When you ride in a Rhino you can wear a headset and listen in to the radio chatter between Rhinos and among the crew. There is an internal conversation and and external conversation going on all the time, and the two are very different. Today, while riding from FOB Delta to FOB Shocker, I got to listen in to one that made me wonder.

“Which limb would you lose, if you got to choose?”

“I’d totally lose a leg to get out of the army.”

“I’m not talking about a foot or a hand, I’m talking about the whole thing.”

“I’d lose my right leg. It’s my dominant foot, but that means I jump off my left foot, so that’s the one I’d want to keep.”

“It may sound stupid, but some of those space-age limbs they have now look pretty cool, and you can still run and do sports and shit.”

It does sound pretty stupid, but then again in my job I usually don’t think twice about the possibility of losing my arm. Things are calm here — at the convoy briefing the sergeant said they hadn’t been hit by IEDs in more than a month — but that doesn’t mean they will stay calm. Iraq can always get out of hand, as recent bombings attest. How do you spend concerns facing such possibilities? Is it any wonder the talk might get morbid?

I have not been shot at yet on this trip, but at times I’ve felt naked. When I stepped off the Blackhawk at FOB Kalsu the soldier directing passengers announced they get shelled every night, so be prepared for anything. I couldn’t help thinking my helmet and vest were pathetic protection for explosives falling like rain. That’s not a sane world. Is it any wonder soldiers ask which limb you’d choose?

“If you get hit by IDF (indirect fire), it was just your time,” a lieutenant told me at Delta. The bases are big, she said, and they can’t aim IDF. Sometimes they don’t even hit the bases, much less the barracks or anywhere important.

But it’s not a sane way to live, thinking you’re probably fine, but there’s a slight chance you’ll be engulfed. One in a million, perhaps, but certainly a little more stressful than car accidents or cancer.

Which limb would you choose? It’s just a question, asked during the carpool to work.

I interviewed a master sergeant the other day, and every time he said soldier it was clear there was more to the word than I understood. As a civilian, I understand it only concept, not in practice. When it becomes time to consider which limb you’re losing that’s when I get off the bus. But here it’s something people have to contend with, part of the job, part of a day’s work.

This trip has opened my eyes to that reality. My respect has grown for the sacrifices soldiers make. Why? Because even if you don’t come home missing a limb, there’s a good chance you were willing to. I barely breathe when the helicopter flies over the city, and these people are out there everyday. Naked. Exposed. Holding their limbs out for the taking. Even if an IED doesn’t claim it, that’s one hell of commitment. It’s a black conversation, but at the same time real. What a world to live in. I’m glad I get to go to home.

Tomorrow I head towards Iran after my first two night stay somewhere since getting here.

Actually, I got in at 5 a.m. this morning, so even though I slept until 9 a.m. I guess it’s still only one night. Tomorrow I get in a convoy to head to a base where a New Hampshire soldier is working with the Iraqi Army to prepare them for the change-over. I’m looking forward to the ride (snark-snark), particularly after my last one. At least this one is during the day. My last one, which brought me here, started after I caught a helicopter to Kalsu, the forward operating base I’d been told I’d be staying at for a little while. But plans change, and because of the confusion about the date of my arrival (their confusion, not mine) I landed, spent 10 minutes on the ground, and then loaded into a Rhino for a 6 hour convoy to FOB Delta.

The convoy was 5 Rhinos and a mile’s worth of tractor trailer trucks, some armored, some not. I was in the back the middle Rhino, with two in front of us and two in back. I had a pair of headphones and got to listen in on the radio chatter.

We left around 11 p.m. for what was to be a four hour trip. Thus began one of the more adrenaline filled nights of my life. I was already running on three hours of sleep, but there was no way I was going to sleep bouncing down an Iraqi road outside the wire (how soldiers refer to off the base). I couldn’t see anything because I was in the back, but I every time we passed a suspicious car, or someone on the side of the road, the lead truck announced it over the radio, and I waited for an explosion or a gunshot. Kalsu, I’d been told, gets hit every night, and the road we were on, Tampa, had a reputation as well.

Around 3 a.m. an Iraqi police escort met us and told us the road was blocked. We had to follow them, they said. The soldiers were reluctant, and they were all over the radio weighing the situation. If they went the wrong way it was going to be impossible to turn around the convoy, but they didn’t trust the police.

It was decided by SABRE, the convoy base, who said we should follow the police. No one was happy. They led us down a side road, rutted, unpaved, through tight streets of some small town nicknamed Bucharest. The chatter on the radio got frantic. “Where are they taking us?” “Keep an eye on them!” “THEY JUST GOT OUT OF THE CAR!”

I was sitting in the back, wondering if I was safer or a target because our vehicle had a gun. The tractor trailer trucks looked like sitting ducks — I could see them out the rear window slowly rolling along.

“Watch the roofs,” the lieutenant told the gunner, “keep your head down.”

I tried to climb into my helmet. I tried to pull my arms and my legs into my vest. I kept peering around, trying to watch the roofs.

“It’s OK, he’s just looking around. He’s getting back in the car.”

The police started rolling again, and so did we. I exhaled, and we crept through back to the main road.

Two hours later we rolled into FOB Delta. Just a night’s drive in Iraq, one of the soldiers told me.

Just so people know what’s on deck, I’m catching a helicopter ride to FOB Kalsu tonight, and then continuing east to FOB Delta. I have a bunch more photos of MRAPs and traveling through the city, as well as of the places I went today with the 94th MPC. Unfortunately I haven’t been able to get wireless internet anywhere, so I’m not on my computer. Until I can solve that issue it’s going to be only text that gets uploaded. I also have a video I made yesterday to go up, but that too is waiting for wireless.

Other than that I’m still trying to get my body in tune with the hour of the day it is supposed to be here. I’m ready to go to sleep and it’s still afternoon. I can’t wait to get on schedule there.

I’m sure there’s more, but my mind isn’t clear enough to keep typing. Let’s hope I can get to a CHU as soon as my ride on the helicopter is over…

I got an afternoon with the soldiers of the 94th Military Police Company today, where I got to sit down with a bunch of people from New Hampshire and talk about their work in Iraq. It included some of the most encouraging discussions of my trip thus far. The 94th MPC is training Iraqi Police, or IPs, to be good cops, and at this point they don’t even train anymore. The Iraqis now have police officers who specialize in training, officers the soldiers trust. The soldiers didn’t shy away from the challenges–many trainees aren’t committed to their training or their jobs–but they have seen growth and investment. One member of the company who is also a cop in southern New Hampshire said the officers here are starting to form the sort of tight knit bonds that connect officers everywhere. They are still forming, he said, but it has begun.

I’ve heard a lot of concern about what will happen here in 11 months, when the military is scheduled to hand Iraq back to the Iraqis, but there is hope too. That these officers are training themselves, and that the 94th MPC is there only to assist, is a reason for hope. Several soldiers told me before they came to Iraq they didn’t have much compassion for the Iraqis. As far as they understood, Iraqis were incapable of governing themselves and living peacefully together. But the experience of working in Iraq with people dedicated to the country’s future has made them reexamine that view. They now want very badly for this country to survive, not just for America’s sake but for the sake of their new friends.

It’s nice to taste that hope. It isn’t the overwhelming sentiment here, but it’s here enough that it can’t be ignored.

None of these quite make a whole post alone, but together they do.
I paid $9 for internet last night so I could call my wife on Skype. It was the best connection I’ve had since I’ve been here. I gave her a tour of my CHU (containerized housing unit) and caught up with her — well worth the money spent. She said the CHU looked nicer than the hotel room we rented in Barcelona. She was right.
Last night an owl swooped in front of the car I was riding in and flew infront of us for about 15 seconds. The sergeant who was driving said it was the first time he’d seen an owl in Iraq.
A contractor in Kuwait showed me photos from when he was in the military on active duty of people blown apart by suicide bombers. He said if people saw what really went on back then they’d want all the soldiers to come home. He was heading to Afghanistan to work on deisel engines. I asked why he came back. He said he wanted to do his part to support the troops.
The C-130 had a little funnel near the rear of the plane where you can urinate. It was not set up for women.
The MRAP has eight passenger seats, four to a side, facing frontwards and backwards. That’s the “comfort” setup, but the walls of the MRAP are angled to deflect IED blasts, so your outside leg gets incredibly uncomfortable, and the four point harnesses make it hard to pivot.
A contractor who had spent time in the military told me “If you aren’t in line, get in line. If you can’t find one, start one.”
There are more contractors than military here. According to one person, it’s about 70,000 to 50,000.
The food, when its from the DFAC (dining facility) is pretty good, but I’ve only eaten one meal there. The prepackaged stuff is a little scary.
The SUV I rode in today had armor in the door — it felt like it was 50 lbs.
There were no palm trees in Kuwait, and no birds. Baghdad has lots of palm trees, and I saw a bird as soon as I walked out of the airport. Someone told me they have seen rabbits and wild dogs too, but no camels.
I’ve barely eaten over the last three days because my body has no idea what meal it should be expecting.
The contractors I met at Ali Al Salem were all Americans and former military. In Baghdad there are contractors of all nationalities.
There are lots of guns.
The Baghdad airport has these towers that track incoming mortars and shoot them out of the sky. One of the contractors told me they shoot something like 1,000 rounds a second.
The bases all still take IDF (indirect fire) but it isn’t targeted so it rarely hits anything. I have yet to hear any, but it still scares me.
It rained in Baghdad a couple days ago, and now there is mud everywhere. “It only takes a little bit,” a soldier told me.

I caught a ride on a Rhino this morning into the Green Zone, where soldiers from the press information office met me almost as soon as I got off. A Rhino is aptly named. I didn’t get any photos of them, but the are armored SUVs the size of dumptrucks. If Rhinos had puppies they’d be called Hummers, that’s how big they are.

It took longer to get off the Baghdad airport base than it did to drive through hostile territory, but then again once off the base the driver floored it and used a siren to clear traffic. It was still dark when we left, I was in the second of four Rhinos. They have a turret on top, and a soldier scanned the side of the road with a spotlight as we drove. Nothing happened.

The sun was rising when I got off the Rhino in the Green Zone. Again, that’s been the best indicator on this trip, because after only three hours sleep I couldn’t tell what day it was (I know it’s Tuesday morning back home, so I think it’s Tuesday afternoon here).

Two soldiers from the press center met me at the Rhino stop and brought me to the credentialing office, but it wasn’t open yet. We went and grabbed some breakfast, and I met up with some of the soldiers I’d been going back and forth over email with for the last month.

I got in to get my press pass around 9 a.m. It’s just a letter, because their card printer is broken and the new machine hasn’t arrived yet. I’ve been going everywhere with my travel orders and my passport, which always get funny looks because everyone is supposed to have an ID. I thought that was going to end today. Oh well. I haven’t been stopped yet, so I guess it isn’t something to worry about.

Then they took me to my room, another CHU. I said I was going to sleep for an hour or so, which they said was fine because they had to figure out some transportation stuff.

They woke me up at 4 p.m. I slept basically all day. And what’s more, I’m still tired. All the travel has caught up with me, I think. But I’ve got a nice place to sleep tonight, and a reasonable start time of 7 a.m. tomorrow, so hopefully I’ll catch up.

And I’ll also be getting to work. The Rhino drivers are from the 94th Military Police Company, one of the units I wanted to visit. It’s finally be time to pull out the microphone.

Time to catch a Rhino, whatever that means. I’ll check back in when I can. Thanks for the comments everyone.

I’m sitting in my CHU (Containerized Housing Unit) about to bed down before a 4:15 a.m. meeting for my MRAP (Mine Resistant Ambush Protected) trip to the Green Zone tomorrow. Everything seems to have been sorted out. I’m not sure what went wrong, but it probably had something to do with the fact that my flight got me in on the 16th despite leaving on the morning of the 15th. I don’t know, but it’s nice to be in a heated room with some food, internet and a bed.

I have to say I’ve been impressed with the friendliness and helpfulness of every soldier and contractor I’ve come across so far. I know it shouldn’t be a surprise, but basically thus far every next step has been a mystery, and I’ve had to rely on the U.S. military 100 percent to guide me. And they’ve come through. When I don’t know something there is always someone there willing to either answer my question or direct me to someone who can. I figured in a high-stress environment where thousands of people are moving through everyday people would be less interested in helping out a total neophyte. I was wrong.

I’ve got six hours until I’ve got to catch my ride to the Rhino, as the MRAPs are called, so I’m going to crash. I got a Skype call in to my wife, saw my dog, and wolfed down a sandwich. Tomorrow I think I get to do what I came here to do.