Art La Flamme

My little experiment is over. It’s Sunday afternoon, and I just woke up from a 13 and a half hour sleep. I am feeling almost human.

My little bi-phasic sleep experiment drew out of a need to be in the office a whole lot. I was left with the choice of getting maybe 4 hours of sleep a night, or breaking it up into chunks. So, I went with chunks.
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They’re going to the polls today, and I’m pretty excited about. It’s election day here in Iraq, with the citizens taking to the polls to elect members for their provincial councils. It’s these councils that will decide upon the new governors (and a few other key provincial leaders). The last time the Iraqis did this was in late 2005.

They’re going to the polls today, and there is no doubt — this is their election. We, the Americans, just happen to be hanging out. It is their doing, lock, stock and barrel. Their security, their plans, their officials, their sites. If you think we’re here to help the Iraqis learn the joys of democracy, watch today and smile.

They’re going to the polls today, in keeping with the fine Iraqi tradition of voting. I was speaking the other day with a woman born and raised in Kirkuk, just after someone had tried to assert that this was Iraq’s first real chance to vote. She and I had a good giggle over this; Iraqis have voted ever since Iraq was created, except during times of occupation by others. Sure, us westerners might take issue with how elections were done esp. late in the Saddam era, but still, they had elections much as Egypt still has elections. Iraqis are very clear on what it means to go and vote. And today, they’re going to be out in HUGE numbers.

They’re going to the polls today, and for thousands upon thousands of them, there is nothing that will stop them from voting. In 2005, not far from here, there was a polling (as they call their voting) site not far from here that came under attack by a sniper. The polling site was a building with a few rooms for voting, so the masses were formed in a long, long line outside. The sniper had lined them up in the rifle sights, and started firing. While the Americans rushed to kill the sniper and end the threat, the Iraqis waiting to vote had just taken a knee, and waited in place. Quickly, the sniper was out of the equation, and the silence of the day had returned; the people literally stood back up, still in line. Ask yourself if casting your vote means that much to you; it means that much to the people here.

They’re going to the polls today, and more than anything I wish I could go and walk among the crowds. I’d love to ask them how they feel today, if they’re excited, who they’re voting for and why. I’d like to ask them about the changes of the last 10 years, and of their hopes and dreams for the future. I’d like to ask them about their children, and what they see in their Iraq. I’d like to be able to share in the joy of the day, because it is going to be a glorious day, for sure.

They’re going to the polls today, and more than anything in the world I wish I could share this with my wife. During the ground war, I held back so much. The death, the destruction — those are things you want to keep from your loved ones. I did not want her to ask me how my night was going, and hearing the words fall from my mouth about how many we’d killed, or that the hunt was going well. I want her to see and hear and smell the freshness of this land, of the uplifted spirits, and the sense of limitless future and optimism that comes from standing with your peers to decide your fate, your future. These are the days of glory, the best it can be, when a man of violence is given the chance to also be a man of peace. I don’t want her to know how many widows can look to me with blame, but to know that I am capable of service not just to her and our children, not just our people and our nation, but to so many others.

They are going to the polls today, and I am going to go to the office and make a lot of PowerPoint slides. For the Iraqis, today is the pinnacle, a high point. For me, I am already onto the next giant rock that needs to be rolled up a hill, surely to just roll back down when I am almost there. They will enjoy the quiet time, their national holiday, and surely be at home with family and friends and maybe even a nice meal. And I, I will change fonts, and add transitions, and arrange colored boxes, all in support of the free will of the people.

They are going to the polls today, and I want you to know that it’s a damn great day.

Part of my daily routine has me in a briefing when our Division talks about its hero of the day. My God — these stories often just tear my heart out.

The Army truck hits a mine. Soldier A gets out — I’ll call him Jones — to pull security. He steps on a mine, and it tears him apart. Soldiers B — I’ll call him Smith — runs to his aid.

Think about it. Smith just saw Jones step on a mine. Which means that there likely are more mines in the area. And he runs to Jones. Holy crap. $10 says Smith didn’t think — he just did what we’ve all been trained to do.

He starts giving Jones medical aid. He’s not even a medic. He realizes that the femoral artery in Jones’ leg is causing the bleeding. Which can be fatal, quickly, as it’s the biggest artery in the body. He’s on it like white on rice, and even more, he’s calling to his NCO to pass work that Jones need medical evacuation right fucking now, and that he needs surgery right fucking now. He gets Jones to the truck and they start moving — fast — to get him to the awaiting surgeons.

On the way, Smith keeps at helping his buddy. He finds more wounds, and he corks them up the best he can. He tells the driver to turn on the heat — can’t have Jones go into shock. He gets him from the vehicle into surgery and stays to provide all the details he can, knowing the docs will need to know about the attack if they are going to be able to swiftly focus their efforts on his medical needs.

There were probably 15 different things that Smith could have not done, or done wrong. Things that would have killed Jones. But he didn’t. He did everything, and he did it right. Jones is still with among the living.

A couple of weeks ago, we had a big truck roll off the side of the road and into a water-filled canal. With a bunch of guys trapped in the back of the vehicle, and it filled with water. An NCO in the vehicle behind them, without regard for anything other than what needed to be done, jumped his happy ass into that water, got the back open and the guys out, and then went inside to make sure all had made it out alive. The NCO could have died, for any of a dozen different reasons, but he did it anyway. All of those guys in the back would have died, for sure.

And then there’s Dr. John Pryor. A reservist, an Army doctor. He drove from Philadelphia to NY on 9/11, to help out. He was on his second tour here in Iraq — in northern Iraq, not far from where I am — when he was killed in a recent mortar attack. Recent — as in on Christmas Day.

Go read the article. That he was willing to serve just baffles me. That he was willing to go to Iraq — to go back to Iraq — just baffles me. And that he lost his life in service to the nation — that just tears my heart.

I don’t know if you hear these tales. I hear them every day. Our military is filled with them, and new ones are generated every damn day, through the brave and selfless service of the men and women who are out here, serving you.

I might call it an amber light.

When we arrived here in lovely Kuwait, we were inundated with a ton of briefings, one of which addressed blogging (on one slide).

Yes, blogging is OK. If I want to talk military topics, I have to do a couple of things.

I don’t plan to really talk about military stuff, but I will do the extra stuff, just to be on the safe side.

So, get ready. Looks like I’m in business.

In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve departed. Gone. Poof. Into the wind.

I am going back to Iraq.

Field Manual 30-5, Combat Intelligence, February 1951

I’ll be there for a year, or until they tell me to come home. I should get a two-week-or-so break somewhere along the way.

I’d like to keep blogging here during the year. I am sure there’d be things to write; I know, though, that the Army is a bit cautious about blogs, so I will have to see what wickets I’ll need to jump through in order to blog. Feel free to email me and ask questions; if I can answer them, I will, and if not, I’ll either lie (ok, no, not really) or I’ll just fess up that it’s not appropriate for me to answer, for whatever reason. If I upload photos, or blog here or elsewhere, or bookmark neat things, it’ll all show up in this RSS feed.

“As crutch attests”

About going

I’ve had people ask me different questions about this adventure. The questions generally fall into a couple of categories.

Aren’t you worried about going? No, not really. Things started to sink in Sunday morning, early, that it was almost time for change. I think I get more angst about the change, the picking up and going someplace, than I do about where I’m going or what I’m going to do there. I do a pretty good job of living in the now, and it’s only that slight anticipation that my now will likely change that gets me thinking about it. But no, it’s not worry. I’ll be fine.

Are you worried about being there? No, not really. I know that some have a view that Iraq is some horrible place, but that’s not a view I share. Yes, there is violence, yes there are crimes occurring. But there’s that in Los Angeles, New York, Moscow, and so on. I’m a believer — I believe in the Iraqis, in the Iraqi government, and in what we’re doing there. So no, I’m not worried about being there. I’ll be fine.

Victory in Europe (VE) Day, 08 May 1945

How’s your family taking it? Well. I don’t like saying that we take separation well, or that we’ve done this enough times that it’s not new. That sucks. But it is true — we have done this enough times, for the war, for other missions, for schools and the like, that we’re pretty good at it. My wife runs the house, with or without me there. The kids have their routines, with or without me there. We have mail, and email, and sometimes video chats. My wife covers down on the gift shopping for us when I’m not there, and I work hard to draw out of our kids info on what’s going on in their lives. I don’t like being apart, much less for a year, any more than I like missing another set of birthdays, another holiday season, another recital or event. But it happens, especially when service to the Nation and to the Republic comes before family.

What’ll you be doing there? I’m a staff guy. There’s no door kicking for me, no jumping out of a helicopter as it gets ready to set down on the objective. I sit and think deep thoughts, ask questions, give a briefing from time to time, and make an all-out effort to avoid making PowerPoint slides (not just while in Iraq, but in life in general). It’s not a bad deal, and it’s stuff that I’m actually well suited to do. But through all that, I remain ready to all of those basic soldier skills we expect of every soldier; if they need an extra gunner, I go.

Band-Aids, circa 1944

What do you do?

And every time I get ready to go somewhere, I seem to end up fielding questions from friends / family: What can I do to help while you’re gone?

So, some thoughts on that, too.

Email. You have my email address, right? A note, something personal from time to time, would be cool. Sure, send me the link to that NY Times article; even better is cutting and pasting it into the email itself (because some web sites get blocked or require that I go to an MWR (Morale, Welfare & Recreation) computer to see) or as an attachment. Best, though, is including it and offering up your thoughts on it, too.

Actual mail. You have stamps, right? As long as there have been literate soldiers, there have been letters from home in their pockets. An actual letter is awesome, probably all the more so in this age of email. Yes, it takes longer to write, yes, your penmanship might be a bit off, but so what. Real letters are awesome. Throw in an article from the hometown newspaper, or something from Time or Rolling Stone or Hot Rod, and you’ll make my day.

If you want to go above and beyond that, well, there’s a ton of other things you can do.

Wounded Warrior Transition Units. Find your local military installation, and get in touch with the Wounded Warrior unit. These are the units where our banged up, battered, and slightly-damaged guys go to mend. Guys and gals whose role in life is to get better, after something has happened to them. Want to help someone locally, to help make the world a better place and to maybe honor our soldiers just a bit? Contact the unit, and see how you can help.

Family Readiness Group. Peek around and find the local unit near you. They might be on a base, they might be a Guard or Reserve unit in your area. This is the group of spouses, kids, and extended family (parents, loved ones, boyfriends / girlfriends, etc) who are working to help each other and themselves while their loved ones are gone. Sometimes there are problems to be solved, sometimes there are bake sales to raise money to send care packages to their loved ones.

Army Emergency Relief. AER is help for soldiers in need. A quick loan in a jam or a grant in a time of need, it’s money to help soldiers during their hour of need. It’s run locally — here’s the link to the one at Walter Reed Army Medical Center — and it’s tax deductible.

Footlocker, packed in 1946

No wallowing

I suppose it would be easy to wallow in my own misery, over having to go. Or over having to go someplace again, or over having to go for a year. There are a million reasons one could be upset about going, or be upset about a loved one going.

But I won’t. I don’t think I can. Things could be so much worse.

As I was getting ready to go, I was looking for those last little things I would need to take with me, I made a stop off in the footlocker that had belonged to my wife’s grandfather. The photos in this post — I took the photos that day as I was peeking here and there.

Los Angeles Times, 08 December 1941

On December 7th, he got the call. He left the next morning, heading off with the 32nd Cav, his National Guard unit. Apparently, he bought the paper on the way that day. He came home from the war in 1946.

5 years. Sure, he got R&R from time to time, but still — five years. That’s a long time. That’s a lot of letters to write. That’s a lot of great experiences with your kids that you’ll never get back.

Late in his life, when I was a lieutenant stationed in Germany, he came to visit us. I made the time to go show him all of our equipment — M1A2 tank, M2 infantry fighting vehicle, M109A6 self-propelled howitzer, and everything on down to machine guns and pistols. It was fascinating to hear his views of our military today — our equipment, our organizations, our capabilities, our training. He had been, at times, want for things as simple as a heavy machine gun that worked reliably — that’s hard to reconcile today with my worries about things like access to email and Skype. Understanding this history not just of my profession but of my own Army and the sacrifices asked of our soldiers in the past, is helping me balance the pressures of heading back to Iraq.

I don’t know how much, if any, difference I’ll make, but I’ll do my best.

Alright, that’s enough for now. More later — whenever that is.

I’d like to tell you that this was an easy movie to watch.

It wasn’t.

Like Band of Brothers, like Saving Private Ryan, this movie was good but hard to watch.? A guy in my class had brought it in for another guy, saying it was his favorite movie. Favorite.? Not that it was good, but that it was his favorite.? Those types of words catch my ears.

When Trumpets Fade is set late in WWII, during the battle of Hurtgen Forest.? I actually went there, years ago, when I was a lieutenant.? We walked the land, saw the sights, talked about the fighting.? And I remember thinking then that it was a horrible place to fight, that there was no way to win.? A meat grinder.? And it truly was.

The movie opens with Private Manning humping it back to the rear, carrying a wounded buddy on his back.? His friend is dying; the both know it.? Hang in there, they both plead.? Until it’s too late.? Until they both realize that he’s not going to make it.? The friend dies; Manning survives.

Is there a worse feeling?? I can save him, I can save him, I can save him, crap, I can’t save him.

And no one else survives.? Manning’s platoon is gone.? His company has been decimated, damn near wiped out overnight.? Manning already had a reputation of being a shirker, the one to hold back just a little, to never be up all the way at the front or close to the danger and bullets.? One step behind the guy who gets shot, or steps on the mine.? But he has survived.? And he gets promoted.? SGT Manning.

Which he doesn’t want to be.? He’s given new replacements to lead, a hodge podge of guys who are more concerned with the talk that the war will be over by Christmas.? Damn replacements — so new that they don’t know what they don’t know.? So new, they pose a danger not just to themselves but to others.? So new that Manning sees them as already lost, already dead. His worry is that they will take him with them into death.

My heart sank when one of the new replacements got separated from the others when out on patrol.? He hunkered down on the ground, and waited as a German patrol passes.? Just don’t fucking move, I told myself.? Don’t fucking breath.? Hold your damn breath and don’t move at all. Not your eyes, not your head, not your foot.? How many of our soldiers in Iraq and elsewhere have gotten separated, and been in that exact same predicament?? It is a feeling of dread as old as warfare itself.

And of course he breathed.? And he moved.? And I cringed.? He’s gonna die.

He didn’t.? Manning’s commander, facing a Battalion push to take the river crossing, needs a squad to go on what everyone knows will be a suicide mission — go silence the 88’s that are tearing them to shreds.? The commander says he’ll get Manning out of there and to the rear if he leads his men — those new replacements — on the mission.? Succeed, and the war is over; fail, and he’s dead.

Manning agrees.

How tough is war, when you’re willing to roll the dice with that on the line?? Ever had a job that you’d risk five lives, just to see end?? When the fighting started, and the waves were going forward, I’d bet $10 that there were guys heading out into harm’s way thinking, OK, go ahead and wound me so I can get evacuated out of here.? Maybe I’ll get lucky and not lose a limb.? Just getting shot would be OK.

Manning proves to be a good leader, if you understand what Frederick the Great meant: soldiers should fear their leaders more than the death and injury they face, otherwise they’ll turn and run.? Manning literally proves that this works, though it’s certainly not the preferred method today.

In taking out the 88’s, there’s a scene with Sanderson, one of the replacements, running forward to the guns and the few remaining German crew members.? He’s screaming at the top of his lungs — his war cry.? He’s huffing and puffing, moving as fast as he can, which isn’t all that fast since he’s got a flame-thrower strapped to his back.? And he’s got the trigger pulled on that thing, throwing burning fuel everywhere as he makes his way up to the guns and the fleeing German soldiers.? He’s so full of fear and hate and adrenalin that he’s beyond controllable.? And he kills them all.? Fire everywhere.? Flames seemingly pouring out of his body like evilness.? He’s so new, he has no idea what’s going on or why.? But he’s surviving.

The mission is a success.? But Manning isn’t released.? His commander was injured, and evacuated.? The 88’s were silenced, only to be replaced by German tanks.

And SGT Manning is promoted.? LT Manning.? In three days he’s gone from Private to Sergeant to Lieutenant.? Which he doesn’t want.? He wants to live, he wants out of there.

He’s to lead his platoon the next day, when the Battalion goes “all in” to retake the river crossing.? All in.? Everything.? Win, or be destroyed.? Take and hold the river crossing, or reasonably expect all of the soldiers to die trying.

Manning views his higher commanders not as leaders, but as managers.? They aren’t moving forward, taking the risk of being shot or shelled.? They’re sending guys like him out there, like pawns moved on a game board.? It might be OK to move around pieces like this in the business world, but when you’re talking about a gamble that can lead to the death of hundreds of men, Manning knows that this should be a decision made carefully.? And it sure doesn’t seem to be.

With Sanderson and two others, he decides to do what he knows needs to be done.? Instead of waiting for the morning, and stepping off the line with the rest of the other men for what he knows is certain death, he realizes that they need to slip across the lines at night and take out those tanks.? For their own survival, for the survival of the other men.? Stupid, dangerous, potentially fatal, but the right thing to do.? And they do it.

The scene of Manning picking his way through the minefield and clipping wires brought back memories for me.? I can remember doing the same thing in Georgia years ago, during training.? Crawling on my belly, poking the softened earth, looking for the mines and just about crapping myself when I found them, all the while the smoke drifting over the minefield and wire obstacles to conceal what we were up to.? And praying that the smoke would last long enough.? Which it never did.? Because when it ended, down would come the (simulated) mortar rounds, close enough to throw dirt on us and close enough to scare the hell out of me.? Laying on your back, cutting the wire on the far side, covered in sweat and dirt and mud and stench, wondering if you cleared a path wide enough for the others to follow through while knowing that you really did.? Just let them make it through this.

Yes, these movies can be hard to watch sometimes.

Our movie ends with Sanderson humping it back to the rear, Manning on his back, wounded.? Bleeding all over the place.? Hoping that they’ll make it.? Trying to hang on.? Hang on.? Hang on.? And finally realizing that he is going to die.

I liked this movie.? I will tell others to see it.? Someday, not soon, I will watch it again.? Someday.