Baghdad, Iraq.
Always know your audience, and be able to play to the room. I had warned my audience, and the empty ball room we slept in had particularly favorable acoustics. Yet even fairly warned, they were not happy about my snoring. My Beautiful Bride claims that she misses me, but I am reasonably sure she doesn’t miss my snoring.
A quick shower and shave, and we were off to breakfast. For some reason, the chow hall, full of SEALs, Anglicos, and Green Berets, had opted to watch the Men Are Evil And Don’t Understand Women Yet Women Still Love And Support Them Channel, also known as Lifetime. The sight of dozens of commandos watching a movie about a bulimic gymnast training under a tyrannical male coach struck me as funny.
The Team Sergeant managed to find some sports news, and was both very happy and angry to learn that Dale Earnhardt, Jr. had won the race while we slept. Keep in mind that the Green Berets, and the Team Sergeant in particular, are big fans of NASCAR. The Team Sergeant had his humvee painted with Dale Jr.’s name
and number.
This is actually an outdated picture as the car now has a big 8 on the door. The Team Sergeant was mad because he had opted to sleep instead of staying up late to watch the race, but Dale, Jr. had won, which made him happy. He told us that it was better that we were in Baghdad because if we were in Camp Charlie, he would have definitely watched the race, and woke all of us to see Dale, Jr. win, and celebrated by shooting off all our illumination mortar rounds.
He takes his NASCAR seriously.
The visiting Green Berets finally arrived, and introductions were made. They are also a great set of guys, as I have found Green Berets to be. The Anglicos scored points by loading all our comm frequencies into their radios for the convoy. We briefed up the convoy, and then headed back to Camp Charlie. I was driver again, SSGT was gunner, and the LCPL was the vehicle commander. He didn’t do much commanding as he managed to maintain a more or less constant narrative on his experiences, opinions, and other thoughts on the War, Green Berets, and combat operations, among other topics. The ODA guys were very receptive, and asked a lot of good questions.
I discovered we were in the unfamiliar position of not being the new guys anymore. We have been in combat for nearly three months, and are pretty used to it by now, and it was strange to pass on our knowledge to someone else. I also discovered that one doesn’t really appreciate a lifestyle and environment until considered from a stranger’s point of view. If things do not change in your world, soon even the most temporary of items become part of the background. You won’t even see that thing in the garage that you have been meaning to throw away for months until it is time to move.
As we drove back into Hillah, I experienced again things that I don’t even notice anymore: the trash everywhere, the smell of smoke and sewage, the rubble, the expended brass littering the vehicles and parking lots. The taste and smell of dust. Ice merchants, the market, and the milling crowds living out their lives in abject poverty and filth. In a way, I was a bit embarrassed as I saw the shock and adjustment on the new guys’ faces, reacting to things that are now just a part of my life.
The ODA team welcomed their Special Forces friends, and provided them an initial brief as well as a plan for the upcoming days. When asked what their unit call sign was (our Special Forces guys have changed theirs to Psycho. Alas, we remain Yazoo), the new guys informed us that they were “Platypus”. The Anglicos were so very, very happy because we no longer have the dumbest callsign.