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