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pecunium24 May
Life goes on.
There is a steady breeze here, and that keeps things tolerably cool, thick walls and buildings with atria also help. Our teams go out, every day. They are looking to monitor the sentiments of the local populace, which seems guarded, but not unhappy.
If we could fix the little things, like the exchange rate, finding money to pay for the harvest, clean water, medical supplies and suchlike we would be loved more.
As it is we are pretty well accepted, here in the north of Iraq. The Dinar has jumped in value, to the point it is a tad stronger than it was before the war, which means the people are not as eager to take dollars as they were, and we
have been engaged in trading dollars for Dinar, so as to stretch the meager supply of cash we have on hand.
Mail is, for most units, pretty good. We seem to be in the two-percent the army admits isn't getting it regularly. Other units are getting so much by way of care packages that we have all the toothpaste, lip-balm and even baby-wipes we
can use. We have been given so much (there is a stack of stuff at the BrigadeTactical Operations Center {TOC} open for anyone to take from. The same is true at the hospital, where I grabbed a deck of cards and two small packets of
Oreos)that we can take it into town to give away.
A little incentive makes it easier to get people to talk to us, and being seen talking to all sorts of people makes it more likely someone who wants to talk toAmericans, but is afraid of repercussions, will be willing to. We happen to want that sort of person to talk to us, so it's all to the good.
For my part, I am going to be medevaced north (and I thought I wouldn't be heading any further north) so a specialist can look at my foot, do tests, take better x-rays and in general try to figure out 1: what is wrong with me, and 2:how to treat it.
This gives me pause. On the one hand, I really want this fixed. It looks, from here, as though it is gout, and a fairly severe case of it. Quite apart from the fact it hurts, there are some long term effects from untreated gout which I
don't want to suffer.
But I don't want to leave. Strange as that may sound (given how desperately we all want to be home) I don't want to leave.
I've been through a lot with these guys. We've had a fairly quiet war. No one has shot at us (at least not lately, and not directly). We've not found any mines, unexploded bombs, been yelled at by the discontented or other such
things as might have made us miserable, instead of merely unhappy.
But the discomforts, the work, the long days, the weather, even the waiting... they are bonding.
I guess I am afraid (is that the right word) I'll be shipped home, and have to leave them behind. That isn't something I can hope for. It isn't even something I can wrap my mind around. I know why guys from Vietnam referred to the
outside as, "The World." This place is alien. It, and what we do here, is so far from normal that normal seems... unbelievable.
That they will be stuck here, will have things happen that I can't share, that is frightening. It's related to how I felt when they were mobilizing us. I didn't want to go. I wanted everyone to be at home, grousing about how they had left us out of this one. But, if the unit was going I didn't want to be left behind.
The guys, they smile and joke and wish me luck (i.e. they hope my problems is 1:not something which can be fixed here and 2: is not so great it can't be fixed Stateside). If I get sent home they will wish me on my way with smiles. I'll
have a, "million dollar wound."
Me, if I go home I think I'll feel incomplete until the rest of them return.
I'll watch the news, read the papers and have my heart in my mouth every time something says a troop was shot, stepped on a mine, had a wreck. I have, as someone once said, become part of something greater than myself, and I will worry for them.
On the other hand, I may get drugs, told not do some things, have to go to the Combat Support Hospital every few weeks for follow-up and stay here until the unit goes home. It's silly of me to worry about the future. The future is
totally out of my hands.
The recent past... Two days ago we saw something we could have happily lived without... Dust.
It wasn't that bad, nothing like the storms of Dogwood, or the steady oppression of Kuwait. This was a yellow-brown haze. One could see for about 200 meters before the soft edges of things became an inchoate blur.
Other than that it was not irritating. None of the fearsome qualities of a storm. It swallowed the afternoon sun, in the same way it had down at Camp Virginia, but with the evening it went away and the stars were out again.
SPC Nelson referred to it as Iraqi Fog, and it had much the same feel as fog, save that the day was not chill, merely less hot; perhaps only warm.
Life goes on.
There is a steady breeze here, and that keeps things tolerably cool, thick walls and buildings with atria also help. Our teams go out, every day. They are looking to monitor the sentiments of the local populace, which seems guarded, but not unhappy.
If we could fix the little things, like the exchange rate, finding money to pay for the harvest, clean water, medical supplies and suchlike we would be loved more.
As it is we are pretty well accepted, here in the north of Iraq. The Dinar has jumped in value, to the point it is a tad stronger than it was before the war, which means the people are not as eager to take dollars as they were, and we
have been engaged in trading dollars for Dinar, so as to stretch the meager supply of cash we have on hand.
Mail is, for most units, pretty good. We seem to be in the two-percent the army admits isn't getting it regularly. Other units are getting so much by way of care packages that we have all the toothpaste, lip-balm and even baby-wipes we
can use. We have been given so much (there is a stack of stuff at the BrigadeTactical Operations Center {TOC} open for anyone to take from. The same is true at the hospital, where I grabbed a deck of cards and two small packets of
Oreos)that we can take it into town to give away.
A little incentive makes it easier to get people to talk to us, and being seen talking to all sorts of people makes it more likely someone who wants to talk toAmericans, but is afraid of repercussions, will be willing to. We happen to want that sort of person to talk to us, so it's all to the good.
For my part, I am going to be medevaced north (and I thought I wouldn't be heading any further north) so a specialist can look at my foot, do tests, take better x-rays and in general try to figure out 1: what is wrong with me, and 2:how to treat it.
This gives me pause. On the one hand, I really want this fixed. It looks, from here, as though it is gout, and a fairly severe case of it. Quite apart from the fact it hurts, there are some long term effects from untreated gout which I
don't want to suffer.
But I don't want to leave. Strange as that may sound (given how desperately we all want to be home) I don't want to leave.
I've been through a lot with these guys. We've had a fairly quiet war. No one has shot at us (at least not lately, and not directly). We've not found any mines, unexploded bombs, been yelled at by the discontented or other such
things as might have made us miserable, instead of merely unhappy.
But the discomforts, the work, the long days, the weather, even the waiting... they are bonding.
I guess I am afraid (is that the right word) I'll be shipped home, and have to leave them behind. That isn't something I can hope for. It isn't even something I can wrap my mind around. I know why guys from Vietnam referred to the
outside as, "The World." This place is alien. It, and what we do here, is so far from normal that normal seems... unbelievable.
That they will be stuck here, will have things happen that I can't share, that is frightening. It's related to how I felt when they were mobilizing us. I didn't want to go. I wanted everyone to be at home, grousing about how they had left us out of this one. But, if the unit was going I didn't want to be left behind.
The guys, they smile and joke and wish me luck (i.e. they hope my problems is 1:not something which can be fixed here and 2: is not so great it can't be fixed Stateside). If I get sent home they will wish me on my way with smiles. I'll
have a, "million dollar wound."
Me, if I go home I think I'll feel incomplete until the rest of them return.
I'll watch the news, read the papers and have my heart in my mouth every time something says a troop was shot, stepped on a mine, had a wreck. I have, as someone once said, become part of something greater than myself, and I will worry for them.
On the other hand, I may get drugs, told not do some things, have to go to the Combat Support Hospital every few weeks for follow-up and stay here until the unit goes home. It's silly of me to worry about the future. The future is
totally out of my hands.
The recent past... Two days ago we saw something we could have happily lived without... Dust.
It wasn't that bad, nothing like the storms of Dogwood, or the steady oppression of Kuwait. This was a yellow-brown haze. One could see for about 200 meters before the soft edges of things became an inchoate blur.
Other than that it was not irritating. None of the fearsome qualities of a storm. It swallowed the afternoon sun, in the same way it had down at Camp Virginia, but with the evening it went away and the stars were out again.
SPC Nelson referred to it as Iraqi Fog, and it had much the same feel as fog, save that the day was not chill, merely less hot; perhaps only warm.
