![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
One year to the day, as I back post XI
May. 4th, 2003 03:58 pm04 May
A long interval. In part because I had a case of the blues, in part because we have been moving and in part because we had no power.
Mostly, however, because I did not know what to write.
We are now well north of Baghdad, where before we were just south (We could see the odd pillar of smoke from the city). I drove through the Baghdad three times.
It was sobering. In general it looked quiet. The road was busy, people were using all four lanes of the highway, The Euphrates flowed as a river should, it did not; as the tales say rivers will; after a battle, run red with blood.
People honked, some waved, some merely looked, few had the blazing indifference I saw in other places (as to be expected not all saw us as great and wonderful liberators; and here, where the fighting lasted the longest I expected more by
way of resentment, but it was not in great evidence).
I did see destruction, mostly vehicles, lots of vehicles. Some merely empty,some burnt, or otherwise broken. Others, others are destroyed. So damaged they are exemplars of destruction. Tanks which have been blown apart; chassis in one place, 20 tons of turret a dozen meters away, blackened and twisted; metal which has been agonised.
Anti-aircraft mounts, flipped and bent. Armored personnel-carriers with hatches blown open, a V-12 motor which had been shat 30 feet behind a self-propelled howitzer. Tank turrets, resting upside down on the chassis. Random lengths of
track, split in heaps like discarded bicycle chain. Tanks, which caught fire, and burnt so badly they became plastic, letting the turret sink into the body.
There are spots in the road where an Apache helicopter had been shooting at something; leaving an oblong of craters, spalling the roadbed.
Occasionally, but only occasionally, the sensitive nose can tell that not all of these vehicles were empty when they met their fate.
It is, however, green. Rushes and date palms, trees and grasses, herds of sheep and goats and cattle. Some of the last are rail-thin, bony hips and pointed shoulders. Which is as it should be. They are dairy cows with swollen udders and all the fodder they eat is stripped from their teats twice a day.
Canals and ziggurats (I saw a small complex, with four of them), a shopping center (who knows if it has goods, much less custom), Grapevines. We made a turn, and then another and then we were driving on a dike, a two-stroke pump
forcing water into five acres of tomatoes, with tended vines on the left, and ahead. Here (unlike Dogwood, our LSA) was a place which looked worth having.
On the way home we had sand, driving sand. A hot blasting wind, grit scrubbing my face (I did a lot of driving with my windward-eye closed). The next morning, in the usual pattern, we had rain. This time there was thunder. The day was
clear and bright.
Until 0830, when the wind started, and the dust came.
It was bad.
It got worse.
We were supposed be to leaving, for a new location, with a new mission, but a change of plans (caused by a lack of comms at the far end) meant we were just waiting.. I was tired, because we'd had to reload the truck after the day before's drive, then we had a meeting, then I got, perhaps, five hours of sleep.
I arose, did the needed checks on my vehicle (HMMWVs take more time than any horse) went to the convoy briefing and was in the driver's seat, ready to roll when the convoy was cancelled.
Which means we had no tents to get into. All we had for shelter was the lee side of the trucks. The throat began to itch, the eyes too. One dared not touch the eyes, because dust on the hand turns the itch to a burn. The nose runs, to beclogged with a concrete of dust and snot. The eyes run, making a paste of dust down the face.
Eating was out of the question. Drinking was a trial (not only
did that mean opening one's mouth to the wind and the dust, but too much water would mean a trip, into the wind, to the latrine).
After eight hours I gave up. My eyes were on fire, my patience at an end. I could not focus to read, nor think to talk. I crawled into my sleeping bag, let the hood flop over the cot, so the wind might keep it shut and hid. After
a time I slept; a poor sleep, vivid; and horrid dreams came to me.
After a time I woke. The cot was no longer buffeted. I opened my bag. A breeze, not a wind, brushed my face. It was over. The sky had a hint of blue; if one looked straight up.
The next day we left.
Where we are now is, if I recall the map correctly, about even with Los Angeles, somewhere on a line with (roughly) Orange County. The air is not too warm, and the nights are not too cold. For looks I might be in the flats of San
Bernardino. For plants there are oleander and mustards, milkweeds, hollyhocks and thistle, on a sea of brown grass, punctuated with eucalyptus trees.
Pigeons and finches, swifts, sparrows and magpies fill the air. The most interesting bird is green.
It has a long head with a sharp beak, yellow underbelly, fading to brown and a long tail. For wings, imagine a pterodactyl. I have seen it but briefly, and it moves with a purpose, so brief glimpses are the best I have managed, the
longest at dusk when they were (so I assume) roosting for the night. The night brings that most homely of flying things, bats, with their abrupt, random looking, changes of direction.
I like the bats, they eat mosquitoes.
Still, the closer we get to the front (such front as there still is) the more it feels I am in the rear. In Dogwood (our last location) we were able to drop our chem-suit, so long as it was within ten-minutes of our person we were good to
go. So we hauled it to work and dropped it, not to be bothered with until we headed back to bed, twelve hours later.
Here, we no longer wear our masks, nor do we have a magazine in the rifle. The last is irksome, because I had gotten the habit of using the protruding magazine as an armrest when I walked, and now I can't do that.
We are, however, not allowed to go without our blouses, nor to wear any headgear other than helmet.
No boonie-caps, or patrol caps, are allowed. Never mind that the boonie-cap is the appropriate head-gear (it shields the face, head and neck from the sun),never mind that the blouse raises body temperature; and reduces cooling.
Nope, General Spears thinks they look bad, so they are not allowed.
Tikrit is nearby, and Highway 1 has lights, so the southern sky is not as clear as it was in Dogwood, but the air is clearer, so I can see more of the rest of the horizon. Late at night, around 0400, the Milky Way is up, in which Scorpio
drags its tail.
A long interval. In part because I had a case of the blues, in part because we have been moving and in part because we had no power.
Mostly, however, because I did not know what to write.
We are now well north of Baghdad, where before we were just south (We could see the odd pillar of smoke from the city). I drove through the Baghdad three times.
It was sobering. In general it looked quiet. The road was busy, people were using all four lanes of the highway, The Euphrates flowed as a river should, it did not; as the tales say rivers will; after a battle, run red with blood.
People honked, some waved, some merely looked, few had the blazing indifference I saw in other places (as to be expected not all saw us as great and wonderful liberators; and here, where the fighting lasted the longest I expected more by
way of resentment, but it was not in great evidence).
I did see destruction, mostly vehicles, lots of vehicles. Some merely empty,some burnt, or otherwise broken. Others, others are destroyed. So damaged they are exemplars of destruction. Tanks which have been blown apart; chassis in one place, 20 tons of turret a dozen meters away, blackened and twisted; metal which has been agonised.
Anti-aircraft mounts, flipped and bent. Armored personnel-carriers with hatches blown open, a V-12 motor which had been shat 30 feet behind a self-propelled howitzer. Tank turrets, resting upside down on the chassis. Random lengths of
track, split in heaps like discarded bicycle chain. Tanks, which caught fire, and burnt so badly they became plastic, letting the turret sink into the body.
There are spots in the road where an Apache helicopter had been shooting at something; leaving an oblong of craters, spalling the roadbed.
Occasionally, but only occasionally, the sensitive nose can tell that not all of these vehicles were empty when they met their fate.
It is, however, green. Rushes and date palms, trees and grasses, herds of sheep and goats and cattle. Some of the last are rail-thin, bony hips and pointed shoulders. Which is as it should be. They are dairy cows with swollen udders and all the fodder they eat is stripped from their teats twice a day.
Canals and ziggurats (I saw a small complex, with four of them), a shopping center (who knows if it has goods, much less custom), Grapevines. We made a turn, and then another and then we were driving on a dike, a two-stroke pump
forcing water into five acres of tomatoes, with tended vines on the left, and ahead. Here (unlike Dogwood, our LSA) was a place which looked worth having.
On the way home we had sand, driving sand. A hot blasting wind, grit scrubbing my face (I did a lot of driving with my windward-eye closed). The next morning, in the usual pattern, we had rain. This time there was thunder. The day was
clear and bright.
Until 0830, when the wind started, and the dust came.
It was bad.
It got worse.
We were supposed be to leaving, for a new location, with a new mission, but a change of plans (caused by a lack of comms at the far end) meant we were just waiting.. I was tired, because we'd had to reload the truck after the day before's drive, then we had a meeting, then I got, perhaps, five hours of sleep.
I arose, did the needed checks on my vehicle (HMMWVs take more time than any horse) went to the convoy briefing and was in the driver's seat, ready to roll when the convoy was cancelled.
Which means we had no tents to get into. All we had for shelter was the lee side of the trucks. The throat began to itch, the eyes too. One dared not touch the eyes, because dust on the hand turns the itch to a burn. The nose runs, to beclogged with a concrete of dust and snot. The eyes run, making a paste of dust down the face.
Eating was out of the question. Drinking was a trial (not only
did that mean opening one's mouth to the wind and the dust, but too much water would mean a trip, into the wind, to the latrine).
After eight hours I gave up. My eyes were on fire, my patience at an end. I could not focus to read, nor think to talk. I crawled into my sleeping bag, let the hood flop over the cot, so the wind might keep it shut and hid. After
a time I slept; a poor sleep, vivid; and horrid dreams came to me.
After a time I woke. The cot was no longer buffeted. I opened my bag. A breeze, not a wind, brushed my face. It was over. The sky had a hint of blue; if one looked straight up.
The next day we left.
Where we are now is, if I recall the map correctly, about even with Los Angeles, somewhere on a line with (roughly) Orange County. The air is not too warm, and the nights are not too cold. For looks I might be in the flats of San
Bernardino. For plants there are oleander and mustards, milkweeds, hollyhocks and thistle, on a sea of brown grass, punctuated with eucalyptus trees.
Pigeons and finches, swifts, sparrows and magpies fill the air. The most interesting bird is green.
It has a long head with a sharp beak, yellow underbelly, fading to brown and a long tail. For wings, imagine a pterodactyl. I have seen it but briefly, and it moves with a purpose, so brief glimpses are the best I have managed, the
longest at dusk when they were (so I assume) roosting for the night. The night brings that most homely of flying things, bats, with their abrupt, random looking, changes of direction.
I like the bats, they eat mosquitoes.
Still, the closer we get to the front (such front as there still is) the more it feels I am in the rear. In Dogwood (our last location) we were able to drop our chem-suit, so long as it was within ten-minutes of our person we were good to
go. So we hauled it to work and dropped it, not to be bothered with until we headed back to bed, twelve hours later.
Here, we no longer wear our masks, nor do we have a magazine in the rifle. The last is irksome, because I had gotten the habit of using the protruding magazine as an armrest when I walked, and now I can't do that.
We are, however, not allowed to go without our blouses, nor to wear any headgear other than helmet.
No boonie-caps, or patrol caps, are allowed. Never mind that the boonie-cap is the appropriate head-gear (it shields the face, head and neck from the sun),never mind that the blouse raises body temperature; and reduces cooling.
Nope, General Spears thinks they look bad, so they are not allowed.
Tikrit is nearby, and Highway 1 has lights, so the southern sky is not as clear as it was in Dogwood, but the air is clearer, so I can see more of the rest of the horizon. Late at night, around 0400, the Milky Way is up, in which Scorpio
drags its tail.
