Ladies and Gentlemen, It's the start of a new duty week, which means it's also the end of another, which in turn means one thing: time for another trip into the life and times at Camp Bucca.
By now, I'm sure everyone has vicariously gotten to know and love the boys of the 172. After all, we are the best damn National Guard unit ever to grace this freakin' desert with our presence, right? Well, in light of the fact that if we were any more high speed we'd be faster than the lights emanating from the headlamps of our HUMMVs, and in light of the fact that we came here at full strength, and seeing how we've managed to handle the 4-5 missions on our hands already, the powers that be (the same ones that had us adjust for daylight savings time three days before the United States, neverminding the fact that never in the history of the Iraqi theatre has this adjustment ever been made before), deemed the 172nd to be worthy of a treat. Johnny, [drumroll] tell the good men what they've won.
"FANTABULOUS EXTRA DUTY!!! That's right! You've won and all expense paid trip to the Bucca IF (Internment Facility), where you will wine and dine with the creme de la creme of Iraqi Society! You'll meet Turkish, the mentally insane Turk who hates Arabs, yet refuses to accept release to Turkey! "Doc" the PhD Student. When he's not in class, he's plotting to kill American ass! These and other sundry characters await your presence in the IF! You'll watch them from towers for shifts of twelve hours! You'll keep them in line, though they smell worse than swine! All this plus more awaits you at Fabulous Camp Bucca IF.
Thanks, Johnny.
Yeah, so off I go, one of the high-speed, low-drag soldiers, ready to do my extra shifts. In the towers, you get to watch these fine individuals beat the ever living hell out of one another over who is on who's team for football (soccer). You watch them communicate from compound from compound though this is expressly forbidden (I actually put one jackass in a thirty minute "time-out" where he had to sit down and shut the hell up right in front of my tower... good times!). Mostly, you watch as these men walk, read, eat, and play soccer as you sit in an 8'x8' tower for 12 hours. Kinda wondering who exactly was in prison.My third and final shift was spent as part of the compound containment team, who actually "get" to enter the compound to regulate the EPW's. This was the fun part. Now, you're on ground level surrounded by the men who have been detained for wanting and in many cases, killing US troops. Yeah, it was real easy to walk in there and not beat the bloody hell out of each and everyone. Actually "met" a known al Qaeda recruiter. Yep... great guy. Why he is still alive I do not know. How other units can guard and feed these animals without killing them is beyond me.
Well, the time spent in the IF was the topic of discussion between myself and my battle buddy, Fran "Settle Down, Francis" Hyland. (Anyone who has seen "Stripes" understands the nickname.) As we sat on perimeter guard this evening, we pondered why exactly the US has ground troops here to begin with. To win the hearts and minds of the people? THat didn't work in VietNam, where we were dealing with political beliefs. How is it to work here, where the beliefs are those of a 3000+ year old religion? I'm sure by now everyone has heard of the inexcusable, horrendous fate met by four US Civilian Contractors in northern Iraq (which, rest assured, is a VERY far distance away from my little spot of sand). How are we to foster peace with people whom do not want peace with us? Whose only desire is to spill the blood of "infidels?"
Now, Fran and I both agreed there are about 5 billion things we'd rather be doing than partying in the sandbox, but we're here. Where else can buying soap at the PX be considered retail therapy? Where else could you get paid to drive HUMMV's through giant off-road courses chasing camels? Where else could you have to sign five million memos a day regarding policy changes in how to tie bootlaces, breathe, and weave baskets underwater?
Frankly, we don't know. We are also not sure of what exactly that meat the call "Steak" really is. Nor are we sure of why the PX has all the non-alcoholic beer you'd never want to drink, but to get Q-Tips, it takes more time than for a peasant to get bread in the old USSR. Hell, we don't even know why people would ever think of cheering for the NY Yankess, when everyone in the world knows hands down the Boston Red Sox are the best damn team in MLB.
Well, enough deep thoughts for one day. Need sleep. Sleep and a genie in a bottle that could make this country and this war disappear so I can go home. Found a lamp on the ground the other day, but when I rubbed it, all that came out was a rat.
Go figure.
D
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