365 and a Wakeup

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Elections - Part IV

     A little after midnight my eyes crept open and filled with the cold, diamond light of a full moon.  I squinted hard against the liquid glow, but the light seemed to seep through my eyelids until I gave up my futile attempts at falling back asleep.  As I sat up I felt the dull cacophony of muscles shot through with lactic acid, and for a long moment I sat there on the edge of the cot waiting for the staccato aches to fade. 

     It seemed like every nerve was yearning for rest, but      I walked out of our temporary CP and moved out to the soldiers manning the weapons positions.  At each position I gripped the soldiers shoulder as I approached and then settled next to them to watch the area.  In those long minutes the silence of the desert night was broken only by the soft rustle of palm leaves.  No words were exchanged, because no words were needed.  Somehow I knew that just being there with them would convey my pride in their hard work more clearly then with burdensome words.     

     Later that morning I headed over to one of the classrooms serving as a makeshift barracks, and was greeted by Black Sheep’s toothy grin.  He whispered good morning, but after the long silence the words seemed to boom in the darkness.  I answered with a wheezing croak, my vocal cords rusted shut by long silence.  We laughed at each others clumsy vocalizations for a minute, and then we started talking about the elections that was now only a few hours away.     

     Black Sheep started to explain to me the different parties and platforms, and as usual his insight cut right to the heart of the matter.  There are literally hundreds of parties competing for the electorate, and though I had dozens of documents on the elections my actual knowledge on the candidates was woefully inadequate.  Black Sheep started to paint the picture of the leading parties and their platforms.     

     Each electoral party has a name along with a number, the number corresponding with their place on the ballot.  The first party that Black Sheep mentioned was the one whose election posters were splattered all over the town.  The party known as 618, was a Sunni Islamic Party who claimed their hands had not been sullied by corruption, hence their unofficial title of “the clean hands party”.  Their campaign slogan was “Iraq for the Iraqis” and their campaign pledge was to clean the country of terrorists.  The next party Black Sheep mentioned was the Unified Iraqi Coalition List, also known as 555.  This party was composed of Shia fundamentalists including Hakim and Sadrists, and their campaign seemed to revolve around their interpretation of Islamic law.  Allawi’s party was number 731, and though they were a Shia party they had a more secular focus.  Their campaign pledge was to support the Army, Police, and security forces, and to encourage freedom of religion.  The other big player in the elections was party 730, an alliance of Kurdish parties.  Their focus seemed to be on splitting Iraq into three distinct states under one national government, thereby maximizing Kurdish independence.     

     By time Black Sheep had finished explaining the different parties I glanced at my watch and realized that it was time to start packing up.  I moved to each of the key leaders and woke them up, and within a few minutes the night air was filled with the sound of methodical packing.  The empty hallways started to pulse with movement, as if some silent heart was pushing Soldiers and material through the concrete halls, and in less then an hour the only remnant of our time here were the handful of Soldiers still providing guard.  With our bags packed and our vehicles loaded we waited in small groups, clustered together for camaraderie more then for warmth.  Ever so slowly light started to fill the Eastern sky, and as it did we finished the last of our coordinations with the Iraqi forces.  To avoid any perceptions of American influence on the upcoming vote we would leave the election site completely.  Our mission these last few days was to set the conditions for a successful election, the elections themselves would be in the hands of the Iraqis.      

      Once we finished our coordinations we wished our comrades the best of luck, and then we started the long movement back to the FOB.  We stopped just outside the small town to link up with another of our platoons that would remain in overwatch on the off chance there were any attacks on the election site, and then we made our way along the empty streets.  As soon as we returned our exhausted troops started to prep their gear for the next mission, and having finished that they started to catch up on much needed rest.      

     By late morning I had finished catching up on the mountain of paperwork and reports that had stacked up on my desk, and I was ready to get back out of the wire.  While I was working my crew had managed to get a few hours of sleep, but their features were still whittled with the unmistakable edge of fatigue.  I wondered just how deeply fatigue had settled on my own face, but as soon as the thought crossed my mind I laughed at my own petty vanity.  I silently chided myself, then poured another cup of coffee and prepared to return to sector.

     The drive out to the election site seemed utterly surreal.  With the driving ban in place the highways had become enormous soccer fields.  As far as the eye could see there were children and teenagers playing soccer in the empty streets, and as we made our way into sector we had to dodge dozens of hastily arranged goalposts.  Eventually we linked up with the platoon in overwatch, and we spent the rest of the afternoon watching the slow pilgrimage of voters make their way into town to vote.  They came alone and in groups, and they seemed to pass by like a long, knotted rope.  There were doddering men in traditional robes, their stiff canes helping them along.  There were whole families moving into the town, the parents and grandparents walking steadily forward while their children revolved around them like hyperkinetic satellites.  There were young men dressed in acid wash jeans and leather jackets and women in burkhas walking side by side… all making their way to the election site.  As the afternoon came to a close and the election site closed we cautiously made our way back to the election site.  The town square was relatively empty, save for a few scattered groups talking outside the small shops.  We linked up with the POB troops to ensure the election was over, and once they confirmed the elections had ended we pulled back into a security posture on the site.  As we manned positions on the second floor the election workers were busy tallying the thousands of votes that had been cast.  By late evening the votes had all been tallied and loaded into the POB vehicles.  We gave a quick brief to the Iraqi drivers on how to react to enemy contact, and then surrounded them with our own armored vehicles for the drive to the district election center.  We slipped through the darkened streets of Southern Baghdad, weaving back and forth through the traffic barriers like a needle slipping shuttling through thread.  After a Byzantine series of loops and u-turns we finally arrived at the ballot collection site, and the Iraqi soldiers linked up with their headquarters element.  We said our last goodbyes to the Iraqi troops and then slipped back into the night

Elections-Part III

    Once the mermites were stacked away the Soldiers who weren’t manning positions settled into a satisfied torpor, and several rooms filled with soldiers sprawled out like vagrants. Security is far and away the most critical element in a defense, but that duty also shares the distinction of being one of the most onerous. The difficulty with pulling guard doesn’t stem from any physical exertion; in fact it’s quite the opposite. When you stand guard behind a fortified position your awareness collapses down into a single lonely arc. As the hours wear on focusing on the same narrow shard of earth starts to weary the eye and numb the brain. Although you won’t read it in any book there are thousands of techniques to wile away the time. The techniques are passed down from Soldier to Soldier, forming a oral tradition that a Zen monk would envy.

    But however apt the technique, over time it becomes increasingly difficult to remain focused and alert. An hour or two after the off shifts had settled into sleep I walked between positions to check up on the Soldiers. The moon glittered in the winter sky like a silver lantern, and it drenched the area with its cool light.  As I settled into each site there would be a short whispered exchange and then the troop on duty would point out the highlights of the last few hours. They would point out the houses with generators, and note how often the occupants would slip out their doors to refuel their growling engines. They would point out the packs of haggard canines, and point out their pack hierarchy as if they were safari guides describing mysterious denizen of the African plains. Each conversation was carried out in soft whispers, despite the fact that our positions were unmistakable. Our subtle conversations weren’t based on tactical necessity, they just seemed appropriate in the silvery light of a desert moon. After a few hours I returned to the pink classroom that served as our CP and settled into a restless sleep.

     The next morning announced its arrival with waves of burnt orange that seemed to crash against the horizon like waves breaking on a reef. The fiery light of dawn leeched into the Eastern sky like dye spreading in a still water, and eventually the colors condensed into the bright eye of morning. The soft light did little to improve the local aesthetics, the area around our position still seemed raw and unfinished. The one and two story homes in the vicinity were in various stages of decay, and they all shared the same general look of disrepair. The slipshod appearance had little to do with economic prospects, there were several glittering cars sitting outside some of the careworn buildings bearing testament to their owners financial acumen. There just seemed to be an unspoken agreement that the aesthetic qualities of a home were secondary to convenience.

     As the day wore on the driving ban went into effect, and as it did the streets started filling with laughing kids playing riotous games of soccer. The kids would carry out random pieces of garbage to serve as goals, select their teams, and start boisterous games back and forth along the empty asphalt. We conducted several dismounted patrols with the POB soldiers to secure the local area, but other then the children playing soccer the area seemed strangely vacant.

     The highlight of the morning was watching the antics of an midget donkey just outside our security perimeter.  Physically the donkey was a rather plain animal, standing a shade higher then a Great Dane. But it wasn’t the donkey’s small stature that attracted so much attention, it was the creatures ridiculous displays of territorialism. It didn’t matter what wandered into the little donkey’s patch of dusty earth – if it came into range the bitter little animal bared its ridiculously blunt teeth and charged like a Spanish bull. The little animal seemed to lack any real maliciousness, choosing to butt its victims instead of trampling them under it gangly hooves, but that just made its ridiculous attacks all the more amusing. Regardless of whether the victim was a chicken, a stray dog, or a small child the donkey’s tactics remained the same. As the prey approached the donkey would bow its head and act like it was grazing on the dead underbrush. As the target drew closer the little donkey would bend its knobby knees as if it were attempting a feeble imitation of a jungle cat. When the victim was in range the donkey would make an ungainly leap into the air and clumsily gallop towards its cross species rival. I can think of no less fearsome sight then a temperamental midget donkey, but somehow the little animal managed to ward off all rivals.

     By the afternoon the election officials arrived in a sputtering column of ancient cars and trucks. As they stepped out of their vehicles they nervously scanned the area, their heads craning about like a frightened herd of elk. As they took in their surroundings their gaze seemed to settle on the array of armored vehicles and weapons ringing the compound. Their eyes darted from vehicle to vehicle and from position to position, and as they did their nervous ticks dropped away like a winter coat. Emboldened by the unyielding forces deployed around them the election officials started to download equipment off the overburdened trucks. For almost an hour a steady stream of material spilled into the school, and when they were finished the lower floors were awash in cardboard boxes. The officials took a few moments to rest in the wide hallways, and for the next few minutes they splayed out across the haphazard array of cardboard. Eventually one of the lead officials got them all moving again, and the motley assortment of workers started setting up the polling site. I found it mildly ironic that the cardboard boxes were filled with… cardboard.  The officials took the folded sheets of cardboard and quickly slotted them together into individual polling booths. It was a little like watching a display of origami writ large, and it was repeated over and over until several classrooms were lined with cardboard booths the size of an Egyptian sarcophagi. It was strange to think that in these narrow boxes, little bigger then a child’s play fort, the next chapter in Iraq's history would unfold.

     After all the preparations were complete the election officials gathered into a small room and drank steaming cups of tea the rest of the afternoon.  The officials didn’t share any common uniform, they were dressed in a mixture of western and traditional garb. In fact the only evidence they were election officials were the laminated identification cards each official wore around their neck. If you squinted your eyes to blur the bright identification cards they could have passed for a random gathering of friends chatting about old times. As I watched them casually rest behind our curtain of security I had to smile, their lackadaisical posture was proof positive that our mission was succeeding. During the last two elections the election officials flatly refused to show up for fear of their lives, but now they were lounging around the election site without a care in the world.

     As the sun settled low in the sky I breathed a sigh of relief, our second day had passed without incident. All that was left was the big day…the day Iraq would become a true democracy.

Elections - Part II

        With the POB elements safely ensconced between our armored vehicles we began the movement to the election sites.  The movement was as short as it was uneventful, a testament to the professionalism of the anti-IED sweep by the Buffalo and its security detachment.  As we approached the first polling site our convoy started to transform with an almost organic grace.  In a matter of seconds our reed thin column started to form a dense knot of force, growing and swelling like an enormous, hollow fruit.  Just as the boundaries of this vicious wall of armor started to fill the dusty field the POB pulled into the middle of the swollen circlet.  As they pulled into the epicenter of our armored cocoon the chrysalis cracked and the formation folded into its next form.  The outer rings of vehicles peeled away, splintering into their overwatch positions.  What they left behind was a single wall of armored vehicles with the vulnerable POB serving as the kernel seed.  As soon as the last overwatch vehicle shuttled away our heavy doors swung open and troops pounded out, fanning out to secure the staging area.  Once all the overwatch positions were in place and the staging area was secure elements of the POB linked up with our Soldiers and started clearing the election site.  The radio hummed with clipped traffic as troops cleared through the classrooms and called up their reports, and in a handful of minutes the site had been secured. 

     With the sites secure our Soldiers started to stream into the enormous school and start the laborious process of turning a school into a fortified security position.  I spent a few minutes watching our NCOs position heavy weapons and set up the communication relays, and then I moved back to the powerful HEMMT wrecker.  Although the wrecker wasn’t a combat vehicle it was key to our long term survival, because it was the only vehicle capable of moving the concrete barriers into blocking positions.  I spent the next several hours leading the wrecker to our outer security positions to set up the concrete revetments.  As we approached each site the crew would dismount, affix the wrecker’s powerful crane to the concrete k-rail and deftly move it into position.  Although each concrete k-rail weighed several tons the practiced crews moved them like they were oversize children’s toys, easily slinging them into blocking positions.  By late morning the wrecker crew had finished setting the barriers into place, and from that moment on the area was no longer a school.  It was a fortress.

      With the outer perimeter in place I released the wrecker back to the FOB to assist other units and moved back to the school to check on our inner perimeter.  Our Soldiers had used their time wisely, by time I returned to the school the battle positions were hardened and the first guard rotation was scanning their perimeters.  I walked to each position to double check their work, and finding no fault I called over my terp and headed a few classrooms over to where the POB were staged.  Although showing up at the appointed hit time was a good indicator I was still uncertain about the tactical proficiency of the POB forces, and as I was walking over to their position I asked my terp, Black Sheep, for his take on our compatriots.

       Black Sheep is far and away the best terp in our Battalion, his tenure as an interpreter for combat units stretches back to the early days of OIF I.  More then a few terps flatly refused to work with our company because of the dangerous area we patrol, and several others have quit after surviving an IED strike.  But not Black Sheep.  Black Sheep has been through so many IEDs that even he has lost count, and yet he still happily jumps into my vehicle every time I head into sector.  After spending year after year working with American forces Black Sheep has gained an almost intuitive sense for what questions I am going to ask, and as soon as the question left my lips he was ready with an answer.  Black Sheep stopped in his tracks, turned to face me and said “most of this POB force just graduated basic training, but they are very excited to be here”.  With that in mind we walked over to the Lieutenant in charge of the POB forces and started integrating our security positions.

      After exchanging pleasantries the POB officer gave me a run down of his personnel and equipment and how he had initially arrayed his forces.  After he had given me the information I paused for a moment, waiting for the Iraqi LT to start his litany of supply requests.  The silence seemed to yawn out, and as it started to become awkward I turned to Black Sheep and asked why he wasn’t demanding equipment.  Black Sheep turned to me and said “I don’t know sir, let me ask”.  After a brief exchange Black Sheep turned to me and said “The LT has several shortages, but before he asks he wants to ensure his security positions are in the right location”.  I’m not sure what answer I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that one.  I silently chastised myself for being so jaded, and started towards the areas I wanted the Iraqis to occupy.  As we walked to the first set of positions I felt utterly bewildered, and for the first time I started to question some of my preconceptions about their tactical utility.  Once we were overlooking the area I wanted them to overwatch I explained my intent and asked the LT to show me where he planned to arrange his forces.  Once Black Sheep finished translating the LT looked around for a few seconds and then pointed out two positions.  The first location was tactically perfect, a commanding position with perfect views over the main avenues of approach.  The second was tactically sound, but slightly off my assessment of the best location.  His choices weren’t perfect, but they showed that he had a firm working knowledge of defensive positions.  I spent a few minutes coaching him on some of the nuances of defensive arrays, and why his forces in the second position would best be moved to another location.  The LT listened attentively and concurred with my assessment, and as we walked to the next position he barked out orders to his soldiers.  We walked from point to point, with the LT pointing out positions and asking for my assessment.  Most of his choices were well made, and when he made mistakes I quietly pointed out where he might want to set up instead.  Each time I offered a suggestion he readily agreed, and by time we moved to the second site he was choosing strong tactical positions.

      Once the Iraqis were busy setting in their own positions I headed to the pink walled classroom that was serving as my makeshift CP and started to settle in.  The headquarters element had done an impressive job, and I spent the next hour getting updates on events in the battalion sector.

       By time I was briefed up on the latest intel the dust started to dance across the tile floors in tune with the heavy throb of approaching tanks.  That could mean only one thing… dinner had arrived.  I headed over to one of the security positions and sure enough the tanks rolled in escorting a LMTV loaded with mermites (the insulated containers holding hot meals).  By time I clambered down the steps the 1LT Mo and 1SG Nascar had started unloading the mermites and arranging the chow line.  Setting in defensive positions is hard labor, and in seconds our troops started appearing to assist with downloading the vehicles.  I chatted with the XO and 1SG a few minutes and by time we wrapped up company business the chow line was up and running.  The XO and 1SG finished going over a few key items and then jumped back into the LMTV and prepared to head back to the FOB with the M1 escort. 

       Meanwhile SGT Bard and SPC Spartan were happily ladling out steaming scoops of rice and chicken onto long line of plastic plates.  The troops held out their plates like Buddhist monks seeking alms, until the plastic dishes looked like the steep sided slopes of a steaming volcano. After everyone was served I grabbed a plate and served myself.  The food was nothing spectacular, but it was hot and pleasantly satisfying.  Once we finished we started serving the Iraqi soldiers.  They seemed to have taken their cues from our Soldiers, and they happily piled their plates high with food.  The thoughtful DFAC crew had sent a mermite full of red jello, and watching the Iraqis poke and prod the wobbling scarlet cubes had me laughing outright.  Finally one of the Iraqis grabbed one of the cubes and popped it in his mouth.  As he chewed on the jello his grimace melted into a wide smile, and he quickly asked for more.  From then on every POB soldier giddily asked for large portions of jello to accompany their meal.  By time everyone was served there was still plenty of chicken and rice… but the jello had disappeared.

Elections - Part 1

     As our lead elements turned into sector I started to laugh at the absurd amount of military might rumbling into our AO.  Our normal patrols carry a fearsome amount of weaponry, but this was something altogether different.  The point element was composed entirely of M1 tanks and the impregnable Buffalo IED clearing vehicle, as they cleared the road ahead of us the resembled nothing more then the armored prow of an icebreaker.  Their appointed task was to keep a watchful eye for the insidious IEDs that seem to metastasize along our routes.  Their titanic weight and their powerful engines seemed to bleed through the asphalt in trembling crests, a microquake with the convoy at its epicenter.  They slowly moved out of sight, and eventually  even the sound of their titanic engines was subsumed in the low din of morning.

       A few minutes later our election day convoy moved out, a sinewy strip of armor and weaponry.   The armored flanks of our element glinted in the morning light, as bright and hard as the scales of a storybook dragon.  Our grim parade of vehicles were led out by the low, angry profile of M1 tanks,  whose slewing turrets whispered hymns of hydraulic force.  Following behind were a knot of M113s and armored HMMWVS, their irregular silhouettes studding the road like dull metallic beads.  Sandwiched in between our bellowing war machines was the lanky profile of a HEMMT wrecker, its lines still sleek and graceful despite the thick slabs of armor plating its sides.  It was an awesome spectacle, made all the more impressive by our mission.  This assemblage had only one purpose – secure an election site in one of the worst areas in Southern Baghdad.

       Our final destination was two nondescript schools sitting smack dab in the middle of our sector.  The Iraqi election officials had turned a blind eye towards the entire region during the last elections out of fear for their personal safety.  To ensure the citizens would have the opportunity to vote in this election we were assigned with the task of living on the polling sites in the run up to elections.

       But that of course, was our final destination.  Our first hurdle was to link up with the Iraqi Public Order Battalion that would live with us on the election sites.  As we pulled into the link up area I glanced at my watch and wondered aloud how long we would have to wait for the POB element to arrive.  This was our first time working with this specific POB element, but if they stayed true to experience I figured we would be waiting quite some time.  As the linkup time approached I noticed several HMMWVs speeding down the road followed by the POB’s white and blue chevy trucks.  As they stopped and linked up with our rear security I looked at my watch in disbelief… they had made the hit time!       As I glanced at the POB element sitting there in their standard issue 4 door light pickup trucks I almost laughed, they seemed to be a cross between a college road trip and a collection of Chinese acrobats.  It wasn’t the vehicles themselves; the trucks all shared the standard paint scheme of brilliant blue and gleaming white, and they are all crowned with the perennially flashing blue and red police light bar.   What made me want to break into laughter was the sheer amount of personnel and equipment they managed to cram into a single vehicle.  Each cab was crammed with six to seven POB soldiers huddled together as tightly as a coiled spring.  They were so tightly packed that when you looked into the cab you couldn’t identify individual occupants, it just seemed like a collection of limbs and heads were sprouting out of a crumpled pile of uniforms.  The beds of the trucks were equally overloaded.  In the middle of each POB truck bed you will usually find a 4 foot high weapons pedestal to mount an RPK machine gun.  The vehicles were so overloaded with vehicles and gear, all piled in one tottering mound, that the entire pedestal was buried.  As if that yawning height weren't enough several intrepid POB soldiers were clambering on the piles like strange mountaineers.  The majority of their bodies seemed to be hanging off the vehicle, but they managed to balance there in defiance of all known laws of gravity.   

    Despite their cluttered vehicles they looked excited and ready to move to the election center, and once we finished our link up we moved into town to secure the election site.

2005 Weblog Awards

     Voting has ended for the "Best Military Blog" in the 2005 Annual Weblog Awards.  Congratuations Blackfive!  It was an honor to even be considered, and I'd like to thank every reader who took the time to vote.   

And on the subject of voting.....
Ends up the Weblog Awards aren't the only Milblog contest, "365 and a Wakeup" is also in the running for a "Milbloggie" at Milblogging.com.  All you have to do is register, click on my site link, and “Add To Favorites.”  It takes less then 2 minutes (and for the record enlisting the aid of coworkers/family/friends isn't cheating) .  You can't help Killer Company secure the Iraqi elections sites these next few days, but only you can make sure this election goes well!

Filling in the Blanks

     After recent successes in our Company Sector our AO (Area of Operations) was expanded to include some of the scattered farms on the outskirts of our sector.  After spending hours sitting down with our key leaders and mapping out infiltration routes we set the plan into action. The new area is a rugged mix of fertile farms and pastures wrenched back from mankind’s guiding hand - all interlaced with scattered homes, stagnant pools, and reed choked canals…  

     When I get all my soldiers home I will start to fill in the blanks, how our soldiers rolled up sniper cells, coordinated artillery and close air support, engaged in some of the fiercest fighting to date, and foiled and survived the insidious IEDs laid in sector.  But for now that will have to wait until the endgame. Once the elections are over we will start our transition home, ending an 18 month rotation. Rest assured I will fill in the blanks when time permits.