A Journey of a thousand miles

I don’t know where I first heard the phrase “A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step”, but like most truisms, it’s so damn…true.

Stop and think about it. We tend to bandy about so many clichés and truisms every day that we often fail to recognize the inherent genius and simplicity contained in such an everyday expression. Walking along a dark road in Iraq at night tends to make the mind wander, and I don’t know why, but that is what I was thinking about.

Now that we have gotten all the new guys (mostly) established, I have been able to establish myself back into a good rhythm. I’ve been able most days to break away around 1500 or 1600 and go for a run, a bike ride, or go to the gym. Not so yesterday. One little thing after another kept cropping up, and before I knew what was happening, it was way past dinnertime and I still had not yet hit the gym. Shame on me.

One of my main duties is to track and coordinate logistics movements to our outlying stations, and we had an ongoing mission that had to be tracked. When it was over, I suddenly found myself with little to do, and knew that I couldn’t blow off my PT for the day. Having already prepped by changing into PT gear, I began trudging the ¾ mile trek down to the gym.

It was a beautiful night in Mesopotamia. Crystal-clear skies, nice and dark with virtually no moon, and a crisp chill in the air that made my walk stay at a brisk pace. Never thought I’d need to say this, but I was actually chilly in Iraq; darn near cold to be honest! In any case, walking down the dark, tree-lined road, it was quiet except for the quick padding of my feet on the pavement, so it was natural that after the busy day, my mind began to somewhat relax and start to drift. And that’s when the phrase popped into my head, and I began some deep thought about what it means.

Of course, the person that codified that phrase most likely wrote it down in an era when a journey of thousand miles was pretty far; darn-near halfway around the world. Now, a journey of a thousand miles is likely to take place in an aircraft, and usually starts off by driving to the airport, standing in innumerable lines, getting frisked by TSA etc etc etc. In fact, I’m not sure how far away Iraq is from Fort Bliss, but the mere fact that virtually anyone can get on a plane, or a series of planes and within 12 hours be on the other side of the globe is pretty phenomenal. And totally taken for granted. Betcha the guy who wrote about journeying a thousand miles had no idea what was coming.

But there are deeper levels of meaning to this expression of course. I think in the age of bullet trains and transcontinental flights (not to mention transoceanic flights) this expression has come to mean something more along the lines of “You can’t get anywhere unless you first get your butt in gear and get moving”. Which brings me back to my trek to the gym. It probably would be easier to blow off a workout. It definitely was not the most convenient thing to trudge to the gym, and I was about ¾ of the way through my normal work day so I wasn’t feeling the most energetic. However, I was motivated enough to take that first step, and sometimes that’s all it takes.

You know what? The thing about taking that first step is, that if you don’t quickly follow it up with a second step, you often find yourself stumbling or falling. After the second step comes the third, and the next and the next and so on. Before you know it, you’re in a rhythm, feeling good and cruising down the road. You keep on plugging, one foot in front of the next and suddenly, you’re at your destination and you don’t even remember what all the fuss was about in the first place. And all it took was the will and the drive to start that journey by taking the first step.

Believe it or not, a lot of this went through my head on the walk towards the gym. I’m weird like that, but I hope that my friends and family will still love me despite my shortcomings. And I learned something else: midnight is a GREAT time to hit the gym! There was only like 3 other dudes working out, so there was no scramble for equipment, no buffed up body builders posing in front of the mirrors, and perhaps best of all, the usual miasma of poorly circulated air containing sweaty smell was noticeably absent, contributing to the enjoyment of my workout.

I am using the same triathlon training website that I’ve been using for about a year; the difference is that over the last several months, I’ve had the dedication and time to ensure that I am pretty rigorously following the scheduled routine. So IAW my plan, I did the Strength Maintenance workout consisting of 15 reps squats @ 175 lbs, 15 reps dumbbell rows @45 lbs, 30 sit-ups (w/10 lb weight), 60 side-crunches (30 @ side) 15 reps lat pulldowns (@100 lbs) and 30 reps of hamstring curls (@35 lbs). Second set was the same except for lower reps and higher weights: 8 reps @ 265 lbs 8 reps @ 65 lbs, 30 sit ups/60 side crunches, 8 reps @ 130 lbs and 30 reps @ 35 lbs. Felt darn good at the end, except as always, my hamstrings were pretty tired. Those darn hamstring curls! Although low in weight, always get me around rep 26-27. When I’m done, my first few steps are kind of dicey, like I need to remember how to walk…I imagine it looks pretty funny.

It’s only after finishing this workout that you then appreciate being able to jump in the car to drive home like when you are back home. In fact, in the workout description on the website, it says in all capital letters: DO NOT RUN AFTER THIS WORKOUT. I imagine that is to prevent injury or something like that, and after walking the walk home, I think that I will be abiding by that advice. After squats and those damn hamstring curls, my body wasn’t much wanting to walk anywhere, and I don’t think I could have run if had to. But you know what they say, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step”. I didn’t have that far to go, not by a long shot, but I did have to get back. So I did the only thing I could: took that first step. Then the second. And the next and the next. Pretty soon I was thinking about what kind of snack I would have when I got back. Before I realized what was going on, I had arrived.

I was all over the peanut butter crackers.

Another great workout song. At least, I think so!

Jon Bon Jovi is a guilty pleasure that I suspect many folks would only admit to listening to (much less enjoying) under the kind of painful torture only the CIA could dream up at some secret prison in Thailand. However, I'm not ashamed to admit that despite the reputation as a pop-rock artist, I enjoy listening to some of his stuff every now and then. Heck, this guy was big when I was in high school, and he's still cranking out hits. Livin' on a Prayer is on my MP3 player and never fails to motivate me for that last mile or two, and this song (It's My Life) is always a sure-fire winner round about the 50 minute mark on the stationary bike. Click on the link above to hear the song and follow along with the lyrics below.

How can you help but get a little pumped up?

This ain’t a song for the broken-hearted
No silent prayer for the faith-departed
I ain’t gonna be just a face in the crowd
You’re gonna hear my voice
When I shout it out loud

Chorus:
It’s my life
It’s now or never
I ain’t gonna live forever
I just want to live while I’m alive
(it’s my life)
My heart is like an open highway
Like Frankie said
I did it my way
I just wanna live while I’m alive
It’s my life

This is for the ones who stood their ground
For Tommy and Gina who never backed down
Tomorrow’s getting harder make no mistake
Luck ain’t even lucky
Got to make your own breaks

Chorus

Better stand tall when they’re calling you out
Don’t bend, don’t break, baby, don’t back down

Chorus

Chorus:
It’s my life
And it’s now or never
’cause I ain’t gonna live forever
I just want to live while I’m alive
(it’s my life)
My heart is like an open highway
Like Frankie said
I did it my way
I just want to live while I’m alive
’cause it’s my life!

Unwanted Spam comments

Thanks to everyone who reads and posts comments about my blog. Please continue. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoy posting material.
Since establishing the blog site, I have had problems with unwanted spam posted as "comments". My web genius brother had the same issue on his blog site, but he uses a more high-tech blog software that can prevent unwanted spam comments. Lo and behold, Blogspot (the software that I am using) has a feature that can help prevent spammers from posting "comments" by requiring anyone who posts a comment to use a word verification system.

Fear not, those who are interested in posting comments! All that happens is that a random word is generated when you post a comment. You are required to type in the word that appears on the screen as a kind of password in order to post to the blog. Automated systems that post spam comments are not able to overcome this as it requires real time input, so this should eliminate (or at least decrease) the amount of spams.

Thanks, and continue to read.

Sights and Sounds of Iraq

THE INFORMATION IN THIS POST HAS BEEN REVIEWED FOR SECURITY PURPOSES. IT CONTAINS NO SENSITIVE OR CLASSIFIED MATERIAL.

It is fascinating how adaptable humans can be.

After just slightly more than three months so far in Iraq, I have become accustomed to a lot. I suppose that there probably are many scholarly papers written on the subject of adaptability and human reaction to change etc, but this is more along the lines of observations.

After spending time out west, I got accustomed to dust, and lots of it. Al Anbar province is largely flat and featureless with the seeming exception of the base that I was on. To refresh those who don’t remember, it was a former training air base belonging to the British and had been designed and decorated in the colonial 1930s British style, and improved and redone by subsequent generations of Iraqis.

I got quite accustomed to the sights and sounds while there. It was not uncommon to receive indirect fire, and it just became a part of daily (or near-daily!) life to hear a round whistling overhead and impacting, or to be inside and feel the deep resounding bass sound of a muffled explosion.

On my runs through and around the camp, I got used to the sight of palm trees lining decades-old streets, pockmarked and gutted buildings and abandoned military equipment lying around, some of which was twisted and wrecked, some of which looked quite good. Some equipment looked as if a quick fill up of gas and a tune up, and the vehicle or aircraft would be ready to roar to life. Most looked dilapidated and battered.

Now that I have been transferred to the HQ, there are all new sights and sounds to get used to. The HQ is located in one of Saddam’s hangouts, a resort that was built for his enjoyment and the entertaining of guests. There is a the (requisite) palace, several guest villas and a large hotel, all designed and executed in what I can only describe as inimical Saddam architecture: a curious mix of traditional Arab architecture (arches, domes and square buildings) and modern architecture.

Running through the complex, you can only be amazed at the excess of Saddam, the absolute arrogance that required him to build more than 21 palaces. This particular compound is great for running, because a single circuit of the complex is just about exactly four miles. FOUR MILES! That’s not a small amount of land, and considering the number of very nice villas, the palace and the hotel and the man-made lake (Saddam was big on man-made lakes as well as palaces, there are several in Baghdad) I can only begin to fathom the amount of money spent on such an endeavor. And yet the people of Iraq were not provided with many of the basic necessities of life. There is a distinct lack of infrastructure, and the economy was/is a shambles.

Another thing that I have gotten accustomed to in my time here so far is the sound of aircraft. Of course, Baghdad is a central logistics hub for the US military, and from this central hub, there are often helicopters flitting around all the time. It is not uncommon to see some impressive displays of US military air power in the skies; Cobra gunships, Marine SeaKnights, Apache gunships, Army Blackhawks etc. Having a flight of two roar overhead while on a run is pretty impressive, and a sight that frankly I will miss upon my return to the States.

Lots of folks live near airports in the states, but not everyone gets to see the impressive array of aircraft flying on a regular basis that crosses the sky within my view. C-130s, C-5s, C-17s and 737s not to mention an assortment of aircraft that I am not familiar with. I don’t know for sure, but I think I spotted a couple of Russian-built transports (Antonovs?) and other assorted transport aircraft. It gets to the point that you don’t hear them flying anymore almost, they are overhead so often.

I suppose that what you become accustomed to depends largely on where you are in Iraq. My experiences out west and now in Baghdad probably don’t mirror those of others (Army, Marine etc) serving in more front-line positions and units. I have gotten as close to the war effort as I can without actually joining an infantry unit so I am taking onboard the richness of the experience as much as I can. It has been interesting and informative; that being said, it will be nice to reassimilate into home and the sights and sounds of Fort Worth.

It's Gettin' Messy in the Mesopotamia

THIS POST HAS BEEN REVIEWED FOR SECURITY PURPOSES. IT CONTAINS NO SENSITIVE OR CLASSIFIED INFORMATION.

Chaos. Pressure. Change. All words that describe my working environment. I’m a whirling dervish of computer activity, brain spinning about 33,000 RPM all the while chained to my desk behind the laptop that is my window to the world and my nemesis.

The last two weeks have been busy busy busy for me. Due to personnel requirements, I was directed to pack my stuff and leave my former location in Western Iraq for a new location in Central Iraq. I was previously operating out of one of the Task Units, I am now at the Task Group headquarters. It is a step up of perhaps half an order of magnitude. Whereas before I was responsible for the air needs of a single Task Unit, I am now responsible for three TUs and the TG. It has been an adjustment.

The need to make this move came about on very short notice. There was very little time for me to prepare and pack. As usual, we did the best we could by giving some minimal training to a guy out West who has had some experience with airflow, but it is a far from ideal situation. I find myself trying to coach him through routine tasks I take for granted (how to move person A from point B to C) all the while trying to once again get to know a new set of people and manage all the moves we have going on.

On any given day we are moving 8-10 people using perhaps 3 different sources, all of which have to be coordinated and tracked on various websited. There are regular meetings to attend, daily update briefs to prepare and attend, and behind it all, the looming behemoth of a large-scale movement of people and equipment that is pending. I thought I was busy out West; I’m probably twice as busy now.

Battle rhythm remains the same for the most part, except that because there are more people to take care of, I have less time that I can genuinely call my own. I am trying to take ownership of my job and improve perceived deficiencies. I create nifty data trackers and find creative ways of displaying them. NSW is nice: they get cool toys. I now get a 42: plasma display all to myself! No more dry erase board for me! Now I have looped power point slides displaying all manner of vital information. What would the military due without Microsoft Office?

I continue to use all the tools of the trade with the fervor of an acolyte. I am a multi-synchronous, emailing web surfing fool. I can carry on two IM conversations, search a website for a flight schedule and knock out an email all pretty much at the same time. It’s a hectic pace to keep up for 16-18 hours a day, but for the first few days, I’m holding up well. Give me a month of this, and we’ll see how I’m doing then.

Things got started quickly here with a short turnover with the outgoing air officer. We were pretty busy with 1) routine day to day operations 2) finding a way to get him home after our original plan fell through and 3) trying to get my computer accounts setup so we didn’t have all the time we needed for a thorough turnover. We did the best that we could. I am not afraid of much, but I live in constant terror of screwing something monumental up, so the first few days I have been on edge, trying to keep track of everything and dealing with contingencies that pop up.

I am also trying to clear out a huge backlog in both studying JPME and emails. Due to my lack of internet out West, I have gotten quite backed up on my reading and tests for my class. Now I’m paying the price. Virtually every free minute (and there aren’t many of them) I am studying. My books add to the mess on my desk so they are here for easy access and as a silent accusation of my slacking ways (“I’m here, waiting to be read. Read me, read me!”). I have neglected a lot of folks in my emails lately (I can’t claim any fault there) so I am trying to also spend a few minutes a day and email some friends and family. Finally, I am trying to fit in some PT when I can. So far I have done some lifting and running, but little biking. To my chagrin, the gym here has a recumbent bike, but sadly has no upright stationary bike. There is a spin trainer that I may have to figure out how to use as a substitute to keep my triathlon training goals somewhat on track.

In the last game of soccer I played versus the Iraqis, I got some good abrasions on my leg. It was very shortly after my arrival here that I added to that collection. Apparently there has been a tradition of khaki versus blueshirts in touch football for the last few weeks. I was invited to participate, despite being an unknown quantity and we had quite the good game on one of the rifle ranges. It is far from level, has lots of pitfalls and bushes etc, but we make it work. I might modestly add that I caught no less than 4 touchdown passes, threw another TD pass and on defense, tipped one pass that was intercepted. The khakis (officers and chiefs) won the game 7 touchdowns to 0, tying the series 2-2. Dust Bowl V will be held in three days. The honor of the wardroom/goat locker is at stake, and despite my injuries, I may be persuaded into participating. Heck, I doubt you could stop me from playing!

One last observation before I resume my duties. Saw an unusual sight today that had me running for my trusty Olympus: clouds
. It has been quite a while since I have seen rain, or clouds or grey skies. So I had to take some pictures. The weather has been getting steadily cooler. I can’t confirm, but we may have had our first double digit temperature day since I’ve been here! Very exciting. I’m told the rainy season begins soon, which I can’t even begin to imagine. Things get pretty muddy around here which will be an interesting sight after all the dust. I’m dubious, about there being “precipitation” and “mud” and such, but we’ll see! People swear up and down it’s so.

I may not be from Missouri, but this I gotta see.

INCOMING!!

THIS POST HAS BEEN REVIEWED FOR SECURITY PURPOSES. IT DOES NOT CONTAIN ANY SENSITIVE OR CLASSIFIED MATERIAL.

Just another day in Western Iraq.

Most of us here have gotten used to the various sounds of warfare that we are exposed to. Helicopters routinely fly near the camp, the staccato of their rotors reverberating around the buildings as they pass by. Tanks, gas turbine engines whining creak by on their treads. The ubiquitous HMWWVs are like Honda Civics: utilitarian and totally forgettable. Whenever anyone is at the rifle range, you can hear them popping off rounds from afar, especially if it is 50 cal machine gun, or the 20mm guns that are mounted on the Bradley fighting vehicles. The guys going out on patrol routinely stop and test fire their weapons, so you can often hear the rat-a-tat-tat off in the distance. Then there is indirect fire, or what we call IDF.

The local insurgents, whomever they are, know that our base is pretty well protected. We have large numbers of soldiers manning outposts, guard towers and the gates of the camp itself. Everyone carries a weapon and those in OPs or on guard duty are in full battle dress including body armor and Kevlar. So there’s not much to be gained by trying a frontal assault. Instead, the bad guys basically annoy us on a nearly daily basis by lobbing a few rounds at us from as far away as they can and then running the heck away. They don’t linger due to counter-battery fire.

Once incoming rounds to our area are detected, the Army then sends a counterbattery towards the Point of Origin, or POO. It is impressive to be out and about somewhere on the base and hear the counterbattery fire off. I believe they use 155mm rounds, but the name of the gun is the Paladin, which is pretty cool. They go off with loud bang and go whistling overhead. Depending on where the POO is, you may hear them land a few seconds later with a deep “CARUMPH” that is so deep and powerful, you can feel it in your gut.

The insurgents have two types of weapons they use for IDF, mortars and rockets. Neither one are particularly effective for a number of reasons. The first, is that rounds like that take not a small amount of skill to successfully aim and hit a target. Knowing how to set up the precise angle and azimuth are not the easiest skills for trained US military personnel to master, much less untrained and mostly unskilled insurgents.

In any case, the lack of success has not dimmed the insurgent fervor; they continue to lob rounds onto the camp just about daily. For the most part, I’ve learned to distinguish the different sounds that incoming mortars and rockets make, as well as the outgoing Paladin rounds. Also, it is important to be able to distinguish when a round impacts relatively close CRRRRACK BOOOOOM) vice one that hits far away (CARRROOOOM).

We have not had any rounds land that close to our building, and those that have landed relatively close (200m, 545m) have only hit unoccupied plots of land or vacant buildings. To my knowledge, no one on our camp has been injured by IDF and I hope that trend continues. Today however was our lucky day: a rocket hit about 100m from our building, and your humble scribe got to witness the whole event.

I was standing outside talking to a couple of folks when we began to hear rounds going off. It is a trifle difficult to piece together, but the consensus is that we heard several distant impacts then one closer. Immediately on the heels of the (relatively) close impact, we heard the unique “whizzing” sound a rocket makes. I’m no expert mind you, but what immediately flashed through my head was “Man, that one is not too far away” and almost as soon as I had finished the thought, the rocket impacted. I happened to be facing the right (wrong?) direction and saw the rocket hit, the flash and CRAAACK BOOOOM. Then a large dust cloud obscured the area, and my ear began ringing as happens after a sudden loud noise impinges on your brain.

As it turns out, the rocket hit about 100m where we were standing. Fortunately, these rockets are relatively small and don’t have that much punch. Again, I’m no expert but I’m told that if one were to land outside the building, if you were in the next room you might be hurt or killed, but two rooms over would be OK, so 100m was more than enough safe distance. I think it even woke a couple of late sleepers up. Either that one or the 4 other rockets that hit nearby.

Our TOC (Operations Center) has a mini collection of rocket and mortar fragments that people have found after impacts. Once the muje pop off a couple of rounds, they typically don’t stick around. It’s fire and get the heck outta dodge (they are well aware of the counterbattery missions). So everyone on camp knows that once the last round impacts, it is usually clear to come out and investigate. If you can pinpoint the impact site, you can go over and check it out. And if you are lucky enough, you can find some good leftovers. Hence our collection of frag.

This piece came out remarkably well; it is the back end of the rocket (the venturi) and is what directs the rocket blast to propel the projectile. Note the strikingly similar pattern that the venturi fragments into on these leftovers from three separate rockets. The fragment on the far left is the one I found from the rocket that hit this afternoon. This large piece of twisted metal for some reason did not fully explode, although you could probably sell it as abstract yard art, and this large piece (from the rocket that was fired today) is what the previous picture looked like before it exploded. Finally, these are some good-sizedrandom fragments.

So how did this all set with me? I’m no hero, but truthfully, the event did not trigger any panic or fear. Naturally, adrenaline kicked in and got my heart racing for a few moments, but after that, nothing. In fact, I thought it was pretty cool actually. No one was hurt, nothing was damaged, and how lucky do you have to be so see an impact and explosion like that and suffer no ill effects. As I said earlier, I’m sure I would feel differently if the bad guys were better shots. As it is, I’m pretty happy with their level of proficiency.

How Soccer can save Iraq

THIS POST HAS BEEN REVIEWED FOR SECURITY PURPOSES. IT CONTAINS NO SENSITIVE OR CLASSIFIED INFORMATION.

Futbol. Football. Soccer. Whatever you choose to call it, it is one of (if not THE) most popular game in the world. Give a couple of kids anywhere in the world a ball and some empty space and you can bet that a game will break out soon thereafter. Americans are not much for soccer. Our love affair with sports is more oriented towards the American version of football (fierce college rivalries and NFL), basketball (March Madness and the NBA), baseball (America’s game, the boys of summer) and to a lesser degree, hockey. But outside our walls, soccer is king. Perhaps it is the magnificent simplicity of the game that is attractive, or maybe it is the fact that you can play just about anywhere anytime with practically no equipment whatsoever; whatever the case for soccer, it is the world’s game.

Soccer mom’s notwithstanding, soccer is really not all that big in this country. Millions of kids play in countless Saturday leagues across the country. Heck, it gives soccer moms another date to add to the Palm Pilot and more miles on the minivan transporting junior to soccer practice and games. Plus it gives moms and dads who know nothing about the game to berate the referees, pressure the coach and generally make fools of themselves at soccer games. Trust me, I coached in a U-10 boys league for a year and I’ve seen it and it’s not a pretty sight.

Something interesting happens once kids leave the grade school/middle school era. Although gazillions of kids play when younger, the number of kids playing soccer once they reach high school is magically whittled away to a fraction of the numbers that play at younger ages. The only professional league (MLS) has lost money every year it has been in existence and although the fans it does have are nearly as rabid as any besotted English fans, the base is not large enough to support the league. Most damning of all, MLS only gets less time on ESPN than the Great Outdoor Games featuring dogs jumping off docks and sweaty men chopping logs in half with an axe and climbing telephone poles.

The fact the soccer is not big in the US is one more reason for the world to hate us, as if they needed another reason. I suppose that it gives Morocco some small measure of comfort that although their GDP is less than say, Rhode Island, their soccer team can and regularly does do better at the FIFA World Cup every few years than our team.

I have a friend at home that is one of the few adults I know that actually plays soccer. He was a collegiate soccer player and had even had the chance to try out for the Olympic Team. He has insights into soccer that are pretty cool, but what I think I can appreciate most is how soccer can bring people of disparate cultures and ethnicities together. Soccer is fun, even for knucleheads like myself who don’t have any soccer skills at all. Witness the recent events at our Camp.

As anyone who watches the news knows (say that three times fast!) one of the prime missions of the US military in Iraq is training Iraqis to take over the civilian, military and political leadership of the country. I’m pleased to say that a small piece of that is happening right where I am stationed. There are Army, Navy and Marine units that are training and advising Iraqi military units right here. Yep, we are giving the Iraqis the tools to take the country back so we can leave. I’m happy to be a (very small) part of that process.

In any case, some of the Iraqi soldiers that are stationed here are regulars on the soccer field and we decided to get up a game with them last week. The field wasn’t much, just an old athletic field, complete with rudimentary concrete bleachers and a dirt track. The soccer field (I guess it would have been a “pitch” when constructed by the Brits way back in the day) is nothing but dust, dirt and nasty prickly weeds. Put up some goal posts and line the sides with white 3” straps for sidelines, and you have yourself a soccer field. Game time kicked off around 1830 to take advantage of the cooler evening weather. It didn’t matter much as we were all running up and down the field, and even though it was the evening, “cooler” is a relative term.

The Iraqi team posed before the game got underway. I’d like to think that I captured the love of the sport in the eyes of these guys who are risking their lives by being in the military. Many military enlistees have been threatened, had their families threatened and kidnapped, even killed. These young men are working against cultural and military obstacles the likes of which Americans have never had to face. Yet they manage to find a way to smile and enthusiastically participate in a soccer game against the soldiers that are training them. It gave me pause to consider just how lucky we are in our country.

The game got underway and the Iraqi skill at dribbling and passing quickly led to a score within the first five minutes. Despite the valiant karate kid defense, the Iraqis kept the pressure on the American side of the field for a good bit until our guys settled in, the defense stiffened and we began to control the ball better, make cleaner passes and work the ball up the field. Your intrepid scribe even managed an appearance, albeit looking pretty clueless. After the game was finished, I heard a report from our translator after the game that no kidding, the Iraqis were “intimidated” by our defenders. One look at this guy and you can see why that might be the case; check out that guy’s face! He looks ready to take the head off anyone rash enough to venture onto his part of the field with the ball.

When playing defense, body position is of utmost importance. Note the fierce concentration in the eyes of all the players, the dirt on the noggin from hitting the ball with my head. As anyone in my family can attest, having your tongue sticking out is crucial to doing anything well. Many of the Iraqi soldiers are wiry fellows, speedy and nimble as this picture shows very well. That didn’t stop our team from coming back and tying up the score when one of our defenders beat one of their strikers to the ball, passing it up the field where a forward outmuscled and outdribbled two defenders and lauched the ball through the goalposts.

The Iraqis bounced back quickly, and just like that, the pressure was back on our side of the field. The defenders held firm and for a while no one scored. After a good long spell where the ball mainly went up and down the field with no shots on goal, the Iraqis got a lucky break when one of our defenders missed a pass and gave the ball up and the goalie was unable to stop a 2-1 breakaway. Now they were up by a goal.

After taking a breather for some water, I moved up to forward where I was able to showcase my complete lack of skill and talent. About the only thing I can do well at is run pretty fast, so I was able to get to some balls that may otherwise have gone out and put some pressure on their defenders. A lot of the Iraqi soldiers are smaller in stature, and shorter than we Americans, so I was able to get in a couple of headers that were a lot of fun to execute. We did tie the score up when one of our better players (who had played in college as it turns out) did some razzle dazzle stuff off a corner kick and managed to slip the ball past the keeper.

In the fading daylight, the action remained intense as neither side was willing to give an inch. The ball went back and forth across the field until finally, with barely any daylight left, we got a breakaway down the field and decisively ended the game with a goal that was celebrated with sweaty high fives and handshakes.

Everyone had such a great time on the field that we agreed to a rematch a week later. The Iraqis came out gunning, passing the ball with alacrity and dribbling up the field with impunity. The American team was unable to pull it together, and was resoundingly beaten by a score of 4-2. Ouch.

Hopefully there will be a next time to get a chance at redemption.

ShootEx

THIS POST HAS BEEN REVIEWED FOR SECURITY PURPOSES. IT CONTAINS NO CLASSIFIED OR SENSITIVE INFORMATION.

There is something undeniably satisfying about shooting. Unlike what is depicted on TV or in the movies, shooting takes a great deal of skill to master. It takes precision and concentration to do it right. It’s also just lots of fun. It doesn’t matter whether you are shooting a revolver, an automatic pistol, a rifle or a machine guy, the task of pulling a trigger and unleashing a copper jacketed lead bullet downrange is quite cathartic. And like boys with toys, it seems the bigger the gun, the more fun…tankers of course, being the kids with the biggest toys. SEALs have cool toys too, but they don’t share with us non SEALs. So us lowly HQ types have to go play in our own sandbox to play. Witness the recent ShootEx we held the HQ techs.

Whenever we go “outside the wire” there are requirements that we must abide by. Just as no Minnesotan would leave their home in the winter without 15 layers of clothing, we don’t leave the gates without wearing body armor and our Kevlar helmets and driving armored HMMWVs. We are also required to have rifles and at least one crew served weapon. In order to familiarize the technicians who man these weapons on trips outside the wire, we recently got to fire two of the weapons that we regularly carry with us, the M60E lightweight machine gun and the M240B medium machine gun.

My brother, an Army Specialist is the armorer for his troop, so I hope I have my facts right. I imagine that if I don’t he’ll be happy to correct me. Both weapons fire the standard 7.62mm round. Both the M240B and the M60E are gas-operated, belt-fed weapons. They both have bipods mounted on the front of the weapon to assist with stability. The M60E can be shoulder fired. The M240B can be shoulder fired as well, but apparently not effectively, so we don’t use the weapon in this fashion.

The M240B weighs 27.18 pounds and has a maximum range of 3725 meters. I can tell you that the extra .18 pounds is not really discernable. It has three rates of fire that are determined by selecting one of three gas ports on the bolt. It can fire 650 rounds per minute, sustained. For rapid fire, it can fire 750 or up to 950 rounds per minute. For those keeping track, that is 11, 12 and 16 rounds per second and that is slinging some serious lead down range, I can assure you. Like all MGs, the barrel on this weapon gets so hot due to the rounds going through it, that it requires frequent changing. During sustained rates of fire, the barrel must be changed about every 200 rounds (within ten minutes). During rapid fire, the barrel must be changed about every 200 rounds (within 2 minutes).

The M60E weighs around 18 pounds. It has a shorter barrel length and its rate of fire is only 550 rounds per minute, or around 9 rounds per second. That is still plenty of lead to put a hurtin’ on anyone who happens to be on the receiving end, especially if the shots are well aimed by a highly trained individual. Which is why we were getting the chance to fire in the first place.

Our ordnance representative schooled everyone up in the afternoon on the ins and outs of both weapons. I had missed his class, so he was kind enough to give me some one on one instruction which was helpful. Learned how to load and fire the weapons and how to change the barrels.

Later in the evening, we all started milling about smartly getting all our gear ready and everyone congregated. I took the opportunity to pose for a few pictures including some of the other dudes in the unit. Finally, we loaded up all of our equipment in a couple of Humvees and headed over to the range. We decided not to use the formal range as we didn’t want to conflict with some other training that was going on, so we went instead to the range that is used to test fire weapons. The ordnance guy and I set up our targets and we got set to shoot.

Before we got started however, we were interrupted by some traffic. No big deal, just a tank that happened to rolling through on their way to taking care of some sort of business. Once the tank got out of the way, we again got ready to what my brother would call “commence ta jigglin’”.

First order of business was to properly position youself on the deck. That turned out to be the easy part, simply plopping down on the ground, legs splayed with the inside of your feet flat on the ground. This is designed to give you maximum stability and support while firing the weapon. Next, take the belt of ammunition and on command, place the belt in the feed tray. Slam home the cover, charge the bolt and you are almost ready to go. The Range Safety Officer gave the command “Range is Hot!” and we were almost ready to fire. Once the command is given, you then take the weapon off safe, aim and fire.

For the course of fire that we did, we shot controlled 3-5 round bursts. The idea is to keep lead going downrange, but maintain a good point of aim. After firing a burst, you quickly reacquire the target then fire another burst. The weapons are of course, quite loud. In the open area that we were firing however, the sound tended to disperse quickly. I can’t imagine the thunder that would ensue by firing this weapon in an enclosed area!

Amazingly enough, the 240 has little to no recoil. There is a good-sized buffer spring that eats up the recoil, making it pretty easy on the shoulder. Like most machine guns, the weapon begins to “pull” off target when firing an extended burst. If you carefully watch the tail end of the video clip, you’ll see me fire off a long string of about 20-25 rounds in one burst. Only about the first 10 were on target, after that, the dust kicked up from the gas port and the smoke from the rounds going off sufficiently obscured the target to where I could only be sure that I was hitting in the near vicinity of the target, vice right on it.

After firing the 240, we switched over to firing the M60. The cool thing about the 60 is that it can readily be fired from the standing position. After firing about 50 rounds in burst fasion from the prone position, we were given the option of firing from the standing position. How could I realistically turn that down? Critics will point out that I have my left hand positioned incorrectly, which was also pointed out to me while on the range and corrected. Next time I’ll do better.

While the rest of the techs did their thing, I took the time to fire off some 9mm rounds. The targets were much further away than I normally shoot at, but what the heck, I needed some practice. I have not fired the Beretta 92FS much, since my personal weapon at home is a .40 caliber, so firing this weapon is a bit different. It was good to fire off a few rounds to remind myself of the differences between my personal weapon and my issued weapon.

In a kindly gesture of sharing, one of the SEAL RSOs out on the range let me fire off a magazine from his suppressed M-4 rifle. It has additional optics that make it very easy to acquire and fire on a target. I’ve fired the M-4 before, but not with that gear. It was pretty nifty.

Maybe if my parents had not totally forbidden playing guns, cowboys and Indians, cops and robbers or anything of that ilk when I was a child, I wouldn’t be as fascinated as I am by the tools and the craft of shooting. Oh well, sorry to disappoint! Aside from the very real training, firing the two MGs was just plain ole fun! I’m looking forward to next time when we train on the .50 caliber MG and the twin 240. Nothing like quickly slinging some hot lead downrange to make up for a bad day.

NEXT: Two tours of the Crib.

The Dogs of War or How this whole mess got started in the first place

I got this blog as an email from a Marine Corps colleague of mine. It goes a long way towards explaining exactly how this whole Iraq thing got started in the first place.

It’s all a misunderstanding!

I figured it out! I finally found out why we are in Iraq! It’s all due to a linguistic misunderstanding.

In my mundane duties as an Air Officer here in Iraq, I have a hand in processing and prioritizing our myriad flights. Upwards of 90 requests per day come in and compete for somewhat limited aviation assets. All the requests pass before me in rapid fashion on the computer screen each morning. The Colonel needs to go here for a Change Of Command ceremony, the Lance Corporal needs to go there to pick up some crypto gear for radios in his unit, the Major needs to go to a conference on contracting for Port-A-John services, a ton of bottled water needs to get out to Al Qaim and this one:

1) pallet of dog food, 200 LBS
request transportation from Al Asad to Camp Fallujah IOT transport dog food to feed MWD's. Will be palletized and on LZ. POC: MSgt Smith at 3687-290

Say again?

200 pounds of dog chow needs to get tossed in the back of a CH-46 in order to get somewhere to feed some of our Military Working Dogs (MWD’s).

Oh, oh!

On a hunch, I looked through our Secret document archives and found that one of the many thousands of papers generated about Iraq before the war, documented their own Military Working Dog program. To my shock, I discovered that English translations of the Arabic documents rendered “Military Working Dog” into, you guessed it, “Working Military Dog.” … and of course that changed the acronym from “MWD” to “WMD.”

Of course, if you are the Secretary of State, you don’t have the time to read thousands of pages per day of stuff, so you “skim the wave tops” and just sort of read the titles of the info papers you have on your desk. You have to, or you’d get nothing done.

You see where this is headed, right?

Well, I got pretty excited about this find and I was going to tell my boss about it so he could alert the higher-ups, but before getting out from behind the desk, I noticed that I had placed the Thursday dog food flight at #28 priority. My boss was also traveling Thursday and his flight came in at #29 priority. So since I gave the dog food a higher precedence than my boss, and I didn’t want to have to explain that while standing at the position of attention, I just let the whole thing drop.

I had to, or I’d get nothing done around here.