Election Day - Part II of III

     As luck would have it our tidy little breakfast was the high point in the day.  As the morning wore on the temperature started to creep ever higher.  Although the temperature didn’t reach the crushing heights of summer it was hot enough to turn our armor into miniature saunas, complete with helmets that seemed to drip sweat like leaky faucets.

     As the hours ticked by the steady hum of everyday life seemed to swell and grow until the entire area was alive with sound.  The one exception to this gathering tide of noise was our small little enclave.  Within the walls of our compound the only noises that seemed to break the silence was the occasional rush of static that preceded radio transmissions, and random snippets of quiet conversations unconsciously amplified by emotion.  It was as if our compound was mired in watery silence, every sound rippling through the air like a stone thrown into a still pond.  The silence wasn’t the result of any verbal order, it was the natural outgrowth of years of training for environments where sound draws a straight and deadly line between success and compromise.

     A little after noon the sound was broken by the amplified shout of one of our sentries, electronically magnified a hundred fold as it passed through a powerful loudspeaker.  Experience trumped fatigue, and before I could make a conscious decision on the best course of action I found myself out front underneath the security position.  The security team on the roof snapped out the distance and the direction to the disturbance.  I pulled out my binoculars and scanned for the threat.  Before I could even focus the aperture I could see exactly what had caused the sentries so much alarm.  What came into focus was a large group of Iraqis; men, women, and children – all armed with sticks and farm implements.  That in and of itself wasn’t to unusual – what brought it into the realm of the ordinary was the crumpled, bloody forms lying at their feet.  The entire group was paralyzed, staring up at our position in utter shock.  But hot blood carries a power that isn’t easily sated, and seconds later the group turned on each other in a murderous frenzy.  The ugly, grating sound of pain and fury filled the air, and I turned around to shout out an order to alert the QRF.  The words died on my lips because as I turned I realized the entire QRF was already assembled and waiting for guidance.  Once I passed along the little I did know they shot off at a dead sprint towards the bloodthirsty mob.  The sight of armored and heavily armed soldiers rushing toward their position quelled their naked aggression, and the closer the soldiers came the stiller they seemed to become. 

     By time they arrived the group had settled into a jittery, confused mass of people.  Through my binoculars I could see our soldiers segregating the two groups like policeman separating two warring gangs, and this final action seemed to lull them back into something approaching normalcy.  Our interpreter ordered the angry farmers back to their homes, and the medics patched up the handful of locals that had been bloodied in the fray.  When the element returned to the compound they gave me the details my binoculars were unable to unearth.  Apparently the field we were overwatching was shared by three families, and through ancient custom each of these families agreed to rotate the trickle of irrigation water that was pumped out of a nearby canal.  What had started the altercation was one family’s blanket refusal to obey this binding clause, resulting in an unequal distribution of water to the adjoining properties.  The other families tried to force the obstinate farmer to obey this ancient custom, and when words failed the farmers and their families turned on one another.  Water may seem like a ridiculous thing to shed blood for, but to a desert farmer water life personified, the dividing line between prosperity and despair. 

     Fortunately the rest of the day went on without any further blood feuds.  As the sun started sinking in the western sky I walked over to our Iraqi counterparts to coordinate for our actions the following morning.  I patiently explained to the Iraqis that the following morning, the day of the election, we would be pulling away from the polling site in order to avoid any influence on the voting process.  My words were met with looks of abject horror – I didn’t need the interpreter to tell me that the Iraqis didn’t like that idea.  The entire group seemed to erupt with nervous energy that seemed to verge on genuine panic, and after a few seconds the interpreter turned to me and said “Sir, they are saying they will leave the site if you pull out tomorrow morning”.  I spent the next hour appealing to their sense of duty, and the sacred trust they would be breaking by abandoning their sworn duty but my pleas fell on deaf ears.  They remained resolute, if we followed our orders and left the voting area they would leave with us.

     In the face of their stubborn refusal I switched tactics, trying to get a better understanding of the genesis of their gnawing anxiety.  I started by segregating the Iraqi police and the Iraqi soldiers and talking to each group in turn.  The soldiers explained to me that several miles south of where we were standing their element had been ambushed in a coordinated AIF attack.  I had heard about the battle weeks before, but seeing the anguished look on their faces brought it to sudden, terrible life.  As the soldiers weaved their tale my translator dutifully passed along the story.  On a lonely road a dozen miles away their element had been suddenly ambushed by a large, heavily armed force.  The furious attack shattered their column, and as they regrouped they found themselves pinned down behind their burning vehicles with little ammunition and even less hope.  At that point in the story all the soldiers paused, and then made a curious gesture I will never forget.  They turned their eyes towards the heavens, kissed their clenched fist, whispered a single English word and then moved their hands skyward as if their motion would somehow cast the word into God’s ears.  The word they whispered out was “Apache”.  Their reverent gesture was imbued with the deep reverence you rarely find outside the battlefield, a mix of awe, admiration, and blessing. Because what saved them from annihilation that day wasn’t superb tactics or their own organic firepower – it was the arrival of American gunships.  Once the Apaches arrived on station the die was cast and the battle won, because there are few forces on earth that can withstand the withering firepower these flying tanks can bring to bear.  The gunships cut down the AIF forces like winter wheat, gouging the earth with thunderous cannon fire.  The AIF brave enough or dumb enough, because there is a razor thin line between the two, to stay and fight died in place. 

     When they finished the story the soldiers were visibly moved, and I could feel the weight of their tension as if it were a crushing weight on my own shoulders.  I looked at the soldiers and told him that although we couldn’t stand side by side with them we would be less then a heartbeat away.  And if there was a battle to be fought we would stand side by side with them and bring the collective fury of the United States Infantry to bear on their enemies.  As the translator passed along my words they visibly relaxed, and sensing their relief I pressed home my argument, adding that the same Apaches that had defended their forces would be flying overhead all day.  At that the soldiers seemed somehow restored, and their eyes seemed to regain the spark that up until now had been extinguished.  I explained to them how vital this election would be to their future, and the future of their children - but the words were unnecessary.  Their fear was replaced by the fierce pride of a battle tested soldier, and seeing their resolve I started over to the Iraqi policeman.

    The Iraqi police were still visibly agitated, and as I approached their small group their commander stepped forward to express his concerns.  He went through a litany of woes, mentioning his lack of familiarity with the area, his lack of heavy weapons, and the enormous threat he felt was lurking around every corner.  After listening to his chain of reasoning I realized that his concerns were the complete inverse of the soldiers.  The soldiers fear was that of the battle scarred veteran, the fear that flickered in this man’s heart blossomed from lack of exposure.  Having never faced the full weight of combat this police officer feared not only the specter of battle, but how he would respond to it.  I spent the better part of an hour giving him an impromptu pep talk, but when I finished I could still see doubt etched in deep lines on his face.  I explained in painful detail how my forces would remain nearby, ready to pounce on any enemy activity, but he still seemed unmoved.  Finally, utterly exhausted by the entire ordeal, I realized just what I needed to do to convince this man.  I reached out, held both of his forearms in my grip and looked him in the eye saying “My mission is to ensure the safety of this election site, but I cannot stay here and run the risk of even accidentally swaying this vote.  But I will not let you fail, because if you fail then I will have failed”.  I’m not sure if it was my words or if it was my use of Arabic social custom, but he finally seemed committed to staying on site.  I breathed a sigh of relief and walked back to our haphazard little command post.  I collapsed next to the radio, weary beyond words, and volunteered to man the radio so SSG Spite could get some rest. I felt utterly drained but that didn’t really matter – I knew I wouldn’t be getting that much sleep anyway.  A few hours later I finally did manage to get some rest, waking up in the deep shadows that presage dawn.  It was a new day… election day.

Comments

[Chad Fisher]

Some of the reasons for war - "In memory of our God, our religion, and freedom, and our peace, our wives and our children." These and the election, I believe, are some of the reasons we should be helping Iraq. What a wonderful job you are doing T6 to help show love and comfort to those there serving in their own country.

[Bridget]

T6- Your words are so powerful. Thank you for what you do and for sharing your journey. When my 16 month old daughter & I say our prayers at night, you are in them. Anxiously awaiting Part III...

[Chevy Rose]

Farmers beating up neighbors for water rights. Sounds like the some of the early days of our Old West. Where are all the lawyers? Courage and resolve can't be bought or traded. But maybe it can be learned, with your help. You do go the extra mile and I thank you. God bless and keep you all safe.

[Karen]

Bravo, T6! You take my breath away with your words and courage.

[Beth* A.]

'The ...test of a Leader is that he leaves behind him in other men the conviction and the will to carry on.' No question, T6, by listening and responding to their separate concerns you did just exactly that. Be proud of your outstanding contribution to this fragile emerging democracy. We're busting at the seams with pride in you, and in all our troops! 'Apache' as a Sky Six - bound prayer... I think that's just perfect!

[CJ]

T6--You are just amazing. You represent America so well. Your compassion and courage do my heart good! Thank you! And I agree with David--we need a book!!! Thank you for taking us places we cannot go ourselves and putting us in your shoes.

[Kathy]

"One of God's greatest miracles is to enable ordinary people to do extrordinary things" Thunder6, you are one of those people!

[Weaser]

Thanks for sharing your work with us. You guys have a dangerous and incredibly important job. Prayers for you, your team, and the brave Iraqi's that are helping. Also to all the Iraqi's that turn out for the vote. We are glad to hear you are safe. We await Part III.

[David]

Diplomats with muddy boots. Once again you show a depth of knowledge and compassion that few men ever experience in their lives. Bravo Sir! Excellent writing, I hope one day to have an autographed copy of this "little book."

[MBDonaldson]

Excellent, T6! You convey so much feeling and depth in your writing I about slipped off the front of my chair in anticipation. I wanted to yell “Standup and be counted as someone who held their ground and helped start a new era for the Iraqi people.” My heart is pounding. I can envision a small and weak light, shining in the darkness. At first it is hard to see and even seems to be swallowed by the thick darkness. And yet it survives and grows into a flame called the self-governed people of Iraq. T6, although what you do is difficult and near impossible at best. You are blessed to be able to help fan this flame into an unstoppable fire of Democracy. Keep the faith!