Yesterday we settled into the naked concrete bosom of an Iraqi school destined to serve as the regional polling center. Under the watchful eye of the moon soldiers slid like wraiths through the narrow hallways, combing through the grounds for the malignant signs of AIF activity. Every inch of the school was carefully examined – and not just because of the role this compound would play in the election process. Our methodical search was fueled by the siren call of self preservation, because for the next two days this small corner of Baghdad would be our home.
Our temporary occupation of the abandoned school wasn’t part of the original plan, up until yesterday morning we were planning on doing little more then extending our patrols and serving as a ready response force for the Iraqi security elements occupying the site. But for whatever reason the Iraqi commanders balked at the idea of occupying this dusty little compound alone – convinced that the AIF would surely mount an attack on the site. When the Iraqi’s concerns made it to the ears of the soldiers it was met with a certain amount of masochistic pride, after all this was our sector. I don’t think anybody faulted them for their trepidation, but it reinforced in many soldier’s minds just how difficult our area really is. But the gentle smiles of self congratulations died on our lips when word came down that we would occupy the polling site for two days before the elections to supplement the Iraqi soldiers and policemen.
Of course by time we were conducting our careful sweeps all that drama was little more then a memory, we had more urgent things to concern ourselves with. Like security. Once the sweeps were completed our element split into prearranged sections, each section setting to work on their own specific tasking. One element clambered onto the flat shelf that served as the school’s roof quickly setting up the weapons and observation gear that would provide an iron curtain of security. As they made their way up the rickety steel ladder you could the sound of the steel groan under the weight of men and metal, but once they were on the roof their presence seemed to swallow all sound, becoming as silent as a tomb. Another team started the laborious process of fortification, huddling together around an area of soft earth. Their small group was bent low to the ground, slowly filling sandbags to the familiar, crunching sound of shovels biting into rough earth. The last element spent the next hour shuttling from the LMTV to one of the vacant classrooms, arms laden with the food, water and equipment that would sustain us for our sojourn. The Iraqi soldiers and policemen sharing this strange “home” spent the time settling in, watching our preparations with a mix of admiration and amusement.
In an hour the bulk of our work was complete, and the convoy that had escorted us to this empty corner of the world started their return to the FOB. And we were alone. Our area is predominantly agricultural, and as the sound of engines faded into the horizon everything setted into the deep and abiding silence you can only find among open plains. On any extended operation security duties are rotated between personnel, and with our preparations completed the soldiers off rotation settled into a fitful sleep.
The new day started unfurling long before the sun broke the horizon, marking its arrival with the scattered sounds of waking hours. Somewhere in the distance generators coughed to life, followed by the soothing sound of water being pumped into parched fields. Scattered guard dogs greeted the mechanical croaks with a chorus of yelps and howls – and this combined din greeted the new dawn. As the sun cracked the horizon both these sounds were eclipsed by the high, thin cry that seemed to leap across the open fields. The shrill call came from a tall metal tripod, on which balanced three enormous loudspeakers. This haphazard assembly served as the graceless minaret for the local mosque and what it lacked in sublime detail it made up for in sheer sonic intensity. There was little grace to the peal emanating from those speakers, stripped of all vocal subtleties by the harsh crackle of the speaker system. Yet even through the distortion the sound was thick with imagery. It was as if the vibrations pouring through the air were imprinting images on our minds, each as unfamiliar and harsh as the open heart of the desert.
After a few minutes the voice cut off as suddenly as it had started, and for a few minutes everything returned to the quiet sounds of morning. A few minutes later the silence peeled back once again, only this time the sound cutting through the air was the familiar throbbing hum of approaching tanks. As I stretched out in the morning sun I smiled… the sound of the approaching tanks was as welcome and soothing as a lovers coo. It wasn’t the additional security that sent a wave of good cheer through my stiff joints – it was what I knew would surely accompany those frightful leviathans. Hot food.
In the simple world of the Infantry there are few things that inspire as much exuberance as a hot meal in the field. I can’t quite explain the physiological mechanics behind the stomachs influence over the will, but just the sight of hot food being delivered to the field is enough to raise morale a thousand fold. The tanks rolled up to our humble little fortress, followed in turn by the armored hull of an LMTV laden with food. Before the vehicle even rolled to a halt several grateful hands were reaching into the cargo bay to unlash the precious containers. The chow line was set up with the kind of haste usually reserved for combat, unfolding in a blur frenetic motion. It seemed for a moment like some mythical desert jinn’s had snapped his fingers and brought a steaming feast into existence out of thin air. Granted our breakfast was no feast - but it was hot. And it filled our empty stomachs. And standing there in the brittle light of morning I couldn’t help feeling blessed. It’s funny how, in the absence of all other comforts, the little things can start to mean so much.
Posted by: David | October 17, 2005 at 16:39
Posted by: Pjdahling | October 17, 2005 at 14:02
Posted by: Navigator | October 17, 2005 at 10:14
Posted by: MBDonaldson | October 17, 2005 at 09:14