All I want for Christmas is a UH60 Blackhawk

For the record, I shamelessy copied this photo from globalsecurity.com

This weekend my fellow LT Frank Solorzano and I went up to Balad, home of Camp Anaconda, for a quick look-around and site visit to our facilities up there. The place is huge, claiming over 23 square kilometers and like most of Saddam’s former military airfields, this one was built under contract by Yugoslavian engineers in the early 1980s. Unused bunkers for fighter jets are clustered at either end of the runway, a remnant, like much else here, of Saddam’s time.

We flew in on a C130 and entered the, by standards around here, palatial passenger terminal. The tiled floor, drop ceiling, bright lights, new chairs and fresh restrooms led me to only one conclusion: THIS PLACE IS RUN BY THE AIR FORCE! Almost like a plane safety video in the states, all new arrivals are required to watch a mortar safety video. Camp Anaconda, affectionately nicknamed Mortaritaville, was hit with mortars on average twice a day in past years. Things have improved – no mortars during my visit.

This is a NICE camp. Large movie theater, huge gym, well paved streets, great PX and almost the perfect cinnamon roll at the DFAC. I consider myself a connoisseur of only a few things (good taste being prime among them ;-) but one thing I am a connoisseur of is the cinnamon roll – well done Camp Anaconda. Now lets get some hummus on order for these carrot sticks at lunch and call it a day. Once again, my living situation improved to a two-man trailer room that I shared with Frank. No in-room bathroom but hey, I really don’t ask for much these days.

But all of this was really just the lead-up. The best part of Camp Anaconda was flying home under the glow of a full moon . . . in a UH60 Blackhawk. I gotta get me one of these! The Blackhawk holds up to 12 passengers plus a crew of four - pilot, co-pilot and two gunners manning M240H machine guns on either side. The side windows have been removed to facilitate what the crew chief liked to call “Pax assistance.” You’ll remember that “pax” is the super cool military word for passengers . . . In any case, pax assistance means returning fire. We are all in trouble if I end up having to return fire with an M9 from a helicopter. But the bonus – the nighttime wind in your face and an incredible view of the landscape.

If you look closely, you can see my first Blackhawk-ride behind me. Looks like this is the first time I ever wore a kevlar helmut too . . . .

We had been warned that, as standard operating procedure, the gunners would do a test fire when we cleared the base. The petty officer sitting across from me must not have heard that part of the brief – he almost broke out of his harness when it happened.

We flew low and fast over bucolic farmland and little villages that smattered the terrain below until looming ahead were the lights of Baghdad. Note the important word in that sentence – LIGHTS. Baghdad has power and plenty of it. The only thing really missing? Cars on the streets below – it’s still not safe. Our flight pattern took us on a circuitous route to the helo terminal, offering even more time to enjoy the thrill.

No more C130s for me.

MIA: My Boxers

On Patrol: A frequent sighting around camp, most convoy humvees sport a bilingual sign.

An attractive incentive to deploy is free laundry. They should mention this more in the recruiting ads. Run by KBR with a hodge-podge of TCNs (Third Country Nationals) primarily from the Philippines and managed by a Bosnian, the laundry operation is impressively efficient and chances are you can come back in two days and retrieve your laundry. You package up your dirty laundry in your military-issued laundry bag and walk over to the laundry drop-off. The drop off has a long counter where you can inventory your laundry in the presence of one of the employees (and really everyone else in the shop) or you can just sign the waiver and turn in the laundry as bulk. Being in a hurry and not necessarily wanting to count out my laundry, I chose bulk.

Sadly, there is not a lot of color in my life here. My boots are tan, my socks are tan, my uniform is tan, my tee shirt is brown and my hat is tan. The only color I had left? My boxer shorts. Well, someone in laundry is enjoying a little color in their life right now because I got everything back from the laundry, except my 8 pairs of GAP boxers. They didn’t want my $25 Under Armor boxers, they just wanted the 2 for $12 Gap boxers. Now keep in mind, when you pick up your laundry, it is the same scenario, with a dozen military lined-up down the counter. So I thought that saying “hey, someone took my underwear” maybe was not the best choice at the time. Nor was the mandatory underwear spot-check for all the laundry workers.

I’d just like to think that some where out there, there is a Phillipino laundry worker who is just a little happier now that he has some more color in his life. In the meantime, I'm just going to keep wearing the one pair I have left. No, no, Mom, I am kidding. Really. I went to the PX and bought some more.

And now for the once-every-so-often series:

Everything is more difficult in Iraq (Installment #1)
It makes sense to drop off your uniforms to be washed AND pressed at the same location. I mean it makes sense if it is not the Army making the decisions. But, ( and this might be a theme) the Army IS the one making the decisions. So you pick up your clean clothes at one location and then trek over a few blocks to drop off your uniforms for pressing at another location. Makes PERFECT sense! I don’t know why this is not a more standard practice any place else in the world.

Incoming

I had given myself an extra 15 minutes of sleep. My self-dictated 0545 wake-up had, by Army executive order, been delayed until 0600. This being an Army-operated base, I assured myself that I would sign that order and route it up the chain of command as soon as I got to the office. At my desk until about 2300 the night before, I was not really enthused to get out of bed, except for one very important reason . . . . I really had to pee. Honestly, you drink so much water here that I largely rely on this biological necessity to provide the motivation. I worked to slide my feet into the flip flops that would carry me to the porta-john when the Big Voice rang out with its favorite refrain “INCOMING, INCOMING, INCOMING.”

Now I had heard this before without much conseq . . . . KABOOM! Holy crap! This was real. Kaboom, Kaboom, Kaboom I heard in the distance. “Hey insurgents! I gotta pee” I thought indignantly to myself. And almost simultaneously, “man, I really hope no one is hurt.” You can hear the low roar of Camp Victory’s automated defenses wind-up in an attempt to knock the rockets out of the air before they reach us. I like that sound.

I have a pretty good feel for where the stack of sandbags outside the tent tops-off and was positive my head was well below it. The sound of this was nothing new – all those Seabee (see Post #2) field exercises have plenty of indirect fire but you always knew it was just a flash-bang grenade. These were rockets. The real deal. Well, turns out the real deal landed pretty far away from me.

The ensuing silence was followed by an “All Clear,” quickly amended by the wail of sirens as the base’s first response teams headed to investigate the attack (or, Points of Impact – POIs). I can’t say much regarding the results, but no major losses for the camp. The base is huge. Over 45,000 troops and civilians live here and this place is measured in square miles. Remain calm, all is well. And I made it to the porta-john in time, which, truth be told, was my immediate concern.

I struggled with whether or not to post this particular part of my experience here but I was on the phone with a good friend not long ago and he mentioned that he really enjoyed the blog and it gave everyone a great opportunity to find out what it is really like here. It made me think. Although I find a lot of humor in almost anything I do, I also decided that I owe it to everyone to make sure I don’t gloss over some aspects that are a little more serious.

Rhino Riding

On Sunday October 21st I got to ride the Rhino for the first time. The Rhino is the up-armored bus, if you can call it that, used as the shuttle between Camp Victory and the International Zone (or Green Zone). Although the IZ is only about 10 km away, it takes a Rhino and a convoy security element of four up-armored Humvees with automatic weapons at the ready to get you there and a trip that would take 10 minutes in the states, takes over an hour here. That being said, the Rhino is free, you know there won’t be any drunks passed out in the back, and it doesn’t stop for signals, so maybe they have something here . . . .

Like a fine restaurant in demand, the Rhino requires reservations at least 36 hours in advance and it has a very strict dress code. Full body armor, your helmet, ballistic glasses and your weapon. No roll-down windows or fuzzy dice when you cruise in this bad-boy machine. The only tune playing on the radio is the tactical chatter between the Rhino commander and the four Humvees as the convoy quickly rolls along the highway connecting the two zones. Nothing stops the Rhino. As we pass over “the wire” off camp, military passengers are instructed to change their weapons status and load a magazine just in case, but truth be told, almost anything will bounce off the armored shell like a pebble tossed at a frying pan.

The Green Zone is a labyrinthine construct of old roads, high walls and decrepit sidewalks. It contains businesses, embassies, residential, military and contractor operations. My colleague pointed out the transient lodging office. As ridiculous as it sounds, if you miss your appointed Rhino ride back to Victory Base, even though you are only 10km away, unless you can get on a helicopter, you are spending the night.

The drained and cracked fountain outside of the U.S. Mission, formerly Saddam’s seat of government, may prove allegorical for the end state of this country if its leaders cannot put aside tribal and religious zealotry and work towards a new Iraq.

Traffic bustles through the zone, and building access security here is handled almost exclusively by a Latin American firm employing solely citizens of that region. A well placed “Buenos Dias” seems to yield a smile, albeit certainly not any less scrutiny of the multiple credentials hanging around the necks of most

Back by Popular Demand: Word of the Week!

This week’s word of the week is the latest in trendy, cocktail party word dropping: POP. No soda in this story – just a Proof of Principal. A POP is an idea to test, a try or an attempt but it really is no fun for the military if you can’t make an acronym out of something, especially a catchy one like POP. Lets say you wanted to try out an idea for a new short cut to work. You would pretty much say to someone, “Hey, I am going to try a new shortcut to work.” Alas, that is WAAAAY too mundane for the military. We scoff at you and your simpleton ways! Instead, you would say “I am doing the power point presentation to brief-up the coordination and timing on the potential variances and asset requirements of my shortcut POP in conjunction with the route planners in section C3 before I complete the form 2985.4 in triplicate to have my power point presentation certified to be back-briefed right after the 16 person conference call discussing the font choice and logo size on page seven of the metrics tracking chart.”

Please, feel free to take notes and utilize this highly effective approach in your own home or office and you too can operate with the very same efficiency of the U.S. government.

Al Asad is Al-Okay

Sun streams through the clouds at daybreak at Al Asad.

My first sojourn out of Baghdad was this weekend, October 19th, when my boss and I went to the sprawling Al Asad Air Base in Anbar province for a site visit. Most people thought I was really lucky because most military in Iraq are what is know as “FOBbers.” A FOB is a Forward Operating Base and most of our bases here are considered FOBs. A FOBber is someone who spends their entire tour on the same base, never getting to go “outside the wire” or boundaries of the base.

A fellow LT, my friend Juan and I, join Flat Stanley in a photo. Flat Stanley was part of a school project for the daughter of one of our colleagues.

DV
Come to find out, there is a huge bonus involved in traveling with my boss – she is a Navy Captain (or O-6, in military talk) and as such, she gains admittance to the “DV Lounge” (Distinguished Visitor). Delta Crown Room Club it is not, but it does have a TV, snacks and some comfy couches. Sadly, there is no DLL (Distinguished Lieutenant Lounge) and if traveling solo, I would be cast off to the wood benches and sparse amenities of the regular passenger terminal. But, as her trusty LT, when I travel with her, I get to hang in the DV Lounge too.

Love the feel of the Breeze on Your Face?
Intra-theater air travel is very different. The plane never stops running. So in the case of a C-130, its four huge props are spinning at a steady hum. This wouldn’t be so bad if those four props did not create a 35mph stream of hot exhaust. (for those of you who are fastidious readers of the blog, you may be able to see where this is going . . . ). And that 35mph stream of hot exhaust would not be so bad if you did not have to walk up behind the plane to get on. So the trip starts with you blowing throw this prop wash, leaning forward a little and trying not to breath.

Semper Fi
Al Asad and all of Anbar province is the domain of the men and women of the United States Marine Corps and I have to tell you, I love being around Marines. I could never be that hard core, but I like being around people who are. The other great thing about Al Asad is that it is a “no-salute” base. A Camp Victory, you are constantly saluting. I always have to be on guard because you never want to miss saluting a senior officer but even more important to me, you never want to miss returning a salute rendered to you. And the Army salutes from what seems like miles away. There are some stretches of the base where I feel as though I might as well just leave my hand up until I turn the corner.

At Al Asad, my living situation improved dramatically, if only for two nights. I had my own space, with my own bathroom. I was thinking I might just stay.

Is that WATER?
And the most unique part of this base . . . an actual oasis in the sand. Really incredible and legend has it that Abraham stopped at this oasis on his trek through the desert. So in the middle of sand and barren land there is a little pond, with frogs and fish and turtles. And me.

Abandoned Iraqi MiGs are all over the base. Before the invasion, they Iraqi Air Force spread out all their planes in an attempt to prevent their destruction by bombs . . .

Fly Military Jets
The trip back to Camp Victory was on a C17, which would be my first time on a military cargo jet. This is the big brother of the C130 and they actually install cargo pallets of regular airline chairs. As you can see, someone at the Pentagon forgot to order those little sanitary disposable head rest papers . . .

Camp Victory ("Camp Mission Accomplished" was the runner-up name)

Local Tourism
Almost like a tourist at a new resort destination, no one can resist the opportunity to take a photo while sitting in Saddam’s custom Barca Lounger. I imagine he probably enjoyed many-a-episodes of Friends from this very chair while occasionally killing one of his henchmen during the commercials. The chair is set up for an easy Kodak moment, right after the entrance of the Al Faw Palace, where Multinational Force - Iraq is headquartered (i.e. General Petraeus). Much like what you may think is a good looking girl across the bar until you get closer, the palace buildings here are impressive and imposing from afar, but shoddy and substandard close-up. There are plumbing problems all over the place and in my office, which is part of the palace complex, there are signs above each commode warning people that the system can handle nothing more than liquid, not even toilet paper. I originally was ready to attribute the poor condition of the buildings to the U.S. but then realized that was not the case - the buildings were just very poorly built.

Over the summer, the high here was 136 degrees. Wow, how fascinating it must have been . . . for me to miss that. Now the days are in the high 80s and not too uncomfortable.

The “Big Voice”
Immediately prior to my arrival, Camp Victory was the target of several mortar attacks. There are sensors around base that detect incoming mortar or rocket fire at which point the “Big Voice” takes over. “INCOMING, INCOMING, INCOMING, TAKE COVER, TAKE COVER” it shouts out in a metallic twang. The denizens of Camp Victory are mostly casual with this all. There are concrete bunkers all around base, and people trot over to them maybe. Almost as soon as the first announcement is made, the “all-clear” signal is given. No actual impacts since I arrived.

They make tents this big?
There has been an interesting progression (downward, unfortunately) in my berthing (that’s Navy-speak for lodging). At Camp McCrady, as you may recall, I was in a building with about 10 other guys, bathroom attached. In case you need to review, see edition #3 of the blog below. In Kuwait, I was in a tent with 12 other guys, no bathroom attached, but flush toilets nearby. Now I am in Baghdad, in a tent with 80 other people, porta-johns nearby.

Note the one touch of home - my Reef flip flops . . . .

I think they might be trying to tell me something. Actually, I am in “temporary berthing” until a space in one of the trailers opens up.

We are all on the waiting list. I’d really like to be able to unpack my stuff but 1) there is no where near enough room for everything and 2) I’d like to stay optimistic that I will rise to the top of the list soon. There are only 13 other LTs ahead of me. I really feel for the DOD civilian employees at the GS12 level and below - some have been on the waiting list since May . . .

Baghdad, O Baghdad . . .

We left Kuwait on Sunday from Ali Asaleem Air Base. I’d like to tell you what the scenery was like, but where ever we went, we had to keep the curtains on the bus windows closed. I want to think that this was for the sake of keeping the bus as cool as possible, but probably not. Our ticket to Sather Air Base, part of the Victory Base Complex in Baghdad and adjoined to Baghdad International Airport (BIAP) was on an Air Force C-130 cargo plane.

My first photo in Baghdad. Here I am on the tarmac after getting out of the C-130 behind me.

The C-130 is a classic workhorse of the military and has been around since the 1950s. This four-prop plane can haul up to 25,000 pounds (or about 2 Humvees, plus associated gear), stop on less than 1,000 feet of runway, carry as many as 93 troops and prove to be really, really uncomfortable after about the first 30 minutes. Oh, and there aren’t any window seats.



For those of you that may worry, “did my luggage make the flight??” military aviation is the way to go! You and your bag ride in the same compartment. They even let you stack the aluminum pallet yourself, under the close eye of the plane’s load master.


Looking aft of the aircraft, with the cargo door dropped. You can see a pallet of seabags and not a ton of leg room here. The plane can be reconfigured without the seats for 100% cargo.

The load master is responsible for making sure the plane is evenly balanced and loaded in a manner that does not make it crash. He did a good job. And that is important, since the plane made a “combat landing.”
Which brings us to a new series I’d like to call “WORD OF THE WEEK.”

This week’s WORD OF THE WEEK is “combat.” Use this word as a prefix to any other word and you now have the “tactical” version of the word. You see it all over base.

Let’s compare civilian vs. military versions:
Landing: The part where you have to return to your seat, fasten your seat belt, touchdown and ultimately pass by a smiling pilot and flight attendant before you enter a raised passenger terminal with a Starbucks Coffee and Sam Adams Brew Pub.
COMBAT Landing: The part where you have to make sure all your body armor is on, your barf bag is nearby (for some), roller coaster descent, touchdown, ultimately hopping off the back drop door of the plane, while following a guy holding a glow-stick (if dark) into a terminal with wood benches and a concrete floor. No brew pub.

Take-Off: Turn off your cell phone, fasten your seat belt, watch the safety video, listen to the captain talk about the flight time and the weather.
COMBAT Take-Off: Put in your ear plugs, fasten your seat belt, listen to the crew chief talk about how hosed we all are if the plane goes down, apply brakes, rev engine to max, release breaks, go straight up.

Shower: A generally private affair without the need to wear flip flops, fear of a power outage or time limit
COMBAT Shower: A combat shower is water on, water off, add soap, water on, soap off, water off. 3 minutes. 5-7 strangers in adjoining stalls.

Parking: Pull-in, get out. Done.
COMBAT Parking: Back in, facing out, for quick get away (I guess . . . ?)

So I am safely in Baghdad. My boss, CAPT Brantley, greeted me at the military passenger terminal (or “pax” terminal). She hustled me over to the billeting office (run by, surprise, surprise, KBR!) so we could get my name on the waiting list for a CHU (containerized housing unit) and in the meantime, I found a bunk in tent city, a huge expanse of 80 person tents. Lovely. I got a tour of the base, which is large, and then started the administrative procedures of getting an ID card for the palace, checking in with the armory, checking in at the post office, etc.

Udari Training Range

I spent Wednesday through Friday at the Udari Training Range, a vast expanse of land used for firearms and convoy training. The whole operation, including the scores of convoy route “actors” is run by a contractor. It was a mix of classroom and practical training. While the accommodations certainly were not stellar (the classroom turned into the sleeping tent and resembled one big slumber party, but with agitated adults, no truth or dare and a 0400 wake-up call), the convoy training was well worth the time.

We started off the first day with more small arms instruction and moved to the range the next morning for a series of live fire exercises where we actually had to fire what they call “controlled two round bursts” at static targets. Although the targets were static, we were not and all of the firing was done on the move. Luckily for me, no one mistook me for a target.


From my time at Fort Jackson in South Carolina until now, I have met some really good folks and here I am with three of them, John, Jeremy and Mike, in “full battle rattle” at Udari.

Man that stuff gets heavy and the bulkiness of the armor tends to complicate everything from shooting to just walking. Humvees were not really designed with body armor in mind so getting in and out with all this on is a real challenge. Sorry, no power lumbar support in Humvees, but we did have ones with A/C, which effectively cooled the inside temperature of the vehicle from 105 degrees to 100 . . . .

Camp(ing) Virginia

The air transport hub for U.S. Central Command is Kuwait, and in Kuwait, most of the transient lodging is at Camp Virginia (but Virginia this ain’t).

If the military sold sponsorships, the official bottled water of the U.S. Military in Kuwait would be Abraaj Water. Their motto on the bottle: “Quality Exceeds Price.” And I am sure that the DoD is paying five times the going rate for each bottle, so I think pretty highly of the quality. Pallets of cases of bottles can be found throughout the camp. With no water pipes running to the camp, and all electricity provided by generators, everything relies on contractors.


I suspect that the Abraaj company is hoping for many more successful years of American presence in Iraq, as is some newly wealthy Kuwaiti landfill operator.


Knock-Knock. Who’s there? Your weapon . . . . oh crap, where did I put that again?

Seems like this has probably happened more than once, thus the camp regulation that you always have your weapon with you or have someone watch it (you can’t take it into the gym or the medical clinic). Gotta go to the head (Navy speak for bathroom) in the middle of the night? Gotta take the weapon. A little ridiculous? Maybe. But not as bad as losing track of it. No uniform is complete without the most trendy fashion accessory here at Camp Virginia, an M9 or M16:


Assisting me in modeling the latest red-carpet must haves are friends LT John Cox, fellow supply officer currently stationed at the Naval Media Center in DC and LT Jeremy Casella, a C130 pilot homeported at NAS Point Mugu, CA.

Dining

The Dining Facility (commonly referred to as the “DFAC”) is enormous and produces really good food, in immense variety, served in ridiculously large portions. I’ve learned how to say “just a little” in Hindi. Most of the service workers here are from India. There are usually four or five entrees to choose from, on top of the short-order line where there are always burgers, hot dogs, chicken fingers, mini pizzas, etc.. This is followed by a 20 foot salad bar, all kinds of drinks, fresh fruit, a deli sandwich bar, and finally, a dessert bar including as much Baskins Robbins ice cream as you can eat, in six or seven flavors, along with pie, cake, cookies, soft serve and a sundae station. It’s all free. I need to go the gym.

In case all that food I just told you about is not what you are looking for, don’t fret. Open 24/7 is Subway, with neighboring Pizza and McDonalds.

A One-Week, All-Inclusive Vacation in the Desert Kingdom of Kuwait

The Trip


We left Camp McCrady and headed to the charter terminal at Columbia Airport where our North American Airlines charter flight awaited us.



Note the large American Flag on “North American” Airlines. I’m positive that the Canadians and Mexicans just love this. The good news: 143 of us to one 767. The bad news: new respect for baggage handlers – next time they want more money or better healthcare (i.e. chiropractic appointments), they can count on me for support ‘cause we loaded that plane ourselves . . .


Internal dialogue -
T+0 seconds: Wow! That kinda sounds cool to climb up the baggage belt and help load seabags in the cargo space. I’ve never been on the tarmac next to such a big plane, much less in the cargo hold.

T+15 seconds: Hmm, this would work better if I was only about a foot shorter.

T+30 seconds: Okay, this really sucks. How do I get out of here?

But! This was fantastic . . . . no security line, no boarding passes, no check in line, no baggage screening (probably for the better, since we were all in possession of our weapons – I can hear it now at the usual TSA checkpoint – “Male assist, line 4; Male assist, line 3; Male assist, line 2 . . . . .). We just got on the plane. Easy. Stopped at JFK to top off the tanks. We were allowed to aimlessly wander the B Terminal, which is shamefully devoid of much in the way of services, and get one last quality 2 hours in an American airport.

Onward to a medium sized commercial airport in Germany to refuel once again. We were allowed to deboard for about an hour and guided to a small terminal that is apparently designed solely to accommodate American troop movements. It had two kind-of hastily built shops inside – each selling random tourist stuff and food and each accepting only American dollars. But the real tip off that this terminal might be dedicated to troop flights: 10 foosball tables. Back to the plane and onward to Kuwait.

Once in Kuwait, we were taken to an outdoor holding area where we hung out for about four hours waiting for the required police escort to Camp Virginia. It was Ramadan and the police would not be available until after sunset. Kuwait? Imagine one big beach, but without any water . . . , or geologic contour . . . . or vegetation . . . . or mammalian life outside of humans and camels.

Countdown to Kuwait

A Feel for What it’s Like to be on Patrol

Over the past few days, we have had the opportunity to get a small taste of what it is like to be on patrol in Iraq. Although I will not be doing any of this (I say again, I WILL NOT DO ANY OF THIS FOR REAL IN IRAQ), it gave us a taste of the day-to-day experience of our front line troops. First there was a class on tactical communication. Here I am with the PRC-119 radio, a staple in the communication arsenal.

Can you hear me now? This radio was state-of-the-art in 1984, which is why the Navy bought it in 1996.

After that, we got to put some of our convoy training to use in an ambush scenario (the guys in Army green are the instructors)

And all of that was followed by one of the more enlightening trainings – how to clear a room in a search for insurgents. Remember – 1) don’t try this at home and 2) this is the first time we did it. Needless to say, I don’t expect this to end up on a Discovery Channel special on how to do this right, but my team (made up of me, two navy paralegals, and a cryptology warrant officer) did pretty well for our first time out, assisted by the fact that it did not get harder until later when they started barricading the door and placing fake booby traps in the space.

We were told that teams who actually do this work in country train together constantly for months before ever doing it for real. There is actually a science to clearing a room and each of the four team members takes on a specific field of fire and coverage depending on the size and shape of the room. All cues are non-verbal until the room is clear and the team moves on. They have to think as one and make split second decisions. Your M16 never comes off of safe until you actually have a target.

Some “Lasts,” at Least For Now

I have started counting down some strange things. For instance, this past weekend I took my last shower in a bathroom that was designed to really only accommodate one person at a time. Probably won’t see that again for six or seven months. That bathroom, though, was at the home of my good friend and fraternity brother John Challis and his fantastic wife, Jen. To my good fortune, John and Jen, as well as their two great kids, live only about 70 miles north of Camp McCrady and I was able to spend my final weekend of liberty with them. The hospitality was perfect and the chance to have one last regular-American-weekend was priceless, as was the queen size bed. In Baghdad, I’ll be working six days a week, and really doubt I’ll be able to enjoy John’s excellent BBQ or Jen’s delicious pulled-pork tacos. So thanks John, Jen, Colin and Katie for a good time. Here is a photo of those two cute kids, Colin (3) and Katie (10 months).

Subject Bob Kurkjian, in his natural state, Tommy Bahama shirt, bare feet, with gin and tonic close by and checking the USC football team rankings online . . . . joined by Colin Challis.

Colin hams it up with his sister Katie.

Charlie Company, 2nd Platoon

My training platoon. Although we are all going to Iraq, none of us will actually be working together. All of the officers in the platoon are staff corps (JAGs, Civil Engineers, Supply guys like me) and all of the enlisted are rates like Legalman, Storekeeper, Yeoman, etc.

Coach Class? Seriously??

Apparently my Delta miles mean little to the Navy . . . go figure. First no bathrobe or minibar in my barracks, and now THIS indignity. I’ll be heading to Kuwait later this weekend on a charter aircraft. Something tells me that I should not expect to find an amenities kit on my seat. My next post may not be until I hit Baghdad in about 10 days.