Man... that one was close. I had actually felt it in my ear.
A little later, the Major and I walked over to see where the mortar struck and we find a hole-blast into a wall just 70 meters from where we'd been standing.
(Caption: You missed)
Later on I see a group of people huddling over a coffee table filling out some paperwork.
"Is that for accountability?" I asked First Sergeant.
"No. They're putting in a sworn statement for CAB."
"CAB?"
"Combat Action Badge?"
"No I know what CAB is, but for what?"
"For the mortar."
I thought it over for a minute. To be eligible for a CAB you either have to be involved in a fire fight or have a mortar land within 100 meters of where you're standing. The mortar had hit just beyond the courtyard. Some of the people in the pool had been as close as 40 or 50 meters from the hit. I could shoot an insurgent between the eyes at that distance. Yet, even though on paper the blast was legitimate for a CAB, something about this felt awfully wrong.
None of us even had our weapons with us when the blast happened. These people were in a swimming pool splashing one another and floating along. The Major and I were just strolling along with our uniforms folded in our arms. This didn't deserve a badge with the title "combat" written on it.
When one of the Soldiers asked how to spell my name I said, "Don't put my name on that. Don't put my name on that." I said it twice, the second time even more calm than the first. I didn't speak harshly or with disdain... but simply with a tone refusing an invitation. Thank you, but I can't.
I thought of those Soldiers who lived in tents their whole deployment, shot down enemies who shot back, kicked in doors and dug up weapon caches every day. Those were the men and women who deserved badges. Anyone else would just cheapen their accomplishments and sacrifices. I was by the pool, I told myself. I didn't even have my weapon. I don't want a CAB unless I've earned it. I didn't come here for decorations and self-pats on the back. If I ever get a CAB during this deployment, I better have been firing my weapon at enemies.
------
Finally that night I hopped on a Blackhawk for the first time in my life. In the past, any time I had a chance to fly, the flight was either canceled for weather or plans changed. In five years in the Army, I had never flown on a helicopter before. The feeling was awesome.
The chopper blades spinning blew wind in our faces as we approached the helicopter. We mounted up, and I grabbed a seat-- but First Sergeant moved aside and had me take the seat by the window so I could have a better view. Flying in a helicopter was nothing like being in a plane.
When we took off we simply swooped up in the air. There was no turbulence. There was only gravity and anti-gravity. I could actually feel us lifting off the face of the world, scoffing at the pull of the earth. It was just like being pulled up by a bungee-rope. So sudden and swift. Then, up in the air, we simply floated, and coming back down was so smooth-- not like the skidding and skipping along the runway on a plane like a stone across a pond's surface. It was up in the air that I felt liberated from the world's pains because everything looks so small. You can't see murder from up in the air. You don't get to witness a culture worshiping a false prophet or pledging their fidelity to family tribes regardless of the corruption it may bring. Even in a chopper full of people, nobody can talk to you because the spinning blades diffuse it all. Nobody can touch you. It's not that you're closer to God up in the air on a helicopter... we're close to God no matter the altitude or latitude... but at least I felt less stained or tainted by the World. I was still only a man, and still a sinner-- but at least in part detached... if only for a few minutes of flying.
Later we returned to this lodging area where Soldiers go for "Freedom Rest" on pass. Beautiful swimming pool in the back with a 15-foot and a 35-foot diving ramps, all encircled by a stone court yard. War is hell, I thought to myself. Maj. Spagel and I went to the bathroom and changed into our swim trunks. We walked to the pool with a swagger, carrying our uniforms in our arms, ready to jump into the cool water on a hot day--
"Warning: Incoming. Incoming. Incoming."
Oh man. Just when we were going to relax. I turned back around and started jogging toward the building-- BOOM!-- I felt the explosion punch me in my ear. My heart double-rolled, and my jogging turned to a sprint. Then I realize the entire back side of the building is glass. No turning back now-- I run through the door, and run up the stairs as far away from the windows as I can. Then another mortar comes down, more faint-- barely audible over my own heart beat. Everyone who'd been relaxing outside ran in, and they all looked around for accountability.
Man... that one was close. I had actually felt it in my ear.
A little later, the Major and I walked over to see where the mortar struck and we find a hole-blast into a wall just 70 meters from where we'd been standing.
(Caption: You missed)Later on I see a group of people huddling over a coffee table filling out some paperwork.
"Is that for accountability?" I asked First Sergeant.
"No. They're putting in a sworn statement for CAB."
"CAB?"
"Combat Action Badge?"
"No I know what CAB is, but for what?"
"For the mortar."
I thought it over for a minute. To be eligible for a CAB you either have to be involved in a fire fight or have a mortar land within 100 meters of where you're standing. The mortar had hit just beyond the courtyard. Some of the people in the pool had been as close as 40 or 50 meters from the hit. I could shoot an insurgent between the eyes at that distance. Yet, even though on paper the blast was legitimate for a CAB, something about this felt awfully wrong.
None of us even had our weapons with us when the blast happened. These people were in a swimming pool splashing one another and floating along. The Major and I were just strolling along with our uniforms folded in our arms. This didn't deserve a badge with the title "combat" written on it.
When one of the Soldiers asked how to spell my name I said, "Don't put my name on that. Don't put my name on that." I said it twice, the second time even more calm than the first. I didn't speak harshly or with disdain... but simply with a tone refusing an invitation. Thank you, but I can't.
I thought of those Soldiers who lived in tents their whole deployment, shot down enemies who shot back, kicked in doors and dug up weapon caches every day. Those were the men and women who deserved badges. Anyone else would just cheapen their accomplishments and sacrifices. I was by the pool, I told myself. I didn't even have my weapon. I don't want a CAB unless I've earned it. I didn't come here for decorations and self-pats on the back. If I ever get a CAB during this deployment, I better have been firing my weapon at enemies.
------
Finally that night I hopped on a Blackhawk for the first time in my life. In the past, any time I had a chance to fly, the flight was either canceled for weather or plans changed. In five years in the Army, I had never flown on a helicopter before. The feeling was awesome.
The chopper blades spinning blew wind in our faces as we approached the helicopter. We mounted up, and I grabbed a seat-- but First Sergeant moved aside and had me take the seat by the window so I could have a better view. Flying in a helicopter was nothing like being in a plane.
When we took off we simply swooped up in the air. There was no turbulence. There was only gravity and anti-gravity. I could actually feel us lifting off the face of the world, scoffing at the pull of the earth. It was just like being pulled up by a bungee-rope. So sudden and swift. Then, up in the air, we simply floated, and coming back down was so smooth-- not like the skidding and skipping along the runway on a plane like a stone across a pond's surface. It was up in the air that I felt liberated from the world's pains because everything looks so small. You can't see murder from up in the air. You don't get to witness a culture worshiping a false prophet or pledging their fidelity to family tribes regardless of the corruption it may bring. Even in a chopper full of people, nobody can talk to you because the spinning blades diffuse it all. Nobody can touch you. It's not that you're closer to God up in the air on a helicopter... we're close to God no matter the altitude or latitude... but at least I felt less stained or tainted by the World. I was still only a man, and still a sinner-- but at least in part detached... if only for a few minutes of flying.
2 comments:
Michel, I pray this will never happen again. I have to admit I teared up a bit. Actually I cryed. It takes a good man not to accept that badge and I am proud to be your sister. Please be careful.
MC
when are you going to update your blog? I check it every night!
MC
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