Hello All...
Pardon the Waylon Jennings-inspired Subject header... just seemed to fit.
Okay... so what have we learned thus far...
1. In Iraq, if it crawls, flies, walks, or scurries, it can kill you.
2. There are a lot of things I cannot do without facing Disciplinary Action.
3. The longer a soldier stays in-country, the more bizarre his sense of humor becomes...
I think we'll leave the list at that for now.
So another week has passed. We are now four days away from being here for two full months... which means, considering the way soldiers tours are being extended, the uncertainty that ANY leave will be permitted, that this is the Year of the Monkey (woohoo!) in the Chinese Zodiac, the Olympics and elections are coming up, and Ms. Cleo's Psychic Hotline predictions, we should be home by at least 2025. If all goes well...
We had a week of entry control points, the highlights of which included death matches between scorpions and camel spiders, all of which have decided this past week was the perfect time to makes their mass appearance here at Bucca. Not too much of anything happened, though we did recieve a very interesting sociological study into the life and times of the street kids of Umm Qasr. A group of teens headed by Ali and Michael Jackson (he swears that's his real name) set up shop at a control point to sell useless, cheap trinkets to any GIs willing to part with their hard earned combat pay. Half the fun is bartering with the kids, which involves repeatedly reminding them we have M-16A2s and M9 9mm pistols and could just TAKE their stuff if we saw fit. Well, Ali and MJ run then show. THey send the other kids on runs to resupply their stocks of cheap pre-war Iraqi flags, bayonets of the old Iraqi Army, scarves, and whatever else is not nailed down in Umm Qasr. FOr the downright low price of $15 (US), you too can walk away with two bayonets, a flag, and a handful of "Saddam" dinars, perfect for absolutely nothing, since they are not even worth the material it took to print them.
At any rate, Ali apparently did not like the cut of the profit he was receiving from MJ, so he saw fit to stab MJ in the bicep and rip the knife out, doing SEVERE damage to MJ's arm. MJ, in turn, made a visit to the local "doctor," who for the low, low price of $20 (US) did a stitch job that a drunk monkey could have done blindfolded. There are five "sutures" where there should be AT LEAST thirty.
Because our medical teams are tasked out, it is not our mission to set up a clinic for the locals, and the fact that I am an idiot, for the past week, I have been Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, err, Man for young Mr MJ. Using the very sparse supplies in my Combat Lifesaver bag, I have been treating his wound, which grows worse by the day. Today, he could not even extend his arm, the pain was too great. A medic did give him some antibitoics to stave off infection, but MJ saw fit to sell his meds for more money. So now, it is apparent, MJ will likely lose the arm (if he is lucky) or die as the wound grows gangrenous and spreads to his torso and heart. Good times, right? Worst part is, he doesn't know how bad the wound is and how badly he needs to care for it. So myself and a few others in my position do our best in what will be a losing battle for this kid.
He and Ali remain friends and neither see anything wrong with what happened -- it's simply how business is done day to day here. If anyone is looking to send anything over here, basic first aid material and Nitrile gloves do come in handy, especially to those of us whose hands are irritated by the latex gloves we work with...
Aside from "ER, Iraq" not too much has happened this week. We were priveleged to see one Iraqi truck driver delivering our bottled drinking water get out of his truck to be searched wearing nothing more than boxer shorts and a tee shirt. Sorry, ladies, I was unable to get a photo of this fine specimen of manliness...
We did host a wayward British convoy who entered our control point with the intention of driving straight through to Umm Qasr. After repeated attempts to communicate to the Convoy Commander (in English, though it can be a tricky language to our British counterparts) that there was no direct road and he was driving into a camp, he entered anyway, insistent there was NO camp at all. Twenty minutes later, said convoy exited our control point, a confused Brit exclaiming... "well I'll be snookered... there is a bloody camp here!"
I'll leave you with a few more things I have discovered it is not in my best interest to do while in Iraq.
1. I cannot take the ATV's used by the 107th out for joy rides.
2. I cannot take SSG Pellerin's sock puppet monkey, Bamboo (a gift from his kids) hostage and hold him for ransom
3. I cannot try to twirl an M9 (unloaded, of course) and sling it into my holster John Wayne style...
4. I cannot tell the LT to "go open the gate for ASO, we're busy over here" when he comes to visit our Control POint.
5. I cannot play Johnny Cash's "Boy Named Sue" more than three times in a row without ticking someone off.
6. I cannot say "whoa! is that a bo... oh never mind" when conducting vehicle searches.
7. I cannot use "lack of interest" as an excuse to take a day off of duty.
8. I cannot blame the 107th and the 160th for everything. (though they still do tick us off to no end)
9. I cannot refer to the detainees as "damn, dirty apes," while in classes on how to handle them.
10. I cannot, under any circumstances, refer to the First Seargeant and the COmmmander as "Hekyl and Jekyl."
11. I cannot ask for "the soup du jour followed by prime rib with a decent Cabernet" at dinner. All I get is blank stares from the Pakistani food service employees.
12. I cannot throw water bottles out of the Guardian Angel overwatch tower just to see them explode, especially if my team leader just happens to be about three feet away from the landing site.
13. I cannot clean my rifle in a sandstorm... is just does not work.
14. I cannot yell "Dammit, Sgt. Hutton, I'm a doctor, not a mechanic!" when the HUMMV breaks down.
and
15. I cannot request the PX to stock surfboards, "just in case God decides to send a giant tidal wave to wipe this damn beach out."
Well, I hope this email finds everyone well. Keep the emails and mail coming. I think my muse is back on strike, but we'll have a little chat and I'll try to make the next update a little more inspired.
Go Red Sox, Die Yankee Scum!
D
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