Farewell to Iraq

2008Jun25

This is my last night in Baghdad, Iraq. With any degree of luck I will be in Kuwait tomorrow night starting the long ride home. After a day in Kuwait I go to Ft. Benning to begin the process of retiring from the Army for a second time. There will not be a third since I have passed the age limitation. This will be the last of a series of very erratic newsletters.

I am physically and emotionally tired. However, it has been one of the great privileges of my life to serve here in Iraq. I remain in awe of the many talented, brave Americans warfighters striving to bring peace to this country. In my heart I am very proud to be both a Vietnam and Iraqi Freedom veteran. My only regret is that Kathleen will still be over here for a few months. We talk as much as possible on the phone and our conversations have been a source of great comfort to me.

I am lucky. I will do just one tour. Most of the folks I met here are on their second and third tour. The Civil Affairs Reserve Units only get about 9 months off between tours. What is printed in the press and voiced by our political and military leadership are actually two different things over here. Pat has the Houston Chronicle sent to me daily and the stories I read in the papers are completely alien to me.

I know I have mentioned this before but this is the first war that women are actually warfighters. Over 10% of deployed soldiers are women. I am still not an advocate of women in combat (even though my daughter is proving me wrong); I continue to admire the courage, stamina and attitude of these female soldiers. I can tell how old I am since I still consider females in a combat environment an anomaly but the young soldiers consider it normal. I have a daily battle with two teen age female Airmen that provide security over the IZ. They smoke and I admonish them. They then remind me that I smoke cigars at night. They know I am keeping an eye on them and after each rocket attack I wander down to their trailer to make sure everything is ok.

I had my best day in Iraq a few weeks ago. I went to the Zoo with a platoon of warfighters. It was like a sea of calm in the midst of war and tragedy. My security guys were tense since there was gunfire on the street outside the Zoo. But, the Zoo was full of kids playing, laughing and waving to us. Believe it or not there are over 270 animals in the Zoo including lions the size of Volkswagens who were fed live humans by Saddam’s sons. It was another terribly hot, dusty day but the children and families were wandering through the Zoo like any Zoo in the US. I visited the facility which will house my tigers and dreamed of the day they would be there (More on that later). Of course, we were all in the seventy pounds of body armor which put a damper on the day but I still loved it. It was a day I will always remember. I am still humming the Zoo song by Peter, Paul and Mary.

On Monday of this week I did my final mission into the Red Zone. It also probably was my last helicopter ride. I decided to do this mission several weeks ago since I knew it would be my last and I wanted it to be something special.

I started preparing the night before by soaking the neck coolers my cousin, Sandy, made for me. They are a god send when the temperature approaches 120 degrees. In the morning we took a helicopter to a Forward Operating Base and then took gun trucks to a local market on the edge of Sadr City. I was intensely interested in the market and the environment now with things seeming to settle down. Open air markets are the equivalent of Kroger and grocery stores over here. Well my first notable achievement was falling down a flight of stairs at the FOB. However with all that body armor on the only thing bruised was my self-esteem.

The market was bustling with activity and business appeared to be thriving. We talked to a number of people, constantly surrounded by kids who wanted to shake out hands and or get their picture taken. We have to be very careful in these settings as the insurgents target those who talk to Americans and we are very sensitive to those who do not wish to talk to us or even be seen with us. As we were finishing we got a call that a MP unit was under attack. The warfighters tensed with excitement and off we went. By the time we got there the firing had considerably diminished, much to the dismay of my security element and my team. Once we arrived on the scene the outnumbered insurgents quickly left the area except for two who were captured and brought back to the FOB.

The last time I saw these two they were drinking a Coke and given MREs to eat which gives you an indication of regardless what the press says our warfighters treat detainees with respect. We then caught a helicopter back to the IZ. When the pilot and crew chief found out that it was my last mission they let me be the door gunner on the ride home. Thank God nobody fired at us and I fired at no one but what a thrill to be riding in a helicopter across Baghdad at an elevation of 50 feet with the only thing holding you in the helicopter is a seat belt. Once I took off my body armor every stitch of clothes on my body was soaked in sweat.

My time here ends on a very sad note. Two friends of mine were killed in Sadr City on Tuesday. One was a young Major who played football at Rutgers and was a New Jersey State Trooper. He was a huge African American and we often joked that we had the same last name so we must be related. He leaves behind a wife and a 9 year old son of whom he was very proud. We did a lot of work together in Abu Ghraib. The other was a DOD civilian who had previously served over here as a Colonel. We only had dinner together last Sunday and he talked exclusively of his sons. I cannot express my grief. I was in the building last week where they were killed.

I spent most of the rest of the day running around Baghdad streets in an SUV trying to help the numerous Iraqi wounded. Totally against regulations since I had only my interpreter and a shotgun but we got the three Iraqis who have worked with us in hospitals and when I left they were all in surgery.

Last night we paid final homage to these brave Americans. The Angel Flight came in around 3 AM and over 100 soldiers and civilians saluted as the remains started their long ride home. We waited for over three hours for the helicopter and not one person complained or left. I do not think I ever stood at attention and saluted with such correctness in all my years in the Army. A terribly sad way to end a tour. I am not fooling when I say the best of the best are representing you over here.

The other day at the required medical out brief with the Army psychiatrist I was asked what my biggest takeaway will be from my Iraq experience. Without a doubt, it is that I am much more confident in the future of America as a result of having served here. Sometimes when thinking about the many challenges that our nation will face in the coming decades I used to worry that we were no longer the same people who defeated fascism and communism in the last century. After witnessing the character and valor on display here, I have no doubt that we are.
Whatever your thoughts on America’s involvement in Iraq, if you want to be part of the solution, I strongly encourage you to never forget the brave American soldiers, sailors, airman, and Marines who are serving in a difficult and dangerous environment.
Often times as I watch medivac helicopters flying to the CSH I wonder “is this worth it?” and I think about the 770 Americans who have been killed while I’ve been in Iraq and the likely 500 more who will be killed during the next year. I hope that their families know that they have made the ultimate sacrifice not in vain but for the cause of freedom throughout the world.

As some of you know by the news reports, the Green Zone (IZ) has become the most dangerous place in Iraq. The rockets started in salvos on Easter Sunday and have continued intermittently ever since. Somedays we will get just several and other days we will get 20 to 30. I have seen film from our drones indicating that we have killed hundreds of these guys but the rockets never seem to stop. They are firing from school yards and parks which make it difficult to get them. We have had several US KIAs including one in the PRT.

One Sunday several weeks ago in the middle of a terrible dust storm (the preferred time for rockets) I was sitting in my trailer when a rocket hit just outside. I was reading a book when shrapnel created several holes in my abode. I was required to go to the hospital simply because of the nearness of the overblast. I was perfectly fine but in the middle of this dust storm I simply had it with all of this. As rockets were pounding the IZ I walked to the PX, bought a box of Oreos, and ate the whole box while KBR patched up my trailer. I felt much better.

In the past several months I have spent considerable time in the countryside with the warfighters. I was working on resurrecting the poultry industry south of Iraq and stayed several nights in these extremely small security stations that Petraeus inaugurated. He has moved the warfighters out of big bases into small outposts (JSS) so that they can be close to the people. It is a great idea and I am a big fan of General Petraeus. ( I also like Odierno who has become a personal friend. He thinks it is cool that an old Vietnam veteran is here.) But the conditions in the JSSs are miserable. I slept on a dirt floor and ate MREs. I only had to do this for several days but the warfighters stay out there for weeks with no hot meals or showers. Obviously ingenious young Americans find a way to make life hospitable. They are wizards when it comes to PC games.

I set very low expectations for myself when I came over here. First, I wanted to better the life of one Iraqi and one American. Thankfully, I have done both. Many Iraqis have touched my life but there is one very old Sheik that I will always remember. He is the head of a very large tribe south of Baghdad. An American warfighter shot him in the eye several years ago and his favorite 5 year old grandson was kidnapped and killed by Al Qaeda. After a very long day of bickering by Iraqis of his tribe he stood up and unequivocally stated that all Iraqis have to support the Americans who came to Iraq to help. After the meeting a young Army Captain said he has been trying to get an American eye doctor to examine the Sheik about his eye but had been repulsed by higher command. He asked if I could get the Sheik to the IZ hospital to see an American eye doctor.

Well, I eat breakfast nearly every morning that I am in the IZ with a wonderful young lady who is getting married in August (She met her future husband through eHarmony. I guess that works.). She is an optometrist. Iraqis must have approval from a Major General to access American hospitals. The Doctor and I said the hell with regulations and got the Sheik an eye examination. Nothing could be done about the eye but he did get a new pair of glasses and the old guy cried thanking and hugging me and the Doctor.

Another story is a family that was killed by insurgents with the exception of a young boy whose spine was severed His Uncle wanted to see the boy but could not get into the hospital because he was not immediate family. I was approached to help because of my connections with the hospital and my rank. I got the Uncle in to see the boy and he died in the Uncle’s arms. I obviously was there because I had to accompany the Uncle at all times. In his grief, he profusely thanked me and later assisted us in defeating the insurgent rocket attacks during the IZ Easter siege. Getting access to the hospital only cost me a box of chocolates which Pat sent me.

Only last week I had the opportunity to help a young warfighter. It was a terribly hot dusty day (seems I constantly repeat this refrain but no words can describe being in a duststorm in Iraq- I was supposed to go to Sadr City that day but no helicopters were flying) and this soldier was stranded in the IZ. He was an EOD specialist which means he has a life span of several hours. These are the guys who defuse the IEDS and EPFs found on the road. He had waited all day for a helicopter only to be told all flights were cancelled for the night. He was stranded and lost. He had no idea where he was, where to eat and where to spend the night. I noticed his completely dejected look and asked if he needed any help. In several hours, I found him a place to spend the night, I made sure he got a great hot meal, and I left in a makeshift movie theater in the Embassy watching “Ironman.” I asked him where he was from and he replied “California but do not worry I am not a liberal.” My hope is that somebody will do the same if one of my kids is stranded someplace. Assisting that young warfighter erased my dejection at not being able to fly that day. He did more for me that I did for him. Helping him was the greatest Father’s Day Present I could receive.

I have maintained my journal the entire year. It encompasses several hundred pages. I really do not know what to do with it. It may make good reading for my grandchildren some day. Right now I am too tired to think about putting it in a book even though many over here have encouraged me.

I also have become somewhat an authority on Abu Ghraib. Not the prison which I have not yet seen but a large agricultural area west of Baghdad. I started a Farmer’s Co-op in the region and taught Iraqis the value of greenhouses. I have absolutely no agricultural background but over the past year I have I held my own, thanks to Amazon.com.

Iraqis are a sharp people. I interface with them just like I was talking to Americans and those that know me are aware how blunt I can be. Well, on a terribly dusty day, I was in a Sheik’s house talking about the insurgents and other items. I felt that this Iraqi was not being truthful. I told him that since we could not reach an accord I was spending the night at his house. He turned grey (the warfighters were shocked) and suddenly the whole course of the discussion changed. As I was leaving with my 20 faithful warfighters protecting me, I laughed and said that I would only stay if he furnished me with 4 virgins so I could stay warm at night. He nearly died of both relief and laughter. In fact, the 30 others in the room had tears in their eyes from laughter. Now he is a great friend who wishes that I was not leaving. The one who is probably laughing the most at this paragraph is my dear wife.

I have become acquainted with an Iraqi General who is ruthless but seems to like me. Whenever he goes overboard I am called to visit and calm him down. I have no doubt that he is responsible for a number of deaths in this country but this is Iraq where common sense in non-existent. We smoke cigars and our conversations are somewhat crude and ribald but what happens in Iraq stays in Iraq. I think he (like most Iraqis) has a great respect for age and that is the basis of our friendship.

I am also involved in developing a national literacy program. Over 40% of the Iraqi population is illiterate. One Iraqi told me that if we had concentrated on literacy when we got here 5 years ago we would be gone by now.

One of my favorite projects is bringing two tigers from San Diego to the Baghdad Zoo. Every time I turned around there was some objection. When I convinced an animal rights group in North Carolina that in spite of the proximity to the IZ, the Zoo had not been hit with any rockets, they relented. They will not get here until I go home, but I envision a trip back some day with Pat and Marcus to see my tigers.

The powers put a lot of pressure on me to get out of the field. They wanted me to work at the Embassy my last few weeks. They have been trying to keep me out of the field all year but they never succeeded. I did not come here to hide in a building but attempt to figure this out and learn a new culture. Even the Ambassador called when I ended up at the hospital after the rocket blast. I think they think I am too old. I, of course, am paying no attention to them. In fact, I have submitted paperwork for Ranger School just to bring havoc to the system.

My greatest strength is my family. Tim has been a tremendous help to Pat and is doing great at his job. It took me twenty years to make what his is now making. Not bad for a guy who never reads a book. Tim is a unique character who always finds the best in every situation. I also wonder why he is waiting for me to get home to help him move. My pleas that I have PTSD after working with the State Department and need to rest seem to be falling on deaf ears at home.

Kathleen is a warfighter here in Iraq. She has had a hard time growing up. I have visited her several times and somebody described her as half infantry and half medic. She appears to have found a home in the Army. She loves her work and is widely admired in her unit. She called me just about everyday until her unit moved north and she is based in a small outpost devoid of internet or cell phone. We laughed about the fact that Pat will have no idea what we are talking about when we get home since the Army has a unique language full of abbreviations. Now if we can just get her home in November safe and sound.

And then there is Marcus. He starts kindergarten and is tremendously spoiled. Who cares.

I have a few words about our policy. I have not changed my basic attitude about the war. We should have not come here in the first place and we sure screwed it up once we got here. Presently the State Department and military have no concerted policy. It is simply a mess. However, our best ambassadors are our young warfighters. One day they are shot at or blown up by an IED and the next day they are walking down the same streets giving high fives to the kids, talking to old people, buying stuff from the shops. Each one of them is a credit to our country. I bend down to talk to a child and they not only know the child’s name but also give me a hand getting back up. I am truly humbled to be in their presence. They are ambivalent about U.S. policy but are aware of U.S. sentiment toward them. They are grateful that the country is not treating them like Vietnam veterans were treated. They are truly America’s finest.

I would be terribly remiss and if I did not talk about my wonderful wife of 34 years. Even though she thinks I am crazy she has stayed around. I cannot say enough about her support, counsel, and friendship. She has two of us over here and lives in dread of a car pulling up the driveway. I am not promising anything but I need to think about staying at home and forgoing these ventures in the future. (However, if the Army called again…). The unsung heroes of this war are the wives and mothers who are warfighters themselves. In their own way, they represent the very best this country has to offer.

So I end up with a handful of additional medals that I cannot wear because I do not own any uniform but what I wear over here. I am not one to join Veteran’s organizations and parade around town on Veteran’s day. I do not resent those that do it is just not my style. I attended a meeting once of Vietnam Veterans and felt out of place as if they were refighting the war that ended forty years ago. But I think I will get an Iraqi Freedom License plate just for the hell of it.

By the way, there was a lottery amongst my so-called friends that I would not make the whole year. Over half the guys that came over with me did not make it for one reason or another. They either gave up and went home, or their bodies could not take the body armor, or psychologically they could not handle the stress and the primitive living conditions or their replacements showed up early. Well, I guess I showed them. I not only lasted the whole year but also I am also one of the last to leave from my group. I was moved several weeks ago when a friend e-mailed me to take it easy my last several weeks. It said my being here was an inspiration to many that I did not even know. He said that every time I put on my IBA these last several weeks a large number of people held their breath until I got back. Kinder words were never spoken to me and they are worth all the medals in the world. I also loved going out on missions. I have seen Baghdad change from a city wrought with fear to a thriving bustling city rivaling anything in the states.

I have a unique ritual after each mission. I call all the warfighters together and thank them for getting us back safely. I then shake hands with each soldier and then tell them that they are special. I figure that is why warfighters who I do not even know are always saying hello.

General Hammond of the 4th ID has even started calling me, Doctor. He figures if I can last a year over here at me age finishing my degree will be simple. The day I first met him he was rude and crude. Then he saw the Vietnam Patch and his demeanor totally changed. He took off his 4thI D Patch and put it on me. He stated that he was proud to serve in the Army with me and that I was now one of his soldiers.

So I leave after what is truly a unique experience. The folks at the Pentagon even called this year to tell me that I should not be here. I could have told them that if they ever asked. I truly want and need to go home but I am leaving behind a mission that is not completed and I am no longer a member of the finest organization in the world. Tomorrow as I leave the IZ behind and climb into a C-130 (with a pillow for my butt since it is so uncomfortable) I am sure there will be tears in my eyes as a chapter is closed in my life. I thank the Army, my family and my faithful friends for giving me this last opportunity to serve our country. Whew, what an adventure.

I have this intricate plan and am optimistic about being home before the 4th. Pat, Marcus, and I are then going to Colorado for a few weeks. We are immediately going to Sea World in San Antonio since military get in free. Our schedule is dictated by Marcus starting kindergarten. Then I am going to try to get my life back in balance. However, a though is permeating through my family to bring everyone to Italy in late December. I will agree with this only if we can also visit Normandy. That has always been a goal of mine.

I have always equated my being here with the Confederates at Milledgeville, Ga who mobilized a group of young boys and old men to stop Sherman on his March to the Sea. The Confederacy had already lost the war and the token resistance to Sherman’s troops was futile and only resulted in a needless loss of life. However, the US has not lost this war. We, as a nation, have given our blood and treasure to bring democracy to Iraq. We have done our job now it is up to the Iraqis. Our Army is not trained for occupation and it should not be. That is the role of others in the US government. We are not the Victorian armies of the nineteenth century meant to serve years in distant places. It is time to bring our warfighters home and celebrate their sacrifice. They have performed magnificently in a difficult, dangerous and lonely environment. They have earned our pride and admiration. (As an aside, it is also time to give them a decent GI Bill, which they have earned, so that they may continue to serve our great country. If our esteemed political and military leadership was so concerned about retention they would not rotate these men and women through here like a turnstile for the second, third and fourth time in five years. Geez, I am getting political. I need to save this stuff for the book).

To all of you that have sent stuff, communicated with me (even though my responses back have not been timely) thank you from the bottom of my heart. I have no words to express my gratitude. At the risk of offending somebody, I would like to especially thank my brother Rodney who faithfully called Pat every week.

I will soon be out of work. If there are any jobs for third base coaches on girls’ softball teams please put in a word for me. I am also thinking about being a gymnastics coach. I contacted the women’s basketball coach at A&M about a position but I guess the e-mail did not go through. Of course, the Army could totally screw up and sent me to Ranger School. I guess I will have to reach some sort of decision about who to vote for in the fall. I have only made one political decision thus far. I am going to boycott the opening ceremonies of the Olympics.

Again, thanks to all for your support, encouragement, and prayers

This was written over several weeks and it sure got long and rambling. I apologize. Also excuse any typos. My faithful proofreader is 8000 miles away.

(Colonel) michael ___