Over Stuffed with Turkey

It is one of my favorite holidays. What is there not to love? We all get together, socialize with friends and family...and celebrate the one thing at which MOST Americans can excel. EATING MORE THAN WE SHOULD.

Oh the joys of that holiday feast. I look longingly down the spread of food that could feed a small third world country. The meats and the veggies...the stuffing, the cranberries...my mother in law's macaroni and cheese...(which I could be happy eating only that and nothing else)...rolls, yams, casseroles...and OH THE DESSERTS...my families Thanksgiving meal is a wonder to behold indeed.

I will sit and eat plate after plate...piled so high that it is dripping over the edge...until I am at the point of bursting. It is awesome.

Now...this year is a bit different. First of all, the obvious. Don't get me wrong...the military does an awesome job trying to make us feel at home. They throw a spread that I would consider a close second to my own family's.

There were decorations galore...from a life size replica of the original feast, to ice sculptures, to a huge model of the Mayflower. They had the different meats, the veggies...even some mac and cheese (though it is a VERY far cry from my mother in law's...Don't worry, Mom...You have NOT been outdone.) But there was something missing...and I couldn't place it.

First of all, it was strange, because I wished everyone a Happy Thanksgiving first thing in the morning...at the END of my shift. I then went to the trailer and went to sleep. I had to set an alarm to wake up just so I could go eat Thanksgiving Dinner...I definitely didn't want to miss it.

So I get up...and I walk over to the chow hall. In a crowd of what could have easily been a couple hundred people...I felt alone. I didn't know what was going on...it must have been hunger. Ah...the healing power of food.

So...as usual, I piled my plate dangerously high and looked for a place to sit. There were smiles and warm conversation everywhere. There were also ten million people shoved in one room. I looked for an open seat...and eventually found one near a group of civilians who all seemed to have known each other for nearly forever.

Honestly...I missed my family. That is kind of a given, though...isn't it. So I decided not to focus on that...and actually focus on what the day was meant to be. I focused on what I am Thankful for.

I am thankful that my friends and family don't have to be out here, especially in a time like the holidays.

I am thankful for the freedoms that we as Americans take for granted everyday.

I am thankful that I have a loving family that supports me in my tour over here.

I am thankful that there are men and women who put on this uniform everyday, and set aside fear and personal preferences to work toward allowing another country the same freedoms that we enjoy at home.

It kind of makes me wonder...after it is all said and done, will a country that has never really known freedom and independence set aside a special day, or time to recognize and remember the reasons why they can celebrate those freedoms.

So...as I listened to the group near me talk, I smiled. I realized that the spirit of the day was what was important. It was nice to hear 'normal' conversations after so much negative news at work. It was nice to see that they were truly grateful to sit and share this time with each other.

And so I ate. And I ate. And when I was done with that...I ate some more. Now...The mac and cheese is pretty good, and yes I had more than one helping. (But it is still nothing like the mother in law's.) Then...I had this horrible, sunken, and empty feeling.

I did not get any of my Dad's stuffing this year. (A tear slowly trickled down my cheek and into my flowered paper cup full of sparkling grape juice.) I sighed a big heavy sigh of longing for that sausagie stuffing...and then the moment passed, and I continued to gorge myself on slices of turkey and gravy, and thin mashed potatoes...or what I like to call, mashed potato soup....it's good. You should try some.

As I waddled back to my trailer to try to rest a bit before my shift started...I realized that no matter where I was in the world...no matter who I was with...one thing would always hold true. This simple fact is etched into the granite tablet of laws that make my universe what it is today...and I cannot try to deny it.

It is the fact that Thanksgiving day is a day for remembrance and recognition. For acknowledging the things you have in this world that make each day special and worth waking up for...

...and for getting Over Stuffed with Turkey.

SFC NEWMAN
OUT

In The Zone, Part Three (end)

It was the second day of yet another mission out in the Red. I glanced around just before going into the building. My guard had gone up when the 'security guard' (an Iraqi man wearing blue jeans and a watch cap) stood up and checked his AK-47 (assault rifle) as we drove up. This was supposed to be the barracks of the unit that we were there to inspect.

The area we were in was called Habaniya...a quaint little hole in the world nestled snuggly between Fallujian and Ramadi...both of them very lovely this time of year. Again...it was the kind of place that Mad Max would have felt right at home.

The Iraqi Army doesn't have the nicest of facilities. However, even they don't stay in a building that is being gutted and renovated down to the frame. The unit had been moved, and no one seemed to know where. Not even the US Advisor that was accompanying us seemed to know where they could have moved to...nor how they could do it without his knowledge.

I didn't like the feeling I was getting.

So we move up to check out one of the guard towers, on the roof of the building. As I reach the top I can see that not more than fifty meters from where I stood was the perimeter to the base. Just beyond that, a small village...a village I found out moments later contained active insurgents and terrorists.

I feel like it is time for me to explain something here. In a situation such as the one described above...I get quite touchy...and I guess "highly alerted" would be a way to describe the feelings I have.

Why?

Simple...we were standing fully exposed to the enemy...no body armor, no helmet. We were in an area that had very little in the way of easy 'escape' routes. And...as far as who the bad guy will choose to shoot first? Let's just say that six foot six inches and two hundred and twenty five pounds makes a very large target.

Fortunately for us, nothing happened. But I grabbed hold of that feeling that I had, and I burned it into my memory. The men who do that every day...who sit in that guard tower and watch that village and that perimeter, don't have the luxury of knowing that by the end of the day they will be miles away from a place like that. I never want to forget how that felt...never want to take them for granted again.

So then it was back to more of those meetings that I just LOVE so much. I sat and listened to them talk...and counted the seconds until I heard one of them say "Chai." That quickly became my favorite word to hear in these meetings.

More talking...my mind wandered...more Chai...I drank all that they brought out. Then it was time to go. Again...a surreal moment.

The sun had set hours ago, and we were waiting for the helicopters to come in. As I stood and listened for the distinct sound of Blackhawk props cutting the air, I found myself also searching for Mad Max again. Fires burned in the junk yard that lay just beyond the airfield, and a pack of wild dogs howled out an eerie song to the chilly night. Chills went up my spine as I realized that this would be a miserable place to die.

I let out a long slow breath as I heard the faint sound of helos in the distance. I turned and told the group that we had incoming birds, and everyone began to gear up. As we loaded in, my mind slipped a million miles away to my family. They would be on their way back from work and school at this point. I thanked God they had no idea where I was.

As the familiar scenery of the 'Highly Fortified Green Zone' came into view below, I began to relax. It felt good to be back. I was ready to be in my bed...and the comforting sight of my battleship gray walls. The thing that meant the most was that I could call home and tell my wife that I had made it through another day.

Her voice was like heaven...and as she spoke to me, I let the tension of the mission slip away. My daughter got on the phone and began to tell me about the drawing she was doing...and the nightmare landscape of a Mad Max world seemed a thousand miles away. My son began to tell me about his day at school, and my heart and soul flew back home.

As much as I don't like being over here, it did feel good to be back to the familiar. As different as it is, my temporary home was the most welcome thing I could have in my current situation.

I am gaining all kinds of experience out here...experiences that I will treasure, and hold close always. I am learning lessons about humanity, different cultures, and most importantly...myself.

Weather it is out in the Red...or it is that place I go in my mind when I am on a mission, I am learning to live in my different zones. And now that I have experienced all that...and I am once again back in the familiar...I couldn't be more glad to be back In The Zone.

SFC NEWMAN
OUT

In The Zone, Part Two

As the Blackhawks flew in, I had this surreal moment of things moving in slow motion. I know there are guys out here that do this every day...I'm not ignorant. But I am not one of those guys. As stated before, I do not pretend that I have it the worst out here. But, after ten years in the Army, "Training as we fight," it was like an entire season of practice and now this was the first pitch of the Big Game.

A quick trip in the Blackhawk to Baghdad International Airport, and a two hour C-130 Flight later we were at FOB Marez. I instantly saw the difference between the northern part of Iraq and Baghdad. First of all, there was landscape to see. HILLS and VALLEYS!!!! I was impressed to say the least, at how beautiful it actually was up there.

There was some down time, at this point as we waited for the next helicopter to our final destination for the day. I watched as the translators and the Iraqi Contingent talked...as the Major ran here and there checking on flight times and connections on the far end...and how the Colonel seemed to sit and rehearse what he was going to say to the Commander of the Iraqi Division.

Then, I felt that focus again, as I heard the Blackhawks coming in to take us to our last stop. I put my helmet on, grabbed my back pack (still only half full...unbeknownst to myself...damn.) and pulled my gloves on just before grabbing the M-4 and heading for the aircraft. I paused for a moment and wondered what my wife was thinking at that moment...if she kissed the kids and extra time for me that night.

As we flew, I looked out the window and watched the scenery zip by. It was much like I had seen on every other flight I've done anywhere through Iraq...small towns and villages that look like they could double as a movie set for MAD MAX. I watched black smoke drift through the air over one village...(something is always burning somewhere in Iraq.)

Then we were there...and that Zone that I was in was never more focused. As the door of the Helicopter slid open, I hoped out and thanked the chief...and then headed toward the small group of men and vehicles that stood near the edge of the airfield.

The birds lifted off and left us standing there in the silence of the afternoon. The first thing I noticed was the condition of the surrounding areas. Buildings that looked to be half in ruins were still obviously in use. The lack of ten foot tall concrete walls surrounding everything caught me off guard. I wasn't sure what to think.

"Gentlemen," the team Commander from our greeting party said, hand outstretched. "Welcome to Al Kinde."

After a quick download of our gear into the trucks and handshakes all around we were taken immediately to meet with the Iraqi Army Chief of Staff. This part of the trips...the meetings...quickly became my least favorite part of the missions. I am not a politically minded individual and frankly the politics of most situations irritates the hell out of me. Now, imagine having to listen to political talks as I was going on nineteen hours of no sleep...and I can't understand half the conversation.

That aside, it was fascinating to watch HOW the Iraqis conduct business. One of the most impressive things to me was how polite they were. As we entered, everyone in the room stood, and we all shook hands. It was important to look each one of them in the eye as we said hello.

There is a gesture in the Iraqi culture that I have personally become fond of. In order to show that something is truly heartfelt or that they mean it sincerely...they place their right hand over their heart to show the sincerity. And I wondered...what do we have in our culture that does the same thing...and do we give that much importance to being sincere?

Then...my spirits were lifted. I discovered yet another Iraqi tradition that I will always love. CHAI!!!! Iraqis love CHAI and the Chief of Staff of the 2nd Division must have owned stock in the stuff. I had never had it before...and all of you reading this saying, "What's the big deal? I have a Chai latte every day at Starbucks"...ZIP IT! I am talking the real deal Iraqi Chai. It is tea...hot tea on steroids. You know it is potent when they bring it out in shot glasses!!!!

Then it was down to the reason I was there...the inspections. To say that the units we inspect are not to the standard I am used to would be an under statement, at the very least.

HOWEVER...I was very impressed.

What I was impressed with, was how well they carried on with such an obvious lack of EVERYTHING. They were short personnel, equipment, funding...you name it. Still, they took what they had and they conducted business as if they were the most well equipped fighting force on the planet. It was their pride, and their desire to have a democratic Iraq...their conviction and belief in what they were doing. If only more of us had those kinds of convictions.

"What do you mean?" I hear you ask...take this for example.

When asked about funding and how his people were being paid, and treated, one of the Iraqi officers stood up and told us what was really going on.

"I do not have money to pay my men. I cannot afford to equip them, or pay their sources when someone gives us intelligence information. Still they give us the information because they want what we all want. They want a free, and democratic Iraq. They love their country...I love my country. My Commander, however, steals the money from his men...he uses it to feed his family, and drive nice cars, while his men starve and have no equipment. I know there are men in this room who will tell him what I have said and that I will be punished. I do no care. I do this for my country and my life means nothing if my countrymen cannot live free of fear of terrorism. I do not care if I am killed for telling the truth."

After the meeting I was told exactly which of the other men in the room would probably either turn that officer in, or be the ones to execute him themselves. It was said that no one in the room was perfectly safe from retaliation.

And the Zone focused even more.

When we were taken to our quarters for the night, I was more than grateful for the bed...as it had been twenty six hours at that point since I slept. I didn't care that the 'compound' that the US soldiers stayed in was simply a group of four old warehouse type building surrounded by HESCO barriers and razor wire. What is a HESCO you ask...simply put, it is a large cardboard box filled with dirt and supported by a wire frame. Three hundred meters away, was a town in which lived active insurgents and terrorists.

So it was for the next couple of days...we met with Iraqi Army Commanders, stayed in post apocalyptic conditions, and inspected the Iraqi Army. We had more CHAI in those four days than I have had coffee in my whole life...and anyone who knows me knows that is virtually impossible.

We ate Iraqi food. Again...if you know me at all...this is huge. I like my certain goods and there is not a lot of deviation from my normal 'menu.' Now...I must admit that the food was not that bad. There was a lot of rice and various meats...chiken, and beef kabobs. Not too bad.

Then we met the 3rd Division Commader who wanted to show us how much it meant to him that we were there. To do this he hosted a 'Goat Pull.' Yes...it is what it sounds like. He sent his men into the town to buy two sheep and cook them up for us. I ate the rice and bread. And it was going fine until...

...I stepped out of reality and onto the set of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. There I was, happily enjoying my grain and bread, and a bottle of water, when the servers brought out the 'special surprise.'

Keep in mind, that in Iraqi Culture, it is very offensive to directly reject anything that is offered to you...especially food, as they don't have much and it means a lot for them to even offer it. So...out comes the chef's special.

The Iraqis that were sitting across from me looked very excited as it was placed before us. The began talking about it and laughing...picking up their forks and digging in straight away. As I looked at this dish, it occurred to me that it was looking back.

I leaned over to the translator and asked what the hell they were doing.

"Oh," she smiled. "It is a delicacy. They like to eat the Sheep Brains."

I fought my bread and grain back down into my stomach where it belonged and politely nodded to her. Then I stared at the table, horror in my eyes. I had to keep staring at the table. I needed my water...something. EVERY FIBER OF MY BEING TOLD ME TO GET UP AND RUN...but that would be rude.

I decided to continue staring at the table, because if they didn't make eye contact they couldn't offer me the Chef's special. Then my heart skipped a beat. I heard something completely unexpected.

"Sergeant Neewmans." It was one of the Iraqi Colonels. I'll just pretend I didn't hear him. I dedicated myself to drinking the entire bottle of water in one gulp. Then it came again. "Sergeant Neewmans."

I could play off a second shot at it if I were talking to someone else...looking to my right, I had no luck. The US Major that we were with was busy chatting with the other translator. DAMN.

"Sergeant Newman," the translator on my left said, tapping me on the shoulder. I turned to her, eyes wide.

"Yes?"

"They would like you to try the Sheep Brains," she said.

With a very large smile, and equally wide eyes I did what any man in my position would have done.

"Huh?"

"They want you to..."

"I heard you. Thank you." I answered...still smiling what I wish was a ray of death at her face. I turned to the Iraqis...with full knowledge that there was no way that stuff was going anywhere near my mouth...offensive to the culture or not.

I suppose they could read me like a book, because almost instantly they broke out in laughter. They shook their heads and waved me off. The translator told me that they said I didn't have to eat any...I looked very afraid.

I let out a long sigh of relief, and almost wet myself in the process.

As I lay there in my rack that night, I thought about it all. The culture, the pride...the passion that one would have to have in order to risk his own life to better his country, and even the sheep brains.

I thought of the US transition team that lived in the little compound surrounded by dirt and razor wire...meters from the bad guys. I thought of their families, and how I knew my wife was worried that I was out there for four days...how must their wives and families feel?

I understand now that misery is relative...and that no matter how bad we have it, someone out there has it worse.

And I respect even more my brothers in uniform that live in the RED...that live focused In the Zone.

SFC NEWMAN
OUT

In The Zone, Part One

Picture a man going a journey through a dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound, but of mind games. A journey into a wartorn land whose boundaries are those of T-walls and razor wire. That's the signpost up ahead...CAUTION, you are now leaving the secured area. Beyond this point are people who want to kill you...Have a Nice Day. He has left the trailer park, and entered the Twilight Zone.

They say there is no rest for the weary...and this has not been more true in my life than when my Son was first born. Seriously...he didn't sleep for more than ten minutes at a time for the first four days of his precious ADHD filled life. (I should have made the diagnosis then...) My wife was exhausted after FORTY-ONE HOURS of labor, and then being the only one who could breast feed the most hungry child on the planet...well, lets just say we all had seen more restful days.

But that's not what this story is about.

I have lately been in the second most exhausted period of my life...since my Son's first week on planet Earth. It started about a week and a half ago...when I went in to the Palace to start my shift, like usual. When I arrived, I found an E-mail waiting for me.

As the Senior NCO in my section, I have the advantage of being asked to do things that some of the junior soldiers don't get to do. This is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because it allows me to do some really cool things out here. A curse because...it allows me to do some really cool things out here.

One of these cool things, as said E-mail explained, is that I get to accompany a team consisting of a Colonel a Major, an SES (which is the civilian version of a General) two translators, and Iraqi Army contingent Consisting of a General and at least two other Field grade (Colonel) officers...as they go all over Iraq and inspect certain Companies within the Iraqi Army.

Note that I am the ONLY Enlisted man to go. This is explained by the SES as follows:
"I want a Senior NCO to go, because they see things that officers don't. They look at things in a way that an officer can't. I also want a Senior NCO with 'operational' experience, and who can represent the United States in a way that impresses the Iraqis and gives us a good face...by the way, how good a shot are you?"

So...after reading the E-mail that said I get to join this distinguished team on their journey to inspect three of the ten Iraqi Army Divisions, and flipping out a little bit...I was told, "Oh...you aren't going, don't worry about it."

It was later that I learned not to listen to things unless they come directly from someone directly involved in the mission. I worked my whole shift...from ten p.m. until five thirty in the morning, when the SES came in. That's when my magical mystery tour began.

"Ready to go?" he asked with a huge smile.

"Huh?" (Well, it sounded like a completely valid response at the time.)

"Yeah, Flight leaves at seven there, so you need to be over at the airfield at six thirty," he explained.

"Um, but I...uh...was told...that, eh...I wasn't going on this one," I eloquently stated. (It was a matter of sheer confusion and lack of sleep that contributed to my outward appearance of over eagerness...)

"Who told you that?" The SES asked. "I said I want you to go...so you are going."

This gave me an hour to leave the palace, walk (or sprint...whatever) the quarter plus mile back to my trailer, pack for a four day trip, let my Wife know I was leaving, get my gear, and get to the airfield another quarter mile walk away. No sweat.

I went down and called my wife immediately. It was not easy, but I think the sudden...no notice technique helped both of us by not giving us time to flip out too much. I was leaving the relative safety of the "Highly Fortified Green Zone" and heading out into the "Red." As I have said before...I don't pretend that I am not much safer here in the Green Zone, and I don't pretend that safe is not comfortable for me and my family.

There was no possible way to tell her how much I love her. There just aren't enough words to do it. I knew she would worry until I could tell her that I was back in the Palace and safe...but that there was nothing I could do to quell that worry.

"What do I tell the kids?" she asked.

"That Daddy loves them, and he is sorry that he can't talk...but he is on a camping trip and there is no phone out there. He will call when he is done." It was all I could think of. I mean, how do you tell them Daddy is out where the bad guys are and if he makes it back, he will call you. My respect for the Soldiers who live out in the Red everyday grew exponentially as I hung up the phone.

I grabbed my gear, threw it on and ran to my trailer. In a blur I grabbed what I would need for four days in the field and threw it on my bed. A quick glance at the computer showed me that my Wife was on with her web-cam ready. (I HAD to see her before I left.) We had one more 'goodbye', blew each other kisses, she told me I looked sexy in my gear (...hey, I had to tell someone.) and we waved good bye. I turned off the computer and in a blur, put half of the stuff I set out in my bag and rushed out the door for the airfield.

I'll give you a second to go back and read that again, to make sure you got the significance of how rushed I was...

...

...there it is...yes, HALF of the stuff I set out. Damn.

I arrived at the airstrip about ten minutes late and rushed in to the office to make sure I was on the manifest. The whole walk over, I was contemplating how upset these officers would be that I was late. I was mad that I was going to make a bad first impression to the team. I was worried that I would screw something up (beyond only packing half my stuff). I knew I would be yelled at for holding things up.

I was the first one there.

As I sat and waited, knowing where I was heading and the realities with such a trip, I began to go through a mental change. The mind begins to focus. External worries and distractions are removed, and placed in a part of the mind that I only go to when I have a spare minute to relax...which is rare on a mission. I found myself thinking about all the different courses of action that may need to be taken, just in case...though I did not fear them. I was reverting to the Infantry training that I had, that I was raised in the Army with...

...I was In The Zone.

SFC NEWMAN
OUT