Someone beating on your door at 0230 is rarely bringing good news. The warrant officer came in to tell me that some unit was conducting an operation in town, and we were the QRF force. I got up, and had managed to get my pants and boots on when he came back to say never mind.
I went back to sleep, but gave it up at 0830. The El Salvadorans all seem to have purchased new radios, and they love playing them loud. With the windows open. Early in the morning. The guys next door are into oldies done in Spanish. They kicked off the day with the Spanish version of Under the Boardwalk. The guys across the street are big into Evangelical Radio. They listen to a program that is something of a cross between Telemundo and the Praise The Lord show.
The day had nothing planned because we were supposed to be relaxing after the big operation, which, regrettably, got canceled. We worked a bit on the pool, clearing away all the supplies in the pool’s footprint because the KBR guys are bringing the Bobcat tomorrow to clear away all the gravel, level the area, and lay down an inch or two of sand.
The corner of the new gym building has started crumbling, and has been deemed a danger by the camp facilities people.
As you can see, we can no longer walk directly to the showers and heads, but must walk around. The strip of concrete leaning against the wall has “Long Live Saddam Hussein” or some such in Arabic on it. The literati will say, “Ah, yes. A symbol of the regime decaying under its own weight”. I am an engineer, so my first thought was “They probably mixed too much sand in the concrete.” Which is surprising, because the few buildings in Iraq that aren’t made of mud, mud bricks, or mud derivatives are made of concrete. I would think that after pouring as much concrete as has been poured around here, they would get pretty good at mixing it up.
The demolition guys have been granted permission to blow away all the ‘unsafe’ parts, and they have agreed to let me take pictures. That ought to provide a whole day’s entertainment. SF guys knocking away parts of a crumbling building with explosives…what could possibly go wrong?
Those who have some experience with military life know that the smallest, most insignificant opinions can lead to heated arguments. Today some major from another unit was delivering papers to our guys while we were talking about chow. Recently, we had tasty steaks, and some of the SF guys were skeptical that it was beef. The major opined that it didn’t matter as meat has no taste, but instead derives its flavor from the seasonings. The SF guys didn’t believe one bit of this, and soon there was a heated argument going. Finally, they all agreed to disagree, and tempers settled down.
The camp food is almost 100% American, which is not surprising as it is provided by KBR. The Americans tend to watch their weight, as doing so is something of a national obsession. The Coalition Force guys are not even remotely interested in regulating their eating. The fact is that cheeseburgers taste good, particularly if you are not used to eating much at all. Give them unlimited cheeseburgers, and, sure enough, you soon have problems.
Most of the diet problems are with the Mongol crowd. Apparently, Mongol diet is typically a stew type dish with lots of meat, and some vegetables. However, the Mongols have discovered the American contributions to world cuisine, namely the Buffalo Wing and the Chicken Tender. I am here to tell you that Mongols dig Buffalo Wings and Chicken Tenders. However, their digestive systems do not dig these delicacies, and they are paying the price.
The camp has a population of about a thousand. In the last three months, we have had six cases of appendicitis, five of them Mongols. One other Mongol had to be evacuated to Germany after he developed diabetes. They have not learned to respect the power that is the Chicken Tender.
I have been successfully fighting the urge to grow the Big Poofy Unregulation Combat Mustache. This has been a challenge because 1) the commanding officer is over an hour by armored convoy away, 2) I am one of the ranking officers on the base, 3) I am an aviator and I can do whatever I want, and 4) no one is big on shaving anyway. However, tonight the Special Forces guys announced a mustache growing contest, so I am in. I plan on either the walrus mustache, or the Wyatt Earp. That will be a tactical decision based on how well it grows.We finally finished stringing up all the cammie netting, and it is making a huge difference.
A layer of netting with one foot of air space allegedly reduces the temperature by eleven degrees. It sure feels like it. If you look closely, you can see the cots that are part of Levi’s Six Step Buff and Tan Plan.My smallpox vaccination has finally healed. My museum quality arms are now scarred, and all I get out of the deal is long term immunity from one of the most horribly disfiguring and mortal diseases in human history.After the evening team meeting, the Special Forces guys announced a movie night. As you might have guessed, their movie of choice was the John Wayne classic…The Green Berets. One of the guys got teary eyed at the end.This last bit is not for the faint of heart, so if you are of a weak constitution, don’t read. Fairly warned…..
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Okay, still here? Good. I want to comment on the remarkable adaptability of humans. I got really annoyed at how far away the bathrooms are after my first week here. I was pounding water to stay hydrated, but I kept having to get up to pee in the middle of the night. Midnight excursions to the head require putting on shoes and shorts, and then running the gauntlet to the head hoping the Mongols don’t shoot at you. This is even more of a problem since their new found love of Red Bull. Finally, I didn’t want to go out at night anymore. I saw all the empty plastic water bottles, and figured that in war you gotta do what you gotta do. I felt really guilty about peeing in a bottle in my hooch. I felt even weirder when I started waiting until it was full to throw away. Or until there were two to throw away. Or three.
Then I began to notice bottles of urine in pretty much everybody’s room, or would notice them carrying them to the trash.
The remarkable thing about this is how I went from being sort of sickened by people carrying bottles of urine around, to thinking how that guy really needs to drink more water.