"Kit"

This is me riding through the red zone all decked out in my "kit" (protective gear). The HUGE shades are not a fashion statement...just part of the kit.

Sacrifices

The grand ballroom in the former Presidential Palace is now the largest coffee shop I have ever seen. The lattes are fabulous thanks to three young men from Nepal who work ridiculous hours. One day I ordered a single latte and a double latte. The next day, when they saw me standing in line, the tall, handsome Nepali man said with his proudest smile: "single latte double latte." I've thought about trying the chai espresso, but I appreciate so much the fact that they remember my order that I don't want to change it up on them. On less busy days, they draw little hearts in the foam on top of my latte.

Metal bookcases are filled with used books that are traded on a take-a-book-leave-a-book type system. There are racks of magazines, most of which interest me none, with titles that talk about electronics, guns, and such things. I did find a Conde Nast Travel magazine that kept me occupied for an hour or so. Round tables are scattered across the ballroom, and there are several living room type seating areas, with sofas, armchairs, ottomans, and side tables. On the other side of a room divider are 20 computers with internet access.

At any given time, at least one sofa holds a sleeping soldier, sailor, airman or marine. I can only make presumptions as to why these guys don't go back to their quarters to sleep. Is it because the palace is safer? Is the break so short that walking back to quarters is not worth the trouble? Either way, this image of exhausted men sleeping in this ballroom will forever be burned in my memory.

This palace ballroom is where the people who work in Embassy Annex come to eat a quick lunch, to have a casual meeting (mostly State Dept. people), to play chess or a card game, or to connect with home. I spend a lot of time watching and listening in this room.

Yesterday a group of soldiers sat at a table near mine. As they got up I could hear them making plans for the evening when I heard one man say, "I won't be able to make it; they're inducing my wife tonight; I'll be a dad by this time tomorrow." The words were spoken as a matter-of-fact, and I am sure this man was not seeking sympathy from anyone. He was just beaming proud as can be. But how difficult it must be for him to miss the birth of his child. And I can't help but think of his wife, delivering a child without its father there to help her welcome a son or daughter. She must have strength that I can only imagine. She has to.

Every day, I spend some time sitting at a computer writing, sending e-mails, planning my journey home. And every day, I cannot help but notice that the men at computers next to me are, in large part, fixated on one thing: women. I see men signing up for online dating services, chatting with other chatters with handles like "sweet thing" (I'm just guessing this is a girl's handle), and writing letters to girlfriends, wives, fiances. Most of these guys are surrounded by their friends, but they are lonely for something more.

Jeremy has been successful as a commander in the Army. He holds a fairly important position here, and has spent well over half of the past four years either here in Iraq. He wants to have a family, and it's just not happening when he's only home for 4-5 months at a time and knows he'll be returning to Iraq so often. This guy would be quite a catch, but he isn't in one place long enough to be caught! He is successful, but he knows there is more to life than being successful at work. He wants to continue to help in this effort to give Iraq freedom - a cause that he believes in - but he is sacrificing his dreams of having a family to serve here.

Eugene has been overseas six times, and has opened a Dear John letter on four of those six deployments. He has a girlfriend now, and he's just not sure she can handle him being away for so long. "It's just too hard for them - knowing that this probably won't be the last time, and being scared of losing me, so they just call it off." They just call it off.

Rick is in love with his wife and has teenage children. This father is on his way home in a couple of weeks. I spoke to him just after he got off the phone with his 13-year-old son who just started football season. This man has been away almost three of the last four years - since his son was 9-years-old. During this conversation, his son asked him at least three times if he would be able to see him play football this year. Praise God, this man will be home in time to see half the season. His boy said hasn't gotten a tackle yet. But he's working real hard, and by the time Dad gets home, he'll be ready to show off for him.

There are the obvious sacrifices - those of life and limb. And then there are the more subtle ways that these men and women give their lives for us. Do everything you can to support those who protect us.

Reality of Fear

As I sit here in Saddam's old Presidential Palace, it is fairly easy to forget that I am in a warzone. This palace is amazing. And it's not just the inside of the palace that's fairly nice. The IZ is somewhat of an oasis in the desert, with lots of palm trees and even a pool behind the palace. There is a lot of dust, and the daily sounds of war can be heard - sometimes in the distance, and sometimes close enough to be pretty scary. But for the most part, I think I could live here for a while and be pretty comfortable.

But that blast this morning, it cost someone, maybe lots of someones, their very life. It's easy to ignore the real meaning of that loud boom when I am safe and surrounded by concrete T-walls and a bunch of tough soldiers and marines. That blast was nothing to me because it wasn't close enough to scare me as I sip my latte and eat my Special-K. But that blast changed someone's life forever. There is a family in this city for whom September 8, 2007 will forever be engraved on their hearts as the day they lost that one they loved.

I've written a little about the dangers I face here, and some of my fearful moments as I spend 10-15 minutes riding through the red zone under heavy guard in armored vehicle. And then I remind myself that there are children who LIVE in the red zone - families who are trying to make it in the city of their birth, hoping that today will not be the day when they meet death.

I heard a story last night, one that made me grieve for the terror, the confusion, and the utter sadness that has come to this land through the quest of a few men - men who terrorize their own people in the name of Allah - to have worldly power at the cost of innocent lives.

Somewhere outside of Fallujah, a Marine saw a man digging a hole in the ground on the side of the road. This Marine had lost buddies to roadside bombs, so it would be understandable if he reacted with less restraint than he did. He could have avoided risking his own life, and simply shot the man who was digging what most would assume was a hole for an IED. But instead, as I believe and hope that most of our soldiers and marines would do, he took the high road - the one that led him into what could have been his own death. He took an Iraqi interpreter and walked out to a man who appeared to be planting an IED.

Through the interpreter, the Marine found out that this Iraqi husband and father was out in the middle of the night with his shovel because the sewer line in his house was backed up. He was trying to take care of his family. The Marine called for a detachment of his men, armed with shovels, to help with the digging, and the sewage system was working before the sun was up. Thanks to insurgents who have made it impossible to recognize the enemy, this Iraqi man could have been killed. But thanks to an American Marine who risked his own life and went the extra mile, an Iraqi man went home a hero in the eyes of his family.

The soldier who told me this story began to swell with emotion, his eyes turning red and rimming with tears at the thought of what could have so easily happened that night. I am moved by the compassion of this man - this soldier - who wants more than anything for the people or Iraq to live in freedom and not in fear. And I am once again moved by the compassion and selflessness of our Marines and soldiers.

A Marine COl who has spent over two years in this conflict and now trains Iraqi soldiers told me there are two messages he'd like to send to whomever will listen:

1. We have to finish this war for the Iraqi people. Whether the past was handled perfectly or not, we must look forward and ensure that, when we leave this place, it is a place where people can LIVE without fear.

2. "I don't want my 11-year-old boy finishing this war for me, and that's what will happen if we leave without finishing what we've started."

Al Faw Palace

Al Faw Palace was the destination for my second trip into the "Red Zone" of Baghdad. It is one amazing place, though not more amazing than my daily hangout, the former Presidential Palace. Al Faw is the location for some of the military headquarters in Baghdad, and it is buzzing with important people doing important things. I have more photos that I'll post later.

The Palace is...well...palatial, to be completely obvious. The chandelier that can be seen in the second photo is at least 30 feet tall. The photo does it no justice. And the third photo is of the absolutely intricate design of the ceiling. It appears to be either carved of wood and painted, or made from a mold. The following is an interesting blurb on Al Faw Palace, taken in my laziness from the ever knowledgable Wikipedia:

The Al Faw Palace (also known as the 'Water Palace') is located in Baghdad approximately 5km from the Baghdad International Airport, Iraq and was commissioned to be built by Saddam Hussein to commemorate the re-taking of the Al Faw Peninsula by Iraqi forces during the Iran-Iraq conflict. The palace is situated on a former resort complex about 8 kilometers from the 'Green Zone', which is now referred to as the 'International Zone' or 'IZ' and the complex contains numerous villas and smaller palaces and is now one of the largest US/Coalition bases in Iraq (Camp Victory/ Camp Liberty). The palace contains over 62 rooms and 29 bathrooms. Many of the rooms have now been converted to serve as offices, and since 2004 the Palace has been used as the headquarters for the Multinational Force Iraq (MNFI) along with the Joint Operations Center (JOC), which serves as 'Mission Control' for all operational aspects of Operation Iraqi Freedom. There is an artificial lake surrounding the palace that has a special breed of large bass dubbed the Saddam bass as well as large carp. Saddam formerly used the palace for duck-hunting expeditions.
Because of the very light damage to the Al Faw Palace and other structures located on what is now Camp Victory, it is widely presumed that the planners of the 2003 invasion intended that this area would be used as a headquarters and main base area following the liberation of Baghdad. The resort is surrounded by high walls with preconstructed security towers which contributes to more readily maintaining surveillance and security for the former resort.

Ride in the Red Zone

Protected by body armor and Kevlar helmet, I load into the passenger seat of the third in a group of three armored SUVs about to make the trip from Camp Victory to the International Zone (Green Zone). The drive takes only 15 minutes or so (if that), but it seems like a lifetime. The driver is talking to me, telling me about the armor that protects the vehicle, noting the thickness of the bulletproof windows, and pointing out various landmarks that we pass along the way - the place where Saddam was sentenced to death, the oddly shaped "Tomb of the Unknown Soldier," and a brand new billboard. There are some landmarks that need no explanation - shells of buildings that have been gutted by the blast of a car bomb or suicide bomb. There are plenty of buildings that are only half-standing. The roads are eerily deserted due to mandatory Friday curfew, and we are moving at a nice clip as I attempt to snap pictures. On a subsequent trip to Camp Victory, I will learn that curfew day, though it seems eerie, feels much safer than other days, when there is the possibility of a dangerous traffic jam.

As we leave Camp Victory, just prior to entering the Red Zone, a soldier gets out of the lead car and walks to the top of some contraption that resembles a deer stand. I ask what he's doing, and my kind driver explains to me that he's looking for threats ahead...making sure things are clear before we head into the danger zone. After passing through the gate, my driver revs the engine and sticks to the back side of the second SUV. There will be no getting in the middle of this entourage. We move erratically back and forth from side to side, making our vehicle an unpredictable target in case we are shot at. The driver points out the thickness of the bulletproof windows.

We approach an overpass, and I hear radio chatter that the overpass appears to be clear. With every crossing pedestrian, there is a radio call. Roadkill does not go unnoticed. All of my senses are engaged. I do not feel afraid. But I am alert and ready thanks to a healthy shot of adrenaline. I'm in no real danger. My driver is experieced, and I know I am safe. I feel a little guilty. Guilty because I know that if anything were to happen, this man who has a wife and kids back home would sacrifice his life to save this girl he doesn't really even know. I think of the soldiers who spend their days patrolling on foot in the heart of Baghdad. And the ones who are on convoy duty day in and day out, hauling supplies in and out of Iraq, vulnerable to every kind of danger. They spend every day risking their lives for some girl with a backpack on her way to school back in Texas, some boy on his way to market in Baghdad, for you, for me. These boys - these men - these are heroes.

Duck and Cover

Saddam Hussein was fanatical about many things, not the least of which was his own security. In fact, I've heard that his obsession bordered on paranoia. I cannot remember all of the details of these safety precautions he's taken. Suffice it to say that the palaces that house the American Embassy and other U.S. government offices are fairly immune to the "indirect fire" that insurgents fire on the International Zone. The mortar rounds merely chip away at the exterior of the building, and cause a lot of noise.

I typically spend most of my time in one of these palaces, but last night I was drying my hair in the trailer where I live, the walls of which are far less impenetrable than those of Saddam's palace, when I felt the earth move.

Before last night, the rumble of the air conditioner turning over, or the thump of dates falling from palms onto the roof of the trailer got my heart pounding with thoughts of bombs and mortar rounds. Last night something became very clear to me: when there comes a mortar round, there will be no wondering what it is I'm hearing.

I quickly slipped on my shoes, grabbed my Iraqna cellular calling device, and scampered to the "duck-and-cover" bunker (I've taken to calling it a "hunker-bunker" instead...it has a better ring to it) that sits 20 yards from the trailer. As I arrived breathless in the bunker, the sirens began, telling all to take cover. The streets that are usually full of people at this hour, were completely deserted. Everyone was in a bunker, but somehow I managed to be all alone in mine, not really sure how many more rounds would be fired or when it would be safe to leave. (The positive aspect of my aloneness is that I was spared the embarassment of being scantily clad in my night-clothes in front of other hunkerers).

I made a quick phone call to my "security detail" to let him know I was not in the palace where he last saw me, but that I was OK. Out of breath from running downstairs to the Green Bean coffee shop only to find that I was not there, he told me to wait in the "hunker-bunker" until the all clear call. I sat there praying that it was over for about 10 minutes, and then came the clear call. I calmly walked back to the trailer and put on proper clothing before I called my security detail and let him know I would be spending the rest of the evening in the heavily fortified palace.

Staging Post

This Army post is quite possibly the loneliest, saddest place I have ever been. It is hands down the eeriest. I can not say where it is located, but it is a war staging area in the middle of the desert, and it is hot - sometimes upwards of 120 degrees. I spend two nights here awaiting transport to Baghdad. This the gateway to Iraq, and to Afghanistan. The loneliness and fear in this place are palpable.

With but a few exceptions, every soul who is here is on his way to spend a year or more away from loved ones and home. Everyone here is on his way to war. The misery of dreading an entire year away from loved ones is written on every face. The fear of unknown is evident in the eyes of many. And the familiarity of this routine can be seen in the resolve of those who are back for a second, third, or fourth time. People wander around in a half-zombie state, exhausted from traveling, lonely, scared - these people are going to war, and their faces show it.

Maybe this is the worst part - the dreading what is to come. I hope that is the case.

Day and night are one and the same here. When I arrive at almost midnight, I watch a game of volleyball as I eat my dinner. I am not tired because it is daytime at home, but I try to sleep. Sleep does not come easily because the lights in my tent remain on at all hours. Daytime is more suited to sleep than nighttime in this strange place that never sleeps. Thankfully, these tents are air conditioned.

I wake at 6:00 a.m. for morning roll call, and then fall asleep until 2:00 p.m. - the hottest part of the day, and it is unbearable. The desert sun reflects off of every surface, making it nearly impossible to see. Only a few people mill among the canvas tents that serve as makeshift hotels.

Night falls again, and people return. We are all waiting to board a plane for somewhere else. Of course, there are people who are stationed in this place who help soldiers get where they're going. They are the most cheerful crowd, and it's a good thing. This place, and these soldiers could use some good cheer.