What's better

than free beer in Iraq?

Free beer in Iraq with another recovering jarhead, that's what!



That's right - we trudged over at 0130 for our two MGDs-in-cans. They were great. Consider this a big thank you to the American taxpayer. Those dollars, at least, were well-spent.

(note - the other jarhead is our company commo guy, who's hiding out with us for a few days)

Dog (deprived)

We sat outside, the Boss and Roommate and I, discussing the latest Bright Idea from Higher.

It was, I declared, the absolute Stupidest Damn Thing I Ever Have Heard. In fact, I further elaborated, it sounded like the end product of a branding meeting conducted by rhesus monkeys. No, I corrected myself, since I am under the impression that rhesus monkeys are kinda bright and capable of learning simple tasks, this latest Bright Idea sounded like something that was dreamed up by carp. Or tree stumps. I folded my arms and glared.

You are, the Boss pointed out, one angry lady.

I shook my head. No, sir, I explained, that's just not so. I could deal with stupidity and the silliness and the fact that my feet kinda smell funny 'cause I wear boots all the time, but they made me leave my dog at home.

And it's true. What a morale boost one of my dogs would be. Better, I daresay, than even beer. Either dog would work just fine here.

Sparky would have his pluses, what with being small and a good sleeping companion and being the Scourge of Mice.



He could sit in my lap while I read and I could tote him around in my assault pack. Or maybe I could even get some sort of specialized ACU-pattern MOLLE-compatible Yorkie-toting device.

Jack, of course, would fit right in.



Maybe he'd do some floor peeing during the occasional indirect fire event, but other than that, he'd be super. I have a beanbag chair I won in a USO raffle he could sleep on, and he could trot around the FOB with me. He'd be great company for porch-sitting, and excellent for cleanup at our team cookouts. The interpreters do not seem fond of dogs, so he'd keep them away from our CHU. And if he could get past the fact that the few windows on an MRAP don't open, and so there's no sticking one's head out, he'd even be great on mission.

Alas - no. Although I would have been more than willing to bring a dog either large or small, Uncle Sam has said no dogs. And so we're left with FOB cats. Because of our rodent problem, the Powers That Be have declared the cats allowed, as long as nobody pets them (because then they'd cease being vector control and become pets, right?).



Cats.

[sigh]

You know, I'm just saying, the last time we really no-crap won a war, there were dogs all over the place. Working dogs, sure, but look at the pictures. Pet dogs, too. (Seriously, go look at the pictures - they're great)

US Army with pet dogs - defeats Nazis, saves world.
US Army with cats - six-year involvement in low-intensity conflict, of which both the causes and likely outcome are still sorta iffy.

Lieutenants

We were out and about today, introducing a new manuever unit to the AO. We hit a meeting, a couple of ICERP projects (school addition, complete; health clinic, progressing very nicely), drove past a couple of key points. Then we got to the part where the outgoing manuever unit wanted to introduce the incoming manuever unit to a local "sphere of influence."

The gentleman in question, a retired general from the old regime, exerts significant influence in part of the AO. His support of coalition efforts has, without a doubt, contributed substantially to the security improvements in the area.

We needed to talk about some election site security issues and do the introductions, so we parked the trucks in his compound, set most of the dismounts to playing soccer with the children, and headed into his "conference room" for chai and conversation.

It's a very nice conference room. The Iraqis don't seem to have figured out the concept of the "vacuum cleaner," so one of the ways the general keeps his conference room nice is by insisting footwear be removed before entry.

A little weird - I know - but at this stage of the game, if we've decided you're wearing a White Hat, and you want us to take our boots off, we take them off. So, sock-footed, we filed in. My part of the conversation was extremely brief, and I had time to sip my godawful sweet chai and look over the new guys we'll be working with.

Platoon leader...has his little book out, looks engaged, is participating in the conversation. Good. Platoon sergeant...looks like he'd rather be kicking in a door and whacking someone, but is paying attention. Good. Random second lieutenant...trying to follow the conversation, tapping his foot, which makes him look bored and...what the Hell?

Remember, dear readers, when your Mom used to tell you to wear clean underwear in case you ended up in the emergency room?



[sigh]

Bad enough that it looks tacky, but a dead giveaway of a military man whose training didn't involve nearly enough forced marching.

One of our Iraqi hosts must have seen my double-take, because he looked too and very nearly snorted scalding chai onto the nice conference room rug.

Fortunately, that part ended quickly, and we adjourned to the outdoor picnic area and ate far too much food. Good food, too. Kinda sad that we eat better out there than we do on the FOB, but such is life. It's rough out here, folks.

Amazing

We made the trip up to FOB/Camp Comfy to hang out with Higher for a couple of days. Our headquarters has, of course, a really nice wireless internet connection running throughout the building.

It's great. No waiting in line for timed access, no crappy community keyboards where half the consonants don't work (great fun in the Age of Complex Passwords), no tremendous slowdown from some funny-looking E3 downloading video from the mail-order brides website...

There are about ten of us visiting up here right now. You can tell which ones we are at a glance - we're the soldiers giggling with glee and crowing, "Yeah, ask me for updates NOW!"

(an aside - the whole auto-updating thing is phenomenally irritating if you have no access. Sometimes I'll be working down at FOB McLazy and one of the boxes will pop up - "you are in extreme personal danger unless you update Minesweeper immediately! Update now?" So I'll hit "update" just for kicks and laugh at my computer as it searches, and searches, and searches.)

Reading list

I'm coming to the end of some of the stuff I've been reading, and thought I'd solicit some recommendations here.

Some ground rules - I don't do a lot of heavy readiing while deployed. I sort of consider this an extended period for "airport reading." I keep it light, avoid anything too intellectual. Reading is an escape here. I did read The Arms of Krupp (loved it!) last time, but almost anything qualified as "escape" on that tour.

Anyway, I've been doing a couple of series so far on this trip - an odd combination of science fiction (which I am not normally inclined to read) and Florida murder mysteries.

I'm almost finished with John Ringo's Posleen War series, which has been pretty good and even occasionally combined man-eating alien invaders with Nazis. How much better can it get? Ringo writes good, interesting characters, and I can ignore the sci-fi silliness (really, I'm sure someone out there cares about fictional anti-matter technology, but it ain't me) if there are good characters.

That one was recommended to me by someone who noticed I was reading David Weber's Honor Harrington series during mobilization. Ringo's character are good - I think Weber's are better. Weber's vision of the societies of the future also really rung my bell. He's a throughtful writer, and I enjoyed that armload of books. And, of course, there were treecats.

I've been breaking up the aliens and invasions with some Randy Wayne White mysteries starring Doc Ford. The good news - they remind me of John MacDonald and Travis McGee, who got me through the last trip. The bad news - Doc just isn't Travis. He tries, but... well... that's the problem with reading the series that set the standard first. Everything else is a bit of a letdown. I'm also getting a little sick of all Doc's girlfriends dying at the end of each book. Travis could never hold a lady, either, but at least his damsels would run away, meet someone else, or die. Doc's ladies just get whacked.

I picked up Matthew Bracken's Enemies Foreign and Domestic recently, just to actually read what I heard a lot of the gun crowd referencing. Interesting, but it reminded me a little of Ayn Rand (remind me to tell you guys about the Ayn Rand fan and the Iraqi microloan guy some day when I'm whining about having nothing to write about) in that after 50 pages, you've got the point and the rest is just...remediation.

So. If, given that brief synopsis of what I've been reading and what I've thought about it, you have any ideas...please. Please share. Keep in mind - I have no problem knocking out the average novel in a day, so please - no 50-page wonders that won't get an afternoon past mail call. I likes 'em lengthy.

I'm really looking for some optimistic fiction, with good characters. I read a lot of cop novels out of the community library, but the overly dark ones...they don't do much for me.

I think I'm really about pegged on sci-fi stuff for a while, but I'll ponder all suggestions.

No Nicholas Sparks. Ever. Under any circumstances. I got desperate enough to read...what was it...well, one of those, recently. I would have flung it away in annoyance if it hadn't been all I had to read.

Any ideas, again, are welcome. A series would be best, so I could order several at a time.

Joy...and meat

We were sitting around this afternoon, hatin'. Nothing going on, nothing on the horizon. Then Bossman remembered the steaks he'd picked up on his last Officer Mission to one of the Big PX FOBs.

T-bones and ribeyes and charcoal - oh, my!

I dispatched New Sergeant to the chowhall to get some potatoes. You're one of like 12 chicks here, I explained. You'll get more food than the guys.

She did wonderfully, so we ate well. I scrubbed and sliced taters and, with butter, garlic and foil, put together very nice side dish for the slabs of beef Bossman cooked.

Short on forks, we ate with combat knives and hands. The sounds coming from my porch, I think, probably resembled the sound of six hyenas around a wildebeest.

We played beach music and laughed at each other and stuffed ourselves. 'Twas wonderful.

Thoughts on helicopters

The LZ (landing zone) here on FOB McSleepy is right behind our CHU. The birds come in, the birds go out. We get the Kiowas of the Scout Weapons Teams, small birds that land for fuel. We get the Blackhawks, running troops around, ferrying Them Who Be Important, doing all the miscellaneous aerial labor of a battlefield where ground travel is still problematic. And we get the CH-47 Chinooks (more affectionately called the Shithook). The ’47 is the biggest bird that flies in here (the Army does not stock any variant of the CH-53, my favorite Marine Corps bird, in its Big Army inventory), and we can tell when they come in – our quarters vibrate noticeably.

Although the birds come and go all day and all night, we still look when it’s light (my roomie, in fact, loves the helicopters and will occasionally throw on her night vision and go watch them in the dark. Strange woman). We glance up, throw the flight into a mental classification (the bird bringing the colonel to visit, the bird bringing the guys back from leave, the regular bird to Big Brigade Base, etc) and move on.

But one makes us stop and do the instant mental inventory of the Soldiers we own. The MEDEVAC bird.

We have, if my count is correct, medevac’d exactly ONE combat casualty since I’ve been down here. The day our Friendly Neighbors decided to shoot at us while we were out walking around, they got one young man in the leg with a ricochet.

We brought him back to FOB by ground, then passed him off to the medics. A couple of rifle squads went back out to look for the shooter, and we “leaf-eater” types were dropped off here. I was walking down toward the latrine when I heard a bird coming in. I looked up, saw the red cross on the side.

At that point, we knew our wounded comrade was most likely not in mortal danger. The medic on scene had not been overwhelmingly worried about him, nor had the medics here on the FOB. Most of these guys have been around the block and I trust them to tell us when it’s a appropriate to panic – they weren’t, so we didn’t.

But they were still lifting our soldier out (makes sense, why not take him to Big Brigade Base for a more thorough checkup?) and when I looked up and saw the red-cross marked Blackhawk coming in, I stood and ground my teeth and was struck by the urge to either spit or cry. I opted to do neither, they lifted him out, and he was back five days later with a Purple Heart and a bandage.

The way we’re set up, we have a slightly plused-up team (one extra CA NCO and a staff sacrifice – my roommate) supported two companies and a battalion headquarters that operate over a large area with several reasonably large towns. There are times –more than I’d like – when my soldiers are out without me. Sometimes I’m on the base, sometimes I’m on another mission elsewhere.

Once in a while, I’ll be on the FOB, and one of “the kids” will be on mission. I’ll hear a bird coming, and, although I know the dangerous town is just down the road, close enough so I’d hear an explosion, and although I know that if something terrible happened, it’s a small FOB and we’d know immediately – even though I know all those things – I still feel that clench in my gut. I look up and I squint into the sun, stock still until I’m sure there’s no painted-on red cross.

Because that, folks, I am learning, is the Big Fear. I’m afraid of lots of things here – cars that blow up, roads that blow up, potholes that look like they might blow up, so on and so forth. But the thing I’m finding really makes my blood run cold is the idea of something happening to one of my dudes, especially when I’m not with them.

Only one of my three has combat time, but I have two sergeants and a brand-new staff sergeant, so I cannot in good conscience treat them like dull-witted privates and hover over them every day. I’d like to, though. I’d like to hover over them and watch the alleys they pass and the rooms they enter, as though that is enough to prevent something awful from happening.

It doesn't work that way, though.

Not-Fun-Fridays

Friday being the Muslim Sunday, is the day when we tend to have meetings and that sort of thing. So Fridays around here are usually dull and irritating. Today was no exception, and when I sat down to try to put something thoughtful together, I realized that about a half-page in, I was finding a lot of grumpy rage.

So I though, the heck with that - I'll post a couple of pictures!

Here we have Good Dinner at the FOB. Why is is it good, you ask? Because Roommate and I cooked it ourselves, on the grill.



That's a nice slice of canned ham, some canned taters cooked in foil with garlic salt and butter, canned mushrooms and green beans. It was outstanding, which is kinda sad. But, it wasn't boiled, which put it miles ahead of chowhall food.

And the other I have to share with you today has a special importance for me. See, you all know Abby's Mom is a nurse. As are lots of the ladies I grew up around, and some of my friends.

So I think this is an important point, and I want you all to pay close attenion:



Please - when waging the Jihad, do not shoot the nurses!

Something that we can all stand to be reminded about, from time to time.

Note to Army

When you next hire contractors from a foreign country to perform a function on a base or FOB, if you intend to extend to them access to MWR facilities that will place them in close proximity to Soldiers, could you please, please require they sit through a class on the importance of occasionally showering?

That'd be great. I'd really appreciate it.

Good lord

just when you think you're pegging the suck-meter pretty hard...

It was a cold and rainy day. Perfect at home for curling up on the couch with snacks and good company, but perfect here for...well, hating.

A couple minutes after 1700 I wandered over and collected up the Boss. We grabbed Elderly Sergeant and headed over to the chowhall for what we've come to call the Evening Sadness.

We remarked upon the absence of a guard at the entrance to the chowhall. There has been a recent outbreak of vandalism targeting the display of a certain command photo right inside the door (no, no big-picture political commentary - the vandalism has been more...local). The targeted picture was absent, indicating the guard (who was awarded that position...well, let's say not randomly) was probably eating (he takes the framed picture with him when he eats).

We ingested some "beef," then collected our cardboard trays and trudged outside. Where, in the glare from the lights that illuminate the Dumpster, we saw it falling.

Snow.

Wet, nasty snow that melted as it hit the ground and lasted only a few minutes.

But snow all the same.

Kinda sad

The best news heard here recently - US troops in Iraq get to drink beer for Super Bowl.

American troops in Iraq will be allowed to drink beer without fear of court-martial for this year's Super Bowl — an exception to a strict military ban on drinking alcohol in combat zones.
[SNIP]
A copy of the waiver said the consumption of alcoholic beverages will be allowed only Feb. 1-2 and service members will be limited to two 12-ounce beers each.

OK - it's two beers, and there's always that little voice in your head that says it's unseemly for an adult to be giddy over two beers, but still..

Current popular opinion holds that will be the most heavily guarded convoy in memory. I am sure the locals will be amused.

Ahmed, the Americans they are doing their convoy with eight tanks, four Apache gunships and what looks like an AC-130. Is it the President?

No, Mohammed - it is the beer for the football game.

[scratches head]

I had a simple mission today and got back shortly after noon. I had a message from the Bossman to check my email ASAP, so I trudged over to the MWR and logged on. The email from said Boss read (and I quote), "nevermind - I found it."

Oookay. Another crisis, narrowly averted. What other email dragons needed slaying? I scrolled....an email from the first sergeant! Subject: M9s

I clicked on it and scanned. The CA battalion is having a shortage of 9mm ammo...blah blah blah...no projected resupply date...blah blah blah...don't fire up our combat loads on the range. Try to get ammo from our manuever units.

OK. Got it. I ran my team through a range a few days ago to clear out the magazines they've been carrying. I then gave them new combat loads, so we're good. I clicked on to the next email, making a note but deciding that one required no action.

Well. I was wrong! My roommate came trudging to our hooch a little later.

I just got off the phone with First Sergeant, she said. He was all fired up about ammunition -

For the nines, I cut her off. Yeah. I got his email. We shot, we have ammo, we're good, right? Or did I miss something?

She stomped her foot. No - you're right. We're fine. But he called to tell us not to have any 9mm ranges.

Like we were going to go out and shoot up our combat loads? I asked. And then stand around with empty magazines in a war, looking confused and waiting for the Ammo Fairy.

I don't know what he thought, she grumped (thoroughly irked). But you owe me for talking to him!

True 'dat, roomie. True 'dat. I guess that means that disposing of the next person who shows up at 0100 wondering if some contractor has been paid is going to be my problem.

So there I was...

in deepest, darkest Eye-Rak. Sure, some folks were worried about IEDs, suicide bombers, and random small arms fire. But I knew we were in trouble when, standing in a quiet village, I turned and saw...

one of our MRAPs being attacked by turkeys.



We survived the turkey attack. Narrowly.

It ended up being, oddly, a productive day. The high point involved digging around in the bottom of a ditch looking for a water pipe. And there's always someone helpful around with a camera when you're digging around in a trash-filled ditch.



We finally found the pipe about three klicks down the road. Because the locals tend to know these things, but they like to watch us flail around for a while first.

I love this job.

Notes

Dear World's Coolest Grandmother,

Thank you for the all the dried fruits you sent when I asked for them. It really adds something to my limited crummy Army diet. I am enjoying them very much.

Love,
Abby

****************************
Note to Self -

Even though the prunes (now called dried plums) are very yummy, eating half a large bag of them is a Very Bad Idea. Don't do that anymore.

Oh boy [hack hack]...it's 2009

[blinks away dust]

Yipee.

Here's hoping y'all are enjoying a day on the couch, recovering from much fun and watching football. Of course, I understand that Bad Dog readers are much too wise to get wild and crazy on New Year's Eve...but if you did, I hope you had one for those of us who were wishing we could!

Weirdest Catch Yet

I woke this morning as my roommate came trooping back in from a trip to the porta-jon.

I don't want to make you sad, she said. But you caught something in a trap. Not a mouse. And it was the trap up on sandbags, so it's on your chair.

MMph? I pulled my head from beneath my pillow. Did I catch a cat?

Nope. Bird, she replied.

I got up, put on a jacket, went outside.



Yep. That's a bird. In a mousetrap. You don't see that every day.

Ho Ho Ho

Merry Christmas from Abby, the whole Bad Dog pack, the World's Grumpiest CA Team, and our merry band of flies!

I was up late trying to move my soldier around, and then again up early to get him on a convoy. I went back to sleep after we loaded him up. And woke to a pounding on the door.

I stumbled out of the rack, opened the door, and...

Oh Come, all ye Faithful...joyful and triumphant...

The Boss, knowing my inclination to ignore all holidays that occur while I'm deployed, and my resulting intolerance for Christmas music, had rounded up a band of carolers (complete with Santa hats). Well aware that a long night probably meant I was still racked out, he'd decided that the best alarm clock is...singing TOC rats.

Lunch/dinner/midday meal was very nice (ham! We got ham!), and there was fruit. There was something that looked suspiciously like Army-issued eggnog in paper cups, but that did not seem like a wise choice.

In short, a pretty good Christmas in Iraq.

Here's hoping you all enjoy a wonderful day with your families and friends/

Administrative madness

Is trying to push a soldier out on emergency leave on Christmas Eve.

We live with a battalion from the 4th Infantry Division. We support them, and they have operational control over us. Administrative control (promotions, leave, awards, UCMJ actions) is retained by the CA chain.

So, we can see how, when a distraught family member initiates a Red Cross message and sends it to the soldier's mailing address instead of command address, there can be confusion.

Now, just to make things more interesting, the battalion we work for has been chopped from 4th ID to another Division (25th). But elements of 4th ID are in Iraq. So the Red Cross message got...sidetracked.

But...you know what? Nothing on God's green earth will get soldiers moving like a Red Cross message. You can call the biggest asshole in the US Army and say, "I have a soldier with a Red Cross message," and he's suddenly helpful. The lazy sprecialist napping in a corner will wake up, get on the phone and start moving heaven and earth. The lost lieutenant gets a clue.

I used every one of those folks, and few more. Got the message, got my guy a ride. We'll get him where he needs to be, as fast as is humanly possible. It's nice to see this machine work once in a while, even if it's in the service of sad news.

[grumble grumble]

I finally dragged myself out of my nice cozy rack around...oh, well, suffice it to say it wasn't early. Not even remotely.

With nothing on the horizon until a 1300 "chat," I made coffee and stood on my porch, surveying my (limited) domain.

Things appeared...hazy. I climbed up on a pile of sandbags and looked across the helopad. Quite hazy.

Things developed. The weather progressed from slightly hazy to downright dusty. It's nasty - the dust doesn't seem that bad outside until you look down and realize there's a thick coat on everything. You go indoors to escape it, and realize it's working its way around the door, in through the air conditioner, around the taped windows.

Dust sucks less here than it did living in tents, but it still suck.

To top it off, it's thinking about raining. A few drops, now and again. Yeah - rain in the dust. Mud-rain.

Love this country.

Best Army Idea - Ever

And I'm not even being sarcastic.



That, ladies and gentlemen, is SFC Boe. She is a therapy dog.

Not just any therapy, either. Combat Stress Control therapy.

Iraq can make you crazy in a zillion different ways, whether you be the guy who gets griped at about PowerPoint slides or the guy kicking down doors or the gal flying medevac birds or the kid processing 10,000 leave forms. There's plety of stress and plenty of crazy to go around.

However, somebody got smart, and now there's something nice here that soldiers can pet, maybe talk to, maybe cuddle a little, and feel normal with.

That's good. Three cheers for SFC Boe the therapy dog, and two tails wagging for the Army for finally getting something right.

A note - yes, she was being handled by a CSC captain. Somebody please, please tell me how you get that job? I even have my own black lab who would be great at being a combat stress therapist.