A New Resolution

With the new year upon us, millions of people among us will undoubtedly be making New Year Resolutions. Some want to finally kick a habit that has bothered them for years. Some want to focus more on work. Some want to focus less. The bottom line, regardless of the resolution, is that people see something in their lives that they want to change, and January 1st is a great date to start it. There really is nothing magical about the date...although 1/1/11 looks pretty good. The fact is, by 3/1/11, most of these resolutions will have been forgotten, and the breaking of somehow justified by the quitter.

My father, much wealthier than me in terms of just about everything including wisdom and experience, has always said, "Don't tell me what you are GOING to do. Tell me what you have DONE." That's not to say you shouldn't set goals for your life. In fact, it's quite the opposite. For a long time, I just thought I wouldn't say what I was going to do in the future, and then I could be satisfied with the status quo. That's not it. Or maybe it is for some.

I can look at a mountain and say that I'm going to climb it. I can spend all this time gathering my gear, making plans for the ascent, and talk about what I'm going to do when I reach the summit. Everyone at the base looks at me and says, "Wow, John! That's great stuff!" Before too long, the weather changes. The gear that I've gathered to climb the mountain is now not suitable for the ice and snow. The planned route is now impassable, and the people start mumbling about no movement. That mountain peak now seems unattainable, and I start to talk about a different mountain that's a better fit for me...better weather, better routes, etc... When we get down to brass tacks, IF I HAD JUST STARTED CLIMBING THE MOUNTAIN, I WOULD BE LOOKING DOWN FROM THE SUMMIT AT WHAT I HAD DONE.

Every day there is a mountain to climb. With every new year should come a new, bigger, more challenging mountain. I lived a life where each day was just another day of sameness. It's depressing to me. You can live life on a plateau, pleased with the status quo. A great many people do that and live full, complete lives. But why do that? It seems to me that all that's good for is keeping yourself busy until you die. Not for me. I'm looking down from this little mole-hill that was 2010, and I'm not satisfied. I see my K2 in the distance, and I can't wait to start climbing that in 2011 and 2012. There are mountains out there for everyone. It's up to you and me to get out there and start climbing.

A Christmas Story

For some of these guys out here, this is the third or fourth time away from loved ones since these wars kicked off. A lot of these guys deal with Christmas away from families by treating Christmas like another day in paradise. Being that this is my first trip to the desert and the first Christmas not with my family or a loved one's family, it's not just another day. I'm not sure that I want to ever think of Christmas as just another day. I'm sure this won't be the last Christmas away from loved ones, and my hope is that I never miss them on this day any less than I do now. This last week has been kind of rough on everyone...we're all thinking of home, talking to loved ones as they prepare the house for visitors, or prepare to travel, knowing that there's going to be an empty spot at the dinner table, or around the tree on Christmas morning. As our III Corps Commander reminded us today, those who have it hardest are often the families of the deployed. We're fortunate enough to spend Christmas here with our "second family." A great many families of ours are forced to spend their Christmas without a father or mother present, which is completely unimagineable to me. So, this Christmas day, remember those who aren't with you on this very special day, and leave a place set for them for their return. And especially remember those who are dealing with yet another Christmas at home without their husbands, fathers, wives or mothers.

A Message to Garcia

So, I ran across this essay the other day on a website and immediately fell in love with it. After some research on the essay itself, it turns out that it was once widely distributed (all Russian soldiers were given it in pamphlet form before arriving to the front lines in Germany in World War II...quite curious, considering the way the Russian Army worked at the time, but that's another topic). It took 27 and a half years for it to reach me, and while I don't claim to be well-read, I find that shocking. This essay should be required reading before graduating high school. The idea behind it is what I find most inspirational. It sums up how things REALLY get done in the real world, be it in business, military, or any other endeavor. After reading this, it should be the way we all approach a given task, or who we should seek when needing a task accomplished. Without further adieu, here is "A Message to Garcia."



A Message to Garcia

By Elbert Hubbard

In all this Cuban business there is one man stands out on the horizon of my memory like Mars at perihelion. When war broke out between Spain & the United States, it was very necessary to communicate quickly with the leader of the Insurgents. Garcia was somewhere in the mountain vastness of Cuba- no one knew where. No mail nor telegraph message could reach him. The President must secure his cooperation, and quickly.

What to do!

Some one said to the President, "There’s a fellow by the name of Rowan will find Garcia for you, if anybody can."

Rowan was sent for and given a letter to be delivered to Garcia. How "the fellow by the name of Rowan" took the letter, sealed it up in an oil-skin pouch, strapped it over his heart, in four days landed by night off the coast of Cuba from an open boat, disappeared into the jungle, & in three weeks came out on the other side of the Island, having traversed a hostile country on foot, and delivered his letter to Garcia, are things I have no special desire now to tell in detail.

The point I wish to make is this: McKinley gave Rowan a letter to be delivered to Garcia; Rowan took the letter and did not ask, "Where is he at?" By the Eternal! there is a man whose form should be cast in deathless bronze and the statue placed in every college of the land. It is not book-learning young men need, nor instruction about this and that, but a stiffening of the vertebrae which will cause them to be loyal to a trust, to act promptly, concentrate their energies: do the thing- "Carry a message to Garcia!"

General Garcia is dead now, but there are other Garcias.

No man, who has endeavored to carry out an enterprise where many hands were needed, but has been well nigh appalled at times by the imbecility of the average man- the inability or unwillingness to concentrate on a thing and do it. Slip-shod assistance, foolish inattention, dowdy indifference, & half-hearted work seem the rule; and no man succeeds, unless by hook or crook, or threat, he forces or bribes other men to assist him; or mayhap, God in His goodness performs a miracle, & sends him an Angel of Light for an assistant. You, reader, put this matter to a test: You are sitting now in your office- six clerks are within call.

Summon any one and make this request: "Please look in the encyclopedia and make a brief memorandum for me concerning the life of Correggio".

Will the clerk quietly say, "Yes, sir," and go do the task?

On your life, he will not. He will look at you out of a fishy eye and ask one or more of the following questions:

Who was he?

Which encyclopedia?

Where is the encyclopedia?

Was I hired for that?

Don’t you mean Bismarck?

What’s the matter with Charlie doing it?

Is he dead?

Is there any hurry?

Shan’t I bring you the book and let you look it up yourself?

What do you want to know for?

And I will lay you ten to one that after you have answered the questions, and explained how to find the information, and why you want it, the clerk will go off and get one of the other clerks to help him try to find Garcia- and then come back and tell you there is no such man. Of course I may lose my bet, but according to the Law of Average, I will not.

Now if you are wise you will not bother to explain to your "assistant" that Correggio is indexed under the C’s, not in the K’s, but you will smile sweetly and say, "Never mind," and go look it up yourself.

And this incapacity for independent action, this moral stupidity, this infirmity of the will, this unwillingness to cheerfully catch hold and lift, are the things that put pure Socialism so far into the future. If men will not act for themselves, what will they do when the benefit of their effort is for all? A first-mate with knotted club seems necessary; and the dread of getting "the bounce" Saturday night, holds many a worker to his place.

Advertise for a stenographer, and nine out of ten who apply, can neither spell nor punctuate- and do not think it necessary to.

Can such a one write a letter to Garcia?

"You see that bookkeeper," said the foreman to me in a large factory.

"Yes, what about him?"

"Well he’s a fine accountant, but if I’d send him up town on an errand, he might accomplish the errand all right, and on the other hand, might stop at four saloons on the way, and when he got to Main Street, would forget what he had been sent for."

Can such a man be entrusted to carry a message to Garcia?

We have recently been hearing much maudlin sympathy expressed for the "downtrodden denizen of the sweat-shop" and the "homeless wanderer searching for honest employment," & with it all often go many hard words for the men in power.

Nothing is said about the employer who grows old before his time in a vain attempt to get frowsy ne’er-do-wells to do intelligent work; and his long patient striving with "help" that does nothing but loaf when his back is turned. In every store and factory there is a constant weeding-out process going on. The employer is constantly sending away "help" that have shown their incapacity to further the interests of the business, and others are being taken on. No matter how good times are, this sorting continues, only if times are hard and work is scarce, the sorting is done finer- but out and forever out, the incompetent and unworthy go.

It is the survival of the fittest. Self-interest prompts every employer to keep the best- those who can carry a message to Garcia.

I know one man of really brilliant parts who has not the ability to manage a business of his own, and yet who is absolutely worthless to any one else, because he carries with him constantly the insane suspicion that his employer is oppressing, or intending to oppress him. He cannot give orders; and he will not receive them. Should a message be given him to take to Garcia, his answer would probably be, "Take it yourself."

Tonight this man walks the streets looking for work, the wind whistling through his threadbare coat. No one who knows him dare employ him, for he is a regular fire-brand of discontent. He is impervious to reason, and the only thing that can impress him is the toe of a thick-soled No. 9 boot.

Of course I know that one so morally deformed is no less to be pitied than a physical cripple; but in our pitying, let us drop a tear, too, for the men who are striving to carry on a great enterprise, whose working hours are not limited by the whistle, and whose hair is fast turning white through the struggle to hold in line dowdy indifference, slip-shod imbecility, and the heartless ingratitude, which, but for their enterprise, would be both hungry & homeless.

Have I put the matter too strongly? Possibly I have; but when all the world has gone a-slumming I wish to speak a word of sympathy for the man who succeeds- the man who, against great odds has directed the efforts of others, and having succeeded, finds there’s nothing in it: nothing but bare board and clothes.

I have carried a dinner pail & worked for day’s wages, and I have also been an employer of labor, and I know there is something to be said on both sides. There is no excellence, per se, in poverty; rags are no recommendation; & all employers are not rapacious and high-handed, any more than all poor men are virtuous.

My heart goes out to the man who does his work when the "boss" is away, as well as when he is at home. And the man who, when given a letter for Garcia, quietly take the missive, without asking any idiotic questions, and with no lurking intention of chucking it into the nearest sewer, or of doing aught else but deliver it, never gets "laid off," nor has to go on a strike for higher wages. Civilization is one long anxious search for just such individuals. Anything such a man asks shall be granted; his kind is so rare that no employer can afford to let him go. He is wanted in every city, town and village- in every office, shop, store and factory. The world cries out for such: he is needed, & needed badly- the man who can carry a message to Garcia.

The Good, The Bad, and The Pineapple Dinosaurs

So...Let's see here. Since I left off, it's rained more. It's gotten colder, which is nice...a bit more like Christmas. We don't go out much at night so I haven't had a chance to see if Mosul does it up big in the Christmas lights department...but I keep trying to get interest in going on a Christmas light tour. Sadly, I can't generate much of that. They keep saying the same thing...something about Muslim country this, Muslim country that. I don't understand it. Whatever.

Yesterday was officially 3 months out of country. Really, it seems like last week we flew into Kuwait, so hopefully the time continues to fly and I make it back to Texas sooner than later. I'm in the middle of putting together a "quarter-in-review" of sorts for the folks back home -- a pictorial, if you will -- so when I finish that, I'll try to post it here. In looking back over the course of the last 90 days, I've seen some good stuff, bad stuff, and just plain ridiculous stuff.

Good Stuff: I got promoted. I'm bigger, faster and stronger. I love my job more than ever.
Bad Stuff: People keep blowing stuff up around me. I'm starting to think they just don't like me.
Ridiculous Stuff: A giant pineapple dinosaur at our Thanksgiving meal. Apparently they left out the part of the Pilgrims defeating the pineapple T-rex with the help of the Native Americans in history class. Also, the Texas Rangers were in the World Series. Ridiculous.

I must say that I have enjoyed the last 3 months. It's been good for me in many ways, and hopefully, the next 3 quarters of this journey will be just as good if not better. We continue to see progress up here in the north, and it's exciting to be here during such a pivotal time in this nation's history. Here's to hoping all of this continues.

Another Great Flood, This Time in Ninevah

It is currently POURING rain, and I fear I might be washed away inside my chu (compartmentalized housing unit, Brit. :)) Last night, I went to sleep to a rain shower. Being that I live in a metal box, I can sort of imagine it's a tin roof, and that's a nice thought to carry into sleep. Tonight, though, it's harder rain and I'm not 100% sure, but I think it has gotten into my wall. That should provide some fantastic odors once it heats back up a bit. The good thing about all this rain is that bad guys hate being out in it as much as we do, so it's rather quiet outside other than the rain.

Today we visited one of Saddam's old palaces in Mosul. It was probably very gorgeous once. Around 2003, the air force came around and said hello with a few thousand pounds of ordnance. The land (and crumbling palace) is now owned by the University of Mosul and they want to use it, but there's a slight problem...a slight 2,000 pound problem. One of the air force's "smart" bombs hit it's target, but failed to explode. According to the military lawyers, since it was dropped during war, we weren't responsible for clearing it. But since we've nothing better to do with a Saturday, we grabbed some structural engineers, a team of Explosive Ordnance Disposal guys(EOD - yes, like Hurt Locker), 1 shovel, 1 pick axe, and a screw driver to go look at it. Seriously. That's what they brought. For a 2,000 pound bomb. Clearly, it did not go off, because I am typing this now...but next time you're around a dictator's palace, make sure you bring a pick axe just in case you run across any UXO (unexploded ordnance).

Do you know what boosts morale, dear readers? Christmas cookies. Not Hooters girls.

Late Night Thoughts on Another Saturday In

Today we went on a mission to inspect a few agricultural projects the State Department in funding up in Kurdistan. Great projects...we ate some of the fruits of their labors. It is amazing what a little irrigation and education will do for a people. It reminds me of West Texas and their cotton. That's not why I write tonight, however. On long drives through northern Iraq, conversation often turns to what we're going to do when we land back in the States, both in effort to stay the boredom as well as to stay awake. An interesting point was brought up by a visiting Staff Sergeant today. He mentioned that some of us might go through a period of "culture shock" upon return. Things like well-paved roads, manicured landscaping, clean air, and an overall lack of trash will indeed seem foreign...at least for a while. Not having to scan for IEDs and men tossing grenades will also force a bit of an adjustment. But what I find most...alarming?...of all of that is that THIS IS MY HOME. 2 and a half months in, it's finally hit that this is my home, at least for now. It no longer feels odd going everywhere with a loaded M4. It's become as natural as putting on a seatbelt for me to throw on my "battle rattle" (body armor, helmet, gloves, etc...). Explosions and gunfire in the distance is what puts me to sleep at night. That stuff has become my West Texas thunderstorm. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I watched "The Hurt Locker" when it came out, and enjoyed it for what it was...a great film. I watch it now, and I UNDERSTAND the main character. For better or worse, this is my life. This, Iraq John, is who I am. This is my world now. This is hard for me to accept...except that this is where I have blossomed. When I spent a couple of weeks at my parents' house in August, after a few days, all I could think of was getting back to work. There is ALWAYS something that needs to be done, something that needs to be done better, something to pass on to younger soldiers, and it is my job -- my reason for getting out of bed each day -- to get it done. My fear is that I've fallen in love with a job, with getting better every day, with becoming a better soldier/man, that I am doomed to miss out on the things that I have always felt are most important...family, friends, and perhaps a wife and a family of my own. I love what I am becoming every day, but at what cost is all of this happening?

Cancelled Missions and The Resulting F-Bombs

Time does fly when you're having fun. It also appears to fly when in a combat zone. It is now December. It has also been a week since Thanksgiving, and also, my last post. We've had some missions go well, some missions not go at all, and a whole lot of nothing going on...which I've found to be good. On just about every mission we go on, we are provided escort by either the Iraqi Army (IA) or the Iraqi Federal Police (IP). If they don't show up, we scrap the mission and call it a day...just part of our agreement with the Iraqi government. Frustrating? Sure. 2 missions in row were cancelled earlier this week due to IPs not showing up to escort us into the city. One of these we found out about the night before, which provided a nice day off...a precious commodity, as I think I've mentioned before. However, the other mission we didn't find out about until we waited at the gate for nearly an hour. That proves to be the most frustrating. Every mission that we do here requires hours of planning, regardless of how mundane or monotonous it may seem. Along with the planning goes hours of preparation, whether that be fueling the trucks, checking radios, equipment, water, etc... We're often out on the trucks hours before we actually roll out the gate. Along with all of that, there is a period of mental preparation. While we haven't had any direct action with bad guys, we must prepare ourselves for that event with every trip "outside the wire." Even the most goofy guy in the platoon has to get a little amped up and show his war face from time to time. In the event of a mission cancellation at the gate, it is as if all the preparation leading up to the gate was for naught. So, that feeling combined with being amped up and ready to fight makes for expletive-laced, but rather quiet (and usually humorous*), ride back to the house. I really think our Iraqi counterparts are just trying to keep us on our toes. Good training.


* - Many of our missions involve the Provincial Reconstruction Team from the US State Department. That involves us taking "suits" to various places around the Ninevah Province. Most of these guys are pretty nice and cooperative. It's clear they don't like riding around town in our trucks with body armor and helmets on, but the rules are there for a reason...we had a PRT member catch an ammo can with her helmet-less head a few months ago...she's ok now. Anyhoo...On one particular cancelled mission the other day, we had a passenger mention to my platoon sergeant how he'd overheard the "f-word over 30 times." He actually spelled it out for him, but I don't feel I need to. The PRT fellow couldn't remember what truck it was, but it really didn't matter. My platoon sergeant laughed. I remember, though, and we're careful to not talk so loudly when he's in our vehicle these days.

A Thanksgiving From Afar

I have never spent a Thanksgiving away from my family. Even years where keeping a job required me to be there for that day, family came to me. It is by far my favorite holiday. People always look at me strangely when I say that, but it is true. "Why not Christmas?" is always their response. Christmas is good. I love Christmas. It is my second favorite holiday. Behind Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving, for my family at least, is nothing more than a day of fellowship. And wonderful, wonderful food, of course. It is this simplicity that I so love. There is nothing else going on this day, only a gathering of family to enjoy the fellowship of each other. Cooking and cleaning up seem easier on this day. (That may just be how it seems while I look on from the couch. Ha?). But ultimately, there are no complications other than timing the dinner rolls just right so they're ready when the green bean casserole comes out.

That said, today, as with every day, I am thankful for my family. It is hard for me to put into words the love that I have for every single member of my family, but it is felt. I was incredibly blessed to have a loving (but sometimes trying...ha) grandfather for 27 years. This will be our first Thanksgiving in a long time without him, and he will undoubtedly be greatly missed in the cirlce of family around the food. I am incredibly grateful for my wonderful Grandmother that I still have in my life. I am grateful to her for the way that she raised her boys and her daughter. My uncles have played a large role in my life, and am eternally grateful to both of them. My mother and father have spent the last 30 years trying to get the best out of their two boys. It's nearly killed the both of them, my brother and me, but I think we've turned out ok. No amount of thanksgiving can equal the love that these two have given us, nor the lessons they've taught us. My brother really took advantage of the "big brother" thing, but over the past few years, and possibly due in part to his lovely new wife, he has become a good friend as well as a brother. (That may also be due to his fear of me whooping him now). I am sad that I didn't get many years with my paternal grandparents, but am grateful to them for the father I have as well my 3 uncles. I am always impressed when I think of my grandmother raising 4 boys...especially hearing stories of those 4 boys. I'm positive I would've run away.

Every Thanksgiving, we all gather around the food, say a prayer of thanksgiving, and, one by one, say what we're thankful for. This is not done without the obligatory complaining (also a big tradition in our family), but unfortunately, I am not there today to voice my discontent over this ridiculous act. I will however offer what I am thankful for today:

Everything that I am today, everything, is due to all of you standing around this circle, those who have gone before us, and those not able to be here with us today. I am not physically here with you all today, but I am who I am today because you are all here with me today.

"Always remember there was nothing worth sharing
Like the love that let us share our name"

What I'm Thankful For, Wednesday Edition

Today, I'm thankful for the people I am proud and honored to call friends. I have a lot of friends, but the closest to me have been with me for nearly 2 decades (REALLY?? Time does fly, no?). Through my greatest trials, tribulations, etc..., these friends have been at my side, and though we can let our get-togethers be affected by work, new additions to the family, and distance, the relationship is never affected. I have been a bad friend at times, and these people have never once held it over my head, and never hesitate to pick up the phone when I just need to talk. Late night talks about girls in high school turned into late night talks about girls in college turned into late night talks about girls we were going to marry (or not). Nowadays, the talks about girls have mostly been replaced by talks about running away from our current jobs to chase our dreams of the moment, and the late nights replaced with late evenings, but it's still the same old relationships. I never tire of these people, and if I could've stolen them to take with me to Iraq, I would've. That probably would've put me back in the bad friend category, but come on...it's an expression, yeah?

And, you guessed it, I also really wrote this on Wednesday.

What I'm Thankful For, Part II

Being that I am forgetful, I might have forgotten to continue this for Tuesday. But because I also have editorial power, you'll never know.

This Tuesday before Thanksgiving, I am thankful for the good health I have enjoyed in these short 27 years. I am rarely, if ever, sick, have never had any major illnesses, nor any injuries to speak of other than a broken nose. Based on scientific research and what the FDA, Heart Association, etc... say, I should, by all accounts, be dead. However, every checkup usually ends with the doctor saying, "You are in great health. Keep doing whatever you're doing." Check. As I write this, though, I am knocking rather loudly on every piece of wood I can find. I have been blessed with great health by my parents (awfully pale white skin, but great health), and I am grateful every day that I wake up with no pain or strange flesh-eating bacteria attacking me (thanks for the worry about every time I swim in a lake, though, Mom).

Also, I am thankful that I (normally) live in a country where going to run errands doesn't involve worrying about being blown up or avoiding countless check points to get to where you're going. We take for granted so many things in the US. You literally don't have to leave your house for anything anymore, and if you do for some strange reason, there's usually a drive-through so you don't even have to leave the comfort of your padded leather seats and air conditioning. Say what you will about all of that, it is nice. We're a fatter people for it, and more unhealthy (except me), but health care is improving along with that, so it balances out.

I could go on for hours about this, but, truth be told, I just ate my Thanksgiving lunch and the sleep monster is sneaking up on me. But seriously, I wrote this on Tuesday.

Seeing as how Thanksgiving is this week, I will spend the next few days going over some of the things that I am thankful for, leading up to the big day. These will be in no particular order, and I reserve the right to be thankful for more than one thing per day.

Today was a semi-annual check-up on our M109A6 Paladin Self-Propelled Howitzer (my office, so to speak, when we actually DO field artillery). That means standing around and waiting for our mechanics to stand around and watch us do seemingly pointless tasks like lubing the infinite number of lube points on said gun. As I did these things this morning, I realized that I am thankful to have a job (no matter how much I gripe about it) that I still get excited about in the mornings when I wake up. Even on my worst days (yes, I have those), I don't dread going to work. I'm thankful that I work with some of the most loyal, hardworking men in these United States. I am thankful that I have a job that lets me get my hands dirty, and feel like I accomplished something when I "clock out" for the day. And I am thankful for the security that this job offers. I know that for at least the next 4 years, I'll have a steady paycheck with a real opportunity for advancement. Finally, I am thankful that I can give what little I have back to a country that gives us so much. Not too many people can say all that about their respective jobs, and I feel bad for those people. That's not to say this job is for everybody, because it most certainly is NOT. It works for me, though, and I love it.

Yeah, yeah, yeah...that's a whole bunch of sappy pap. And when it comes down to it, this little exercise may be more for me to look back on some day when I'm waking up at 4 am to go on a 12 mile ruck march. That said, check back tomorrow for the next installment.

A few of you have likely noticed my lack of posts over the past week. Sorry. No excuses. But as I said to my dear friend, the Buffalo Betty, it's hard to just whip up masterpieces. Unfortunately, not all missions come with a message. Every day, I try to pull something out of this experience called life (in a combat zone). That doesn't always happen. Some days are just exercises in frustration. That being said, I'm not going to use this blog as a platform to air out my frustrations. The bottom line, however, is that, some days, absolutely nothing happens. (And yes, I'm aware of the absurd amount of commas used in that previous sentence. It works.) Today was one of those days. Our battery uses an unmanned aerial vehicle (UAV) to do reconnaissance work around some of the...er...less friendly areas around our FOB. This provides us with a great deal of intelligence in areas that we don't want personnel on the ground. However, if this little bird goes down, somebody has to be on call to go get the blasted thing. Today, our platoon served as the quick reaction force (QRF) for the recovery. All this means is that our trucks are ready to roll out, and we're on standby in our rooms (about as close to a day off as it gets). Since we've been here, we have not had a Raven go down "outside the wire." Today was no different. But had it gone down, believe me, we were ready.

Alright, peeps...that's what goes on most days. If that will satiate your appetite for what goes on in my life on the day to day, I will write every day about my life in general, interspersed with thoughts, ideas, etc... Also, I fixed this so that anyone and everyone can now leave their comments, suggestions, questions, etc... Please do. I will do my best to respond as quickly and as fully I am able.

As a sidenote: It is selfish of me, the writer, to withold from you, the reader, what is going on in my life. For those of you whom I do not regularly speak to, this may be the only connection you have to me. If that is the case, I apologize. I will do better.


In an effort to shake this whole thing up a bit, I'm going to start a weekly...thing. Think of every Sunday as a press conference. You ask questions, I will answer them no later than the following Wednesday. Obviously, if it deals with anything related to Operational Security (OpSec) I won't answer it. Don't let that stop you from asking, though. I will at least tell you why I won't answer it. Also, don't be shy about telling people back home about this old thing. I love being able to keep people back home in the loop about what's going on in this little corner of the world. Unfortunately, what is reported on news networks is often bad, and I'd like to at least let people know what is going on here from the perspective of a soldier on the ground.

That is all.

-j

I'm still here

Not too much is happening over here...which I think is a good thing. I mean, we did recently see the Iraqis finally come together to form a working government. We were at the meeting when that was decided (granted, we were only there to provide security for our State Department personnel), so that's definitely something I can take from this deployment.

A few days ago, we finally got to go do a mission that had previously been cancelled 3 times. About 75km north of Mosul lies the Mosul Dam. For those geography buffs out there, it is the only dam on the Euphrates river and provides power to most of northern Iraq (the portions that do have electricity). The mission was to take out a couple of UN workers to inspect an IDP site. As everyone knows, IDP stands for internally displaced persons. As we pulled up to a checkpoint near the dam, we entered into what appeared to be a fairly affluent (at least by Iraqi standards) neighborhood. Hardly a place they'd stick displaced persons. Apparently lake-front property is a precious and valued commodity all cultures. However, after stopping to ask for directions (yes...men are capable of doing that...we just hate doing it), we found the right road to take us to the right area. Nestled into a valley that would otherwise be a prime piece of real estate was a village of mud huts. No electrity, though the Mosul Dam Power Plant was less than 5km away. No running water, even though the reservoir was just a few meters away. Their water source was literally garden hoses simply placed into the lake. There were no roads into the village, and on the other sides of the hills were fences undoubtedly placed to keep these people in. Since there were no roads, we had to park our vehicles at an Iraqi army outpost and our guys had to walk through the draw and down into the village. My guess is that these people are Kurds, displaced from previous regimes and wars. Your homework for today is to look up these people. They've not had a place to call their own for decades and decades. They're finally becoming more accepted (or rather, tolerated) in Iraq, and now that there's a government that is involving them, my hope for them is that villages such as this IDP site and others like it will become a thing of the past.

A quickie

I literally just posted, but reading the previous post got me thinking. On November 2, the people spoke. Some people were excited, some people were not. I majored in political science, and think of myself as a pretty knowledgeable fella when it comes to that kind of stuff. However, because of 24 hour news networks (an issue I won't go into here now. Perhaps another post), I HATE politics. And that saddens me. However, I feel I've got enough gas left in the tank to lecture you, the reader. In my final semester of college, I took a class called Political Psychology (a real hoot, believe me) in which we were required to submit a 20 page paper (what the professor believed should be a good START to a decent research paper). I chose to write about the polarization of the United States. Without boring you to death with the details (I shaved it down to about 22 pages in the end, I believe), my thesis was more or less that our Great Nation was becoming increasingly polarized which would ultimately shut out any hope for "main street America" having any voice in our government. My contention was that it was years down the road, but, for whatever reason (...ahem...24 hour news), this great polarization is happening now. Both sides have a list of demands and refuse to negotiate, and the regular ol' American voters are the ones being held hostage. The previous post made me think of this, so allow me to explain: As I said, the military represents what is great about this nation: all different types of people from all different walks of life working together for a common goal. Why can't we translate this into our everyday lives and our government? They say you don't talk religion or politics amongst friends, but why can't we remain passionate, yet still work together for the common good? When you boil it down (philisophically), we all want essentially the same thing: the greatest good at the lowest cost. As we continue to drive the wedge in between these roads to what's best for our nation, compromise will get harder and harder, which, in turn, will create much larger problems for our nation.

Just something to think about before we get back into war stories and whatnot.

How We Got Here, Part II

The question begs (at least from my perspective), "Hey...you were OUT. You had nothing but problems, and got out. Why go back?" Good question, dear reader. Part of me would answer simply: I am a glutton for punishment. However, a greater part of me would say that I hadn't yet fulfilled an obligation I felt I owed my brothers (and sisters) in arms. See, around week 5 of basic training, these strangers that were thrown in together from literally all walks of life begin to work in concert with each other, depending on one another to get through the various ordeals. I fell in love with these "joes." Individually, a private in the Army is generally like a 2 year old: Lacking in motor skills, language proficiency, and full of tantrums. However, there is nothing more resilient than a group of privates when given a daunting task. It might not be done the smart way, or the "right way," but man, if it doesn't get done. So when I made the decision to go back in on the active duty side, I did not hesitate to go the enlisted route. When things get done in the military, they are accomplished by junior enlisted soldiers. This was reiterated over and over to me by my senior non-commissioned officer instructor in ROTC. While the officer gets the credit, the young soldiers are those responsible for that credit. The best officers know this, and I felt that there's no better way to truly understand this than putting myself in the shoes of the joe.

On Veteran's Day, I received many thank yous from people on my facebook page. Every one of them thanked me for what I am doing for my country (these thank yous truly meant a lot to me, so thank you all for your shows of gratitude). While I love the United States, and wouldn't call any other country home, I'm not willing to lay my life on the line for my country. However, I would not hesitate to lay my life down for the guy standing next to me, knowing that he would say the same thing. Don't get me wrong, I took an oath to defend our Constitution and will do so for as long as I breathe, but what means more to me are the men standing next to me, for they represent what this great country stands for. Every race, creed, etc... is represented in the military, and it functions as one. No other organization in the United States can say that. Are there problems with racism, close-mindedness, and sexism? Sure, but no moreso than in Corporate America. But when the bullets start flying, all those labels no longer matter. Bullets have flown here, and I have seen this first-hand.

I am proud to be a part of this Army. I often wake up in the morning and can't believe that I get paid to do what I do. I don't get paid much, I work long hours, and I'm in it regardless how I feel for at least the next 4 years, but when I sit down and think about my decision to go back in, I feel no regret. The road to here was a long and winding one, but all of those choices that I made along the way got me to where I am today. If I could go back and do it all again...all the debt, heartache, wandering, and mistakes...Yes. I would.

"I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be."

How We Got Here, Part I

I always wanted to believe that man is inherently good. I've come to realize, however, that, at least for the most part, this belief is bunk. Man is not inherently good. Nor is man inherently evil. Each person has potential. (Metaphysically speaking, of course. I know for a fact there is no potential for me in the world of say, chemistry.) What that person does with that potential can be viewed as good or evil. That gives me comfort when I lay down at night. Not that I can wake up and do evil...although it is an option...I'm comforted by the idea that we're not tied down to one or the other. Every day we wake up, we have options. Now, that's completely over-simplified. Rarely are life's decisions black or white, good or evil, vanilla or chocolate, but you get the idea. It took me many thousands of dollars and many, many years of trials, tribulations and the like to land at this discovery (worth every penny, as well as the blood, sweat and tears, looking back). It used to keep me up at night thinking we're predestined, and that all of this is just us going through the motions, waiting.

Back in November of 2006, I was going to school (sometimes), working for a cell phone store, and trying to disprove the statistics and make a long distance relationship work. I wasn't happy in school, work was simply a paycheck for gasoline to travel to the girlfriend, and distance in miles was creating a distance between the girlfriend and me. In November of 2006, I woke up with several options: do/don't go to class, do/don't drink tonight, do/don't call the girlfriend about weekend plans. In the same November of 2006, 63 Americans in Iraq, many of whom were younger than me, lost their lives. At 19, 20...some of these kids knew nothing other than their parent's house, their barracks room, and war. I had led a selfish life up to this point. I gave nothing of myself away. I was blessed to have the loved ones in my life as well as the opportunities I had been given. In all of this, I had options. One cold night in November, it hit me that these young men and women would never have the opportunity to squander the things I had chosen to. Many of these strangers had joined the military to specifically to get the opportunities I'd had been given for free. They'd sought a better life for themselves and their families, and they'd lost it all.

I joined the Army National Guard on 11 December 2006 in order to become an officer. I no longer believed that I was destined to do anything, let alone save the world, but I felt like if I could make a difference in the lives of the 30 men I'd be leading into combat, it'd be a start, and I could gauge my world-changing abilities off that. The National Guard made sense to me at the time because it would allow me to finish up with school, all while learning to become the best officer I could be. Now, I won't delve too deep into my experience in the Guard, but suffice to say, it is not what they show before the previews at your local movie theater. After 1 week of Basic training, I decided that being a part-time soldier was not what I wanted. It needed to be a full-time gig for me. I spent 2 years, 7 months and 20 days in the National Guard. In that time, I missed 3 classes of Officer Candidate School (due to a rather large communication breakdown) and never realized my goals of becoming a commissioned officer. After very much deliberation, and 2 years, 7 months and 20 days of frustration, I received my Honorable Discharge from the National Guard. Just under 30 days after walking away from all of that, I would be sworn into active duty in the United States Army.

*Author's Note: When I sat down to write this, I fully intended to write an entry with a beginning, middle and end, as most decent writers attempt to accomplish, but often fail to do...I digress. However, after writing far more than the typical reader would be expected to stay with in a single sitting, I made the command decision to leave you all with the first, but perhaps not last, multi-part entry. I will undoubtedly complete the series tonight, but intentionally withhold it, both to annoy the reader as well as give them a reason to come back. Plus, it puts me in a position of power over all of you, the readers. That being said, do try to enjoy this, and be sure to take notes. There WILL be an exam.
-j




On my homepage, I have a quote of the day section set up (inspiration, brought to you by google!). After today's mission, I came in to my room to check up on e-mails and saw one by Douglas Adams (I've never read anything by him, but I'm sure I would like him):

"I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be."

Knowing about his writings, I'm undoubtedly taking it out of context, but it really sums up my life story up to this point. I left high school, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed ready to tackle the world and solve it's many problems. 9 years, 133 semester hours and a mountain of student loans later, I am what the civilian world would call over-qualified for my position, sitting in a country that needs our help more than they realize (for whatever reason you choose to insert here...I have no opinion. Ha.), and have no real complaints. 9 years ago, I never once thought I'd be sitting here now. Moreover, if you asked 18 year old John what 27 year old John would be doing, he'd likely say working as a record producer for a punk rock label out in California, married to his high school sweetheart. Well, the music industry changed, she married someone else, and John changed too. 18 year old John changed into College John, the idealistic romantic, hell-bent on grassroots efforts to make the world a better place. That John would have told you 27 year old John would be in law school, married to the love of his life and raising two terrible black cats (actually just one...mine was but a sidekick in their hijinks). That almost happened. Somewhere deep inside, though, the idealism gave way to realism with just a touch of cynicism (and probably a few more -isms in there...no need for input from the peanut gallery on this one), and College John was kicked to the curb...for better or worse. There was just a touch of romanticism left that fateful day that 23 year old John signed his life away to the United States Army.

So, I've been busy. That's a lie. I've been lazy. I haven't written, even though I made a promise in Kuwait that I would write at least SOMETHING nightly. I really have no excuse, especially since our operational tempo (or optempo, for those who wish to sound hip around the water cooler) has slowed. We're on an off-week of sorts. Our missions ended on Saturday for the week in order for us to refit and rest a bit.

In my last post, I believe I mentioned I got pulled off mission last-minute. As I've said before, I hate sending off my guys on mission without me. This particular mission, however, I am grateful I did not go out. The vehicle I was supposed to be on was lucky enough to suffer a flat tire. Now, these particular vehicles are equipped with tires that are designed to withstand just about anything short of an explosion. They're called run-flat tires for a reason. Allow me to put your collective minds at ease: this flat tire was not caused by an explosion. This tire was flattened by a driver that had to have hit something large enough to rip a quarter-sized hole in the outside wall of said tire. We drivers are a proud bunch, but there's nothing you can say to defend that kind of operator error. For all it's faults, the International MaxxPro is a remarkably easy and forgiving behemoth. Luckily for our platoon, the tire failure occurred near a checkpoint manned by a platoon of infantrymen from a sister battalion who also happened to have a spare tire (being that these tires are about 4 feet high and weigh about 300 pounds, there's not really room for a spare on the vehicle). While they were out there, I was receiving periodic status updates in the command post (CP), laughing to myself (after finding out they were all safe, of course). Little did I know at the time what was to come. Upon their return, our commander sent out word about the next day's mission (previously a scheduled day off). It has since become known by several names, including, but not limited to: "Operation: Saving Private Tire," "Operation: Good Job, Jay," and "Operation: REALLY?!?" Without giving away too much about our operations, the mission brief went something like this: conduct movement to checkpoint 8 in order to resupply a (single) tire and class 1 materials (technically items of subsistence). What this broke down to was a platoon escorting 1 maintenance truck loaded with one (1) tire, and 3 cases of gatorade (as a thank you, I assume) to a platoon very much isolated (the accompanying picture gives you an idea of what these guys deal with daily) from the creature comforts we enjoy here at Marez. After waiting nearly 2 hours for our wonderful escorts from the Iraqi Army (apparently we caught them on a day off), we took off to checkpoint 8, somewhere north of Mosul. A short drive later, we arrived at what can only be described as a refugee camp. 30 guys live in tents, exercise in a gym that consists of a pull-up bar and a bowflex, use porta-johns (the contents of which must be burned off by highly motivated privates), and eat wonderful Meals, Ready to Eat (MREs for the non-military folk) 3 times a day. The good news for these guys is that (hopefully) they get relieved some time in February. I found myself not wanting to get out of the truck because of my sheepish feeling arising from coming from my comparative resort city of Marez. However, I did get out to walk around to see how these guys live with very little. I was reminded of my visits to the homeless villages around Abilene. The cases of Gatorade were greeted like kids coming downstairs on Christmas morning. It was embarrassing thinking that we were complaining about the CP not having milk just hours before. These guys literally have nothing, and probably complain less than we proud artillerymen. This mission, all absurdity aside, left me grateful for what I do have. While I am in a country filled with seemingly new threats arising every day, I have it pretty good. And someone ALWAYS has it worse.

In other news, on Friday, I (officially) finally got a sister to bully (in absentia) when my brother married his love. So, congratulations, Jeremy and Janette...May you both live as one for as long as you both shall live. I greatly wish I could have been there...but this business...

Also, tomorrow is election day in the States. As a favor to me, all of us over here and everyone in this world that doesn't enjoy that right, get out and vote. Nothing changes without you telling the candidates what you think. Know who you're voting for and voice your opinion! We're 334 years strong, but that can all change with apathy.

That is all.

-j

I ended up getting a day off today, though it was unplanned. The mission was to head up north to handle security for women attending some meeting. We had to take a bunch of extra people and my seat got filled by the females we were required to bring in order to search the women before they enter the building. To be honest, I'm not upset at all. We didn't send our vehicle out today, so most of my crew ended up either slotted into other trucks or got a (well deserved) day off...including my truck commander (TC) who, until today, hadn't had a day off. Period. The greatest thing about getting an unexpected day off is that everybody just thinks you're out on mission, so I can sleep, watch movies, or update this thing uninterrupted. It's fantastic. Another bonus is that I can play my Texas country, bluegrass and singer/songwriter stuff without listening to my roommate's (rather uninformed) criticism. He'll come around. I'll make sure of that.

In other news, I am constantly encouraged and inspired by the kindness of friends and family back home. It's incredible the ability to rekindle friendships and forge new ones even though I'm (approximately) 7,128 miles (11,470km) from home.

Those of you who are interested, I was awakened two nights ago to loud booms and sounds of something landing on my my chu (compartmentalized housing unit -- army speak for a trailer). Turns out Mosul gets thunderstorms too. I thought I was back home in west Texas -- after, of course, my heart started beating again.

Things Most Important

Deployments are funny things. In many ways, they're much easier on soldiers than the day to day back home. On mission days, we show up, prep the trucks, roll out and do the mission, and come back and relax. On days we're not on mission, we perform preventative and any necessary maintenance, and relax. However, in the back of our minds, we're always prepared for when things might turn bad...which is something we needn't worry about back home. Also for many, thoughts of loved ones left behind for a year wear on the nerves. Since I have no wife or kids to worry about, I don't experience that as much, but I see the stress on many of my fellow soldiers' faces. One of the sergeants in my platoon left his 2 day old daughter back in the States. When he returns, she'll be a year old, and he'll have missed all of that. Skype is a wonderful thing in that situation, but I can't imagine not being able to hold my child when she's sick or can't sleep. We may be an Aid and Assist Brigade (NOT a combat brigade, mind you), but we're still fighting our own battles in addition to an active insurgency every day that we're over here. Now that we've been gone for a month and a half, the superficial things we miss are just that. We are all fighting the same things our families back home are fighting: separation. So often, we take for granted simple things like a hug from your grandmother, or a home-cooked meal with your family. Sometimes, it takes a trip to Iraq to realize what is really important in your life. What we're doing here now in Iraq is great, but what I have back in the US is much more meaningful to me.

a benchmark of sorts

After a day off, it's always nice to get back on the job. My job here is usually driver, which means I stay in the truck and watch the goings-on around me while listening on the radio to what's going on inside. Today, however, I had the pleasure of pulling dismounted security. It served as a nice change of pace, even though having the previous day off served that purpose as well. As a dismount, my job is to ensure the security of our Provincial Reconstruction Team (PRT) personnel, as well as our vehicles and equipment. In most of the places we've gone thus far, the biggest challenge is the kids. For most of these kids, all they've known their entire lives is that American soldiers come around, disrupt their daily lives and sometimes give out free stuff. I don't know who started it, but sometime back in early 2004, some dumb private decided it'd be a good idea to give some kid a pencil or a gatorade. The details have blurred over the last 6 years, but the fact is, that kid told all his friends, and they told their friends, and soon, every kid in every neighborhood in Iraq believed that every American soldier gave out free stuff.

Today's mission involved us taking some medical personnel to a local medical clinic in Mosul. Before every mission, we're briefed as to the objective and location, and it's pointed to on a map. Being new to the city, we never know what kind of neighborhood it is just by looking at satellite images. Today's neighborhood was not the best one we'd been to, judging by the amount of Iraqi Army guard towers. Even worse, once we started rolling into the courtyard area, the kids started leaving. While kids normally spell aggravation, the lack of kids spells trouble -- much like rats leaving a sinking ship. What a day to be a dismount. However, it seemed the kids were just a little shy. Upon realizing we were not there to harm but to help, they got a little more brazen. Soon, I found myself surrounded by kids whose grasp of the English language was limited to "Meestah! Pencil!" and "Meestah! Water!" and "Meestah! You give me money!" The first two were easy...I carry a pen, not a pencil, and I was drinking a Gatorade. The third was a little more complicated. How do you explain to a kid, let alone a kid who speaks very, very little English, that you're a government employee, and thus have no money?

Some of these kids have been around soldiers long enough to know what makes us laugh. One kid today was definitely the class clown of the group, and I saw a little bit of myself in him. He'd been working me over pretty good with his best Jerry Lewis-esque schtick, so I decided to give him the last half of my Gatorade. I don't usually give stuff out, because it incites a riot amongst the kids, and creates more problems than it solves. I was feeling good, and thought I'd pay it forward and give the kid a reward for his hard work. Did he graciously accept it and move on to my buddies to see what else he could get? NO! Without skipping a beat, he turned it down and asked me for my $80 watch. Talk about swinging for the fences...and like the Babe Ruth everybody forgets about, the kid struck out. As soon as he turned it down, his buddy swooped in and took the Gatorade happily, and Jerry Lewis moved on empty handed.

The lesson here, folks, is that when life hands you lemons, accept the half-consumed lemon-lime Gatorade some stranger is offering you.

Er...Something like that. In other news, today, I benched my weight for the first time in my life...hence the benchmark in the subject line. You got it.

-j

I got my first day off in about 10 days or so today. Now, that's not to say that we don't get "down" days...days we're not on mission or in the maintenance bay with our vehicles. My platoon sergeant tries to rotate us on what he calls "comp days." On our down days, we'll do classes on various things such as how to troubleshoot radio problems (constant issues with radios create the need for such classes). On comp days, however, you're OFF. Today was no different for me. While the rest of the platoon went off to Provincial Hall (the main government building in the province of Nineveh), I slept in all the way to 9:30 and it was fantastic. After a pretty aggravating mission yesterday, I was in need of a day off. As much as I hate watching my guys go off without me on a mission, I'll never turn down a day off.

As I said, I had a pretty aggravating day yesterday. The day began with an unbelievably awful 8th inning from my Texas Rangers. (Because of the time difference, 7 o'clock games start before I'm usually up...around 3 am or so the next day). Already in a sour mood, I discovered oil leaking from my (previously) trouble-free MaxxPro (the vehicle pictured above -- the kids add perspective to the size of the thing). Being the savvy mechanic (NOT grease monkey...we hate that term) that I am, I quickly determined that it was nothing serious and we'd continue on with the mission. At Ft. Hood, if you're out in the field and your vehicle breaks down, it's not a big deal...you simply sit around and wait for a recovery vehicle. On the streets of Mosul, it's much the same. There are other variables (ie- bad guys) involved, though, so it's important that you feel confident about your vehicle making there AND back. I think I did. That didn't stop about 15 people from coming up to us and letting us know about the leak over the course of the day. Once back at Marez, we had the mechanics look at it, and they confirmed my diagnosis. The leak was not a big deal, but simply caused by the loose air compressor. When I say loose, what I really mean is that all that was holding it to our truck was 1 loose bolt. In most vehicles, a broken air compressor (or absent one) simply means an uncomfortable ride in the summer. In a 30 ton truck with air brakes, however, an absent air compressor means zero stopping power. In a 30 ton truck with no brakes, that means big trouble. Luckily, we made it back with all necessary parts and there were no other leaks present (after a trip to the wash), and proved again, that ignorance is indeed bliss.

The Long Awaited Blog Arrives...

About 6 or 7 months ago, I said I was going to blog about my experience in Iraq as the first "aid and assist brigade" to have boots on the ground. Seeing as how my boots have been on the ground in Iraq for about 3 weeks now, I figure now is better than never to start it. I could say that I was waiting for the go-ahead from our commanding general up here (I mean...I did go to a briefing held by him today in which he said "we love blogs." <--- I'll be sure to watch what I write, though...ha.), but let's be honest...I'm notorious for my procrastination.

So let's get started here. We (the 4th Brigade of the 1st Cavalry Division) have assumed control of the Iraqi province of Ninevah. We (the 5th Batallion of the 82d Field Artillery) are a smaller part of the afore mentioned Longknife Brigade responsible for the city of Mosul and its surrounding areas. Being that we are field artillery in a country that doesn't let us shoot artillery rounds anymore, we don't do field artillery. As artillerymen, we pride ourselves on being able to accomplish and/or break near anything. Over the next year, for lack of a better word, we will serve as infantillerymen. You're probably saying, "hey, John, Infantillerymen, and it's root, infantillery, are not real words." To that, I say add it to your vocabulary. It will undoubtedly be used again in this blog. Also, there are some key words that will likely recur throughout as well that, to the non-military type, will seem unfamiliar. So, I will attempt to help you all out as best I can. Please comment with any questions you may have and I will try to answer them as best I can.

As I said before, I had to go to a briefing today held by Major General Cucolo. He showed us why the area we're in right now is so crucial. I won't go into all of it right now, but I'll try to find a map to post up here to show the "human terrain" as he called it. There are several, several groups of people that are about one misguided comment away from civil war. We just happen to be in the middle of that, all while trying to get rid of about 3 terrorist groups still active in the area. Oh, and while all that is going on, we're providing security escort for various State Department and UN personnel in order for them to get the Iraqis that are willing to work with us the help they so desperately need. Needless to say, now that combat operations are over in Iraq (Thank you, 24 hour news networks), we're still seeing plenty of things that can blow up and kill you.

That pretty much lays the foundation. (read: I'm done writing for now.) I don't want to give too much away in the first writing. I apologize for not leaving you with a juicy cliffhanger, but there's about 11 months of possible cliffhangers to look forward to, so stay with me.

-j