On my Time in Iraq
I was listening to CNN November 2, 2008, and they were reporting from Times Square on an event for veterans of the Iraq and Afghanistan wars. They talked with one fellow who was in the fight in Fallujah in Iraq, the major battle that ultimately resulted in the city being retaken by the marines. This particular veteran received the Silver Star and Bronze Star and has been nominated for the Congressional Medal of Honor for his actions in that battle. He said that veterans will never be the same as a result of the war simply for having been there. Even if they “never went outside the wire [left the confines of the secure area] of the FOB [Forward Operating Base]” they will be forever effected by the experience. I thought about what he had said and related it to what I had learned from my time in Iraq. I knew that what he said was true. I also knew that there is more to waging a war and helping secure the aftermath than most people realize or want to know. It is precisely this lack of full appreciation for what is involved, a naiveté of sorts, on the part of our recent leadership that caused us to become mired in an unfortunate and complex engagement in a part of the world we really know very little about. That is when I knew that I could now and indeed must, write about my experiences in Iraq. Not just the experiences with the dangerous situations, but the overall experience of a modern war, the costs and logistics, and attempts to reconstruct a society devastated by the carnage.
There are two things that permanently affected my outlook and my psyche. The first is the unwitting waste of phenomenal amounts of money on efforts which were guaranteed to fail or at best, not survive our occupation there. On this point I can only speak with authority about the undertaking in the Rule of Law area. The second thing that has affected me is what everyone asks about and is most concerned about; the danger of being there. This was pushed more to the back of my mind but was yanked to the forefront again by the vet I listened to on CNN. I will discuss this first.
There are two things that permanently affected my outlook and my psyche. The first is the unwitting waste of phenomenal amounts of money on efforts which were guaranteed to fail or at best, not survive our occupation there. On this point I can only speak with authority about the undertaking in the Rule of Law area. The second thing that has affected me is what everyone asks about and is most concerned about; the danger of being there. This was pushed more to the back of my mind but was yanked to the forefront again by the vet I listened to on CNN. I will discuss this first.
I.
The required two weeks of courses in the greater Washington D.C. area were designed to give every person deployed to Iraq or Afghanistan the very minimal of information and skills necessary to adapt to what they would be seeing once in the theatre. There was a course on first aid to give basic information on how to react to injuries that may result from an attack. These included instruction on where we would find medical supplies in the various buildings and what to do if we were not in such a place. Basic trauma response. Tourniquets, when and how to use them, writing on the persons forehead with the date and time it was applied, etc. Methods to stop various types of bleeding. Who to treat first when there were multiple injuries, including making difficult decisions on priorities. And other more ordinary first aid responses.
There was a class in recognizing situations where we might be targeted. These were designed to increase our situational awareness. We were taught what things might be unusual and how to remain alert at all times for unusual things. We were told to alter times and routes of travel to regular venues. As part of this exercise we traveled in groups to and from a location while being stalked by several police instructors who were trying to plan an attack on our vehicles. What became clear to me as a result of this exercise was that it is nearly impossible to identify such dangers if the stalkers have enough intelligence and manpower. Finally we had a defensive driving course designed to teach basic emergency driving techniques in the unlikely event that we would ever be in such circumstances.
I understood the usefulness and the necessity of the courses while taking them. Kaz, because he was coming for a short time, was excepted out of the courses and it took him a long painful week to adjust to what was happening around him. It was not that he was afraid; to the contrary, he lacked the full appreciation of the circumstances to be cautious when he needed to be. Several trips to a duck and cover bunker had a way of creating a situational awareness where one was lacking. Kaz left a different person than when he came.
I understood the usefulness and the necessity of the courses while taking them. Kaz, because he was coming for a short time, was excepted out of the courses and it took him a long painful week to adjust to what was happening around him. It was not that he was afraid; to the contrary, he lacked the full appreciation of the circumstances to be cautious when he needed to be. Several trips to a duck and cover bunker had a way of creating a situational awareness where one was lacking. Kaz left a different person than when he came.
Chatting with a colleague on street in Green Zone
The first months were largely quiet with only a very few incoming rockets into the Green Zone. We traveled outside the Green Zone with either private PSD (Personal Security Detail) teams or military PSD teams. They always did what we were told they would do: advise us of the route to be taken, instruct on the equipment in the vehicle, either an up-armored (armored) Suburban or an up-armored Humvee, instruct on what to do if we came under attack, etc. The units consisted of twelve armed soldiers or private PSD forces, and four armed and armored vehicles. The private PSD teams used an additional two or more scout cars which were manned by masked Iraqis often Kurds, who were armed but in soft (unarmored) vehicles. Together with all other personnel we wore helmet and flak jacket – body armor, often called hard gear or battle rattle. The flak jackets were equipped with Kevlar or metal plates in front and back and weighed around thirty or forty pounds.
The first months were largely quiet with only a very few incoming rockets into the Green Zone. We traveled outside the Green Zone with either private PSD (Personal Security Detail) teams or military PSD teams. They always did what we were told they would do: advise us of the route to be taken, instruct on the equipment in the vehicle, either an up-armored (armored) Suburban or an up-armored Humvee, instruct on what to do if we came under attack, etc. The units consisted of twelve armed soldiers or private PSD forces, and four armed and armored vehicles. The private PSD teams used an additional two or more scout cars which were manned by masked Iraqis often Kurds, who were armed but in soft (unarmored) vehicles. Together with all other personnel we wore helmet and flak jacket – body armor, often called hard gear or battle rattle. The flak jackets were equipped with Kevlar or metal plates in front and back and weighed around thirty or forty pounds. Preparing for a trip to a court.
Man in uniform is an Air Force Lawyer
The trips were always intense by the very nature of the exercise. The scout cars’ job was to clear traffic. The military PSDs often used helicopters to give advice on traffic patterns etc. to the military PSDs. The scout car occupants would often exit their cars and, weapons in hand, walk through traffic moving vehicles aside so the PSD team could get through. Stopping was a critical incident. No one wanted to be sitting in traffic in such circumstances. Moving targets are more difficult to hit than stationary ones. The goal always was to keep moving. If going on the opposite side of the street, even across a median, would keep us moving, that is what they did. All in all it was a very tense and, from an Iraqi civilian’s point of view, offensive undertaking. The objective was to get us safely to our destination.
There was one place in particular that was always a concern to me as well as the PSD teams. On the street leading to Rusafa, FOB Shield and the Ministry of Interior, it was necessary to pass under an overpass where two streets intersected. It was tunnel-like and constricted. Above the entrance and exit to this underpass, the crossing street passed and was flanked by sidewalks which overlooked the street below; the one we traveled. Sometimes the PSD teams would wait outside for traffic to clear and then speed through. There was always a danger during the time that the team was waiting. It was possible to wait at a traffic circle on the trip back which had the advantage of an Iraqi policeman to stop all traffic while we waited. It also was situated in a way that allowed the vehicle with principles – us – to move even if slightly to make targeting more difficult. In those instances (and similarly in other parts of the city), the other PSD vehicles would pull alongside and protect the principles’ vehicle from the most obvious source of a threat. Nothing was perfect, but the teams were extremely well trained and cautious. They were supported by TOCs (tactical operations centers) at the Embassy or elsewhere who advised of anticipated dangers and were in radio and other contact, such as GPS, with the teams. Some teams would simple move through the underpass as fast as they could after clearing as much traffic as possible, but without stopping.
The trips were always intense by the very nature of the exercise. The scout cars’ job was to clear traffic. The military PSDs often used helicopters to give advice on traffic patterns etc. to the military PSDs. The scout car occupants would often exit their cars and, weapons in hand, walk through traffic moving vehicles aside so the PSD team could get through. Stopping was a critical incident. No one wanted to be sitting in traffic in such circumstances. Moving targets are more difficult to hit than stationary ones. The goal always was to keep moving. If going on the opposite side of the street, even across a median, would keep us moving, that is what they did. All in all it was a very tense and, from an Iraqi civilian’s point of view, offensive undertaking. The objective was to get us safely to our destination.There was one place in particular that was always a concern to me as well as the PSD teams. On the street leading to Rusafa, FOB Shield and the Ministry of Interior, it was necessary to pass under an overpass where two streets intersected. It was tunnel-like and constricted. Above the entrance and exit to this underpass, the crossing street passed and was flanked by sidewalks which overlooked the street below; the one we traveled. Sometimes the PSD teams would wait outside for traffic to clear and then speed through. There was always a danger during the time that the team was waiting. It was possible to wait at a traffic circle on the trip back which had the advantage of an Iraqi policeman to stop all traffic while we waited. It also was situated in a way that allowed the vehicle with principles – us – to move even if slightly to make targeting more difficult. In those instances (and similarly in other parts of the city), the other PSD vehicles would pull alongside and protect the principles’ vehicle from the most obvious source of a threat. Nothing was perfect, but the teams were extremely well trained and cautious. They were supported by TOCs (tactical operations centers) at the Embassy or elsewhere who advised of anticipated dangers and were in radio and other contact, such as GPS, with the teams. Some teams would simple move through the underpass as fast as they could after clearing as much traffic as possible, but without stopping.
Walking to a court
We entered buildings the same way. We never got out of the vehicles ourselves. Strict instructions were that we waited for the PSD team member to open the doors. There was a procedure. The team members would get out of their vehicles and do a quick check of the area. Two would post themselves on either side of our vehicle and wait for the others to give an all clear. Only then would they open the doors for us to exit. Then they would always lead as we walked into the building. Our preference was to take our body armor off before entering buildings so as to present a more normal demeanor to our counterparts. Sometimes the PSD Team Leader would require us to remain in body armor until we reached our destination within the building. They would also enter any room we were scheduled to have a meeting and check it before allowing us to enter. Even then, there was an incident where a bomb went off and killed an international who was meeting with a judge.
There was one occasion when our interpreter Aubakr and I were meeting with some Iraqi court officials; the IT Director and one of her assistants. We had a discussion in one of the courts in a part of the city which was secure but dangerous. This area I suppose could be contrasted from neighborhoods like Sadr City where we did not go at all, although we had gone to the edge of Sadr City to visit the Judicial Training Center. But this court was in an area where conflict among the local factions often occurred as well as attacks on American military.
I had traveled with some of the PSD team before, in particular the team leader and medic, a tall black man with a distinct British accent. He wore a bandana covering what may well have been dredlocks. A British flag adorned his vest. He gave us the usual run down. "If we are incapacitated press the red button... If we have to break out of the vehicle, these are the tools.... If I am out of the vehicle and there are injuries throw out my bag .... " and so on.
In orchestrated form the vehicles moved out from our Green Zone pick-up point in a line, all of them, led by two scout vehicles - soft cars driven by masked people who speak the local tongue. The unit weaved and wound, each vehicle covering for the next with particular attention to ours. We were the principals. Sirens blared and men hung out of the chase cars with orange flags waving. Police stopped traffic and cleared paths in traffic jams. The team was tense when we had to wait in traffic congestion. A scout car passenger exited and urged cars to pull over to make a path through the stalled traffic. It was a scene right out of a plottless violent B movie.
We entered buildings the same way. We never got out of the vehicles ourselves. Strict instructions were that we waited for the PSD team member to open the doors. There was a procedure. The team members would get out of their vehicles and do a quick check of the area. Two would post themselves on either side of our vehicle and wait for the others to give an all clear. Only then would they open the doors for us to exit. Then they would always lead as we walked into the building. Our preference was to take our body armor off before entering buildings so as to present a more normal demeanor to our counterparts. Sometimes the PSD Team Leader would require us to remain in body armor until we reached our destination within the building. They would also enter any room we were scheduled to have a meeting and check it before allowing us to enter. Even then, there was an incident where a bomb went off and killed an international who was meeting with a judge.There was one occasion when our interpreter Aubakr and I were meeting with some Iraqi court officials; the IT Director and one of her assistants. We had a discussion in one of the courts in a part of the city which was secure but dangerous. This area I suppose could be contrasted from neighborhoods like Sadr City where we did not go at all, although we had gone to the edge of Sadr City to visit the Judicial Training Center. But this court was in an area where conflict among the local factions often occurred as well as attacks on American military.
I had traveled with some of the PSD team before, in particular the team leader and medic, a tall black man with a distinct British accent. He wore a bandana covering what may well have been dredlocks. A British flag adorned his vest. He gave us the usual run down. "If we are incapacitated press the red button... If we have to break out of the vehicle, these are the tools.... If I am out of the vehicle and there are injuries throw out my bag .... " and so on.
In orchestrated form the vehicles moved out from our Green Zone pick-up point in a line, all of them, led by two scout vehicles - soft cars driven by masked people who speak the local tongue. The unit weaved and wound, each vehicle covering for the next with particular attention to ours. We were the principals. Sirens blared and men hung out of the chase cars with orange flags waving. Police stopped traffic and cleared paths in traffic jams. The team was tense when we had to wait in traffic congestion. A scout car passenger exited and urged cars to pull over to make a path through the stalled traffic. It was a scene right out of a plottless violent B movie.
We arrived at the court. Abu and I took our gear off before exiting. We wanted to appear to our hosts as normal as possible. Our small private army escorted us, weapons at the ready. The hallway was politely cleared by our armed companions. We met the judge, but he was not who we were there to see. After exchanging pleasantries, we proceeded to a computer room where we were joined by the IT manager for the Iraqi courts and one of her assistants. She is a woman who I came to know and fully respect for her direct firmness and pleasant smile. We had come to view a software system installed with US dollars a few years earlier. The meeting went well in certain respects and not so well in others, but we were always pleasant and always making progress. The guards stood sentry at the door.
Just as we neared an end point to the meeting our PSD team leader, head wrapped in a black scarf, entered the room holding our hard gear (PPE, personal protection equipment, helmet and vest). As unobtrusively as he could not then be, he whispered that a bomb had gone off two hundred meters away and we were leaving. The cardinal rule is that the PSD team leader is in charge - always. If he says it is time to go, then it is time to go. No arguments or last few words. We put our gear on and thanked our hosts.
Just as we neared an end point to the meeting our PSD team leader, head wrapped in a black scarf, entered the room holding our hard gear (PPE, personal protection equipment, helmet and vest). As unobtrusively as he could not then be, he whispered that a bomb had gone off two hundred meters away and we were leaving. The cardinal rule is that the PSD team leader is in charge - always. If he says it is time to go, then it is time to go. No arguments or last few words. We put our gear on and thanked our hosts.
This was the first time that I have been in a situation where the intensity of everyone, the PSD team in particular, was elevated several notches. As we walked down the hallway, a man tried to pass a paper to another man, possibly his lawyer, by reaching in front of us as we approached. Our armed escort pushed the man's arm back and said, "excuse us please." Always professional, but direct and authoritative we were led to the car. No stopping, no wasted motion. Once inside the cars, in practiced form, we sped from the court compound and down the streets. Within minutes we were a safe distance and the team leader briefed us as best he could. An explosion had occurred very close to the court. We had not heard it but the US military was on the scene and we needed to be quickly evacuated. After all was done and we were safely back in the Green Zone and walking back to the Embassy, carrying hard gear, as so many do in that area, it quickly became business as usual
On another occasion, we visited the Rusafa Court. Inside the building there was an open area extending up to the second floor. The staircase was located in this area. There was a balcony around above the vestibule below. As we entered, I looked up to see two members of our PSD team already stationed on the balcony. It was as though we had occupied the building. There, with long guns at the ready, bodies draped in extra clips and various other types of smaller hand held weapons, helmet secured, stood part of our team. It appeared that we had our own army of mercenaries, and in fact we did.
Tee Walls along a Baghdad Street
In order to make travel safer, nearly all streets in the Green Zone are bordered by tee walls. Tee walls are concrete wall sections with a “T” base. They are assembled like inverted “Ts” They are usually twelve feet high, about one foot thick, eight feet wide and interlock to form a solid impenetrable wall of concrete. Tee walls are even used outside the Green Zone to protect heavily traveled routes. Route Irish from the airport is tee walled for several kilometers. Much of that section is being transformed into murals by local artists. Sadr City has been divided by a long tee wall to keep insurgents confined. It is hard to get
In order to make travel safer, nearly all streets in the Green Zone are bordered by tee walls. Tee walls are concrete wall sections with a “T” base. They are assembled like inverted “Ts” They are usually twelve feet high, about one foot thick, eight feet wide and interlock to form a solid impenetrable wall of concrete. Tee walls are even used outside the Green Zone to protect heavily traveled routes. Route Irish from the airport is tee walled for several kilometers. Much of that section is being transformed into murals by local artists. Sadr City has been divided by a long tee wall to keep insurgents confined. It is hard to get Baghdad Street in the Red Zone the flavor of the city when so much of it is 
obscured behind tee walls. What is visible is not unlike any large city, with storefronts and markets. People move about in cars; a few in other modes of transport such as motor cycles. The dress is everything from western to typical Arab dress. Some women are covered in black burkes others wear western dress. Nothing looks prosperous. The results of war are everywhere.
obscured behind tee walls. What is visible is not unlike any large city, with storefronts and markets. People move about in cars; a few in other modes of transport such as motor cycles. The dress is everything from western to typical Arab dress. Some women are covered in black burkes others wear western dress. Nothing looks prosperous. The results of war are everywhere. *******
But that was when we moved (traveled to outside the Green Zone). When we worked in the Embassy daily and walked from our hooches to the Palace it was very tranquil for several months. Ninety percent of my time was spent in the Embassy. There may have been a few incidents of rocket attacks but very infrequently and none ever hit in the area of the Palace. The Palace itself was an imposing structure. Easily two city blocks long and two stories high. It falls somewhere between beautiful, ostentatious and garish. The ornate hand painted ceilings and door trim were works of art. The plastic crystal looking chandeliers everywhere were overkill. The building was obviously used for a combination of official business, with hallways of offices, and for official ceremonial events, with one huge ballroom and several smaller ones. All entrances were manned by the Peruvian forces hired by the contractor. The doors were all air-lock doors; that is you enter one door and get cleared by a guard before a second door is unlocked to let you pass through.
Back of Palace
All functions will move to a new purpose built Embassy down the street from the Palace, but until then the Palace serves as the American Embassy. The old American Embassy is next door to the Palace and is now a bombed out shell. The North end of the Palace is where the Ambassador’s office was located and where the military and other secure offices were located. The North end was once a huge ballroom but was divided into offices with eight foot walls for use by mostly military personnel. The ceiling is over twenty feet up. Statues line the walls about half way up the perimeter walls and everything is
ornate, except of course the temporary walls
built to give office space for the Americans. Great care was taken to insure that all the alterations made by the Americans during this several year temporary occupation of the building can be undone with minimal damage to the original structure. It will be for the Iraqis to decide what to do with the building after that. My bosses were in the North end of the Palace under the section with the private boxes that overlooked the ballroom. A couple of small offices were carved out of the grand entrance area for my supervisors. Every inch of space was used.
An airlock door separated this section of the Palace from the Middle section where several conference rooms were located and where the rotunda under the big green dome of the Palace is located. Marines check people into the North end and let people move back into the rest of the Palace. There was one long hallway down the front of the Palace from the middle section to the far South end. During sandstorms, a haze could be seen if looking from one end of the hallway to the other; a reminder that the air inside was only marginally more clear than the brown fog of the outside. It was in this hallway when, during the rocket attacks of late March and April of 2008, my boss and I were walking as the “duck and cover” alarm went off advising everyone to: “duck and cover, stay away from the windows.” We had been walking and talking and simply continued until we came to a place where we would be passing windows. The rocketing of the Green Zone had been going on for several days or weeks at that time. The “all clear” had not been announced over the loud speakers yet, so we stopped and continued our discussion. Several other people were also stopped waiting for the” all clear.” A woman standing next to T. suddenly broke into tears and literally slid down the wall into a crumpled pile, sobbing on the floor. We turned and watched; there was nothing we could do. Some people came to her assistance, helped her up and escorted her away. The all clear sounded and we proceeded on.
All functions will move to a new purpose built Embassy down the street from the Palace, but until then the Palace serves as the American Embassy. The old American Embassy is next door to the Palace and is now a bombed out shell. The North end of the Palace is where the Ambassador’s office was located and where the military and other secure offices were located. The North end was once a huge ballroom but was divided into offices with eight foot walls for use by mostly military personnel. The ceiling is over twenty feet up. Statues line the walls about half way up the perimeter walls and everything isornate, except of course the temporary walls
built to give office space for the Americans. Great care was taken to insure that all the alterations made by the Americans during this several year temporary occupation of the building can be undone with minimal damage to the original structure. It will be for the Iraqis to decide what to do with the building after that. My bosses were in the North end of the Palace under the section with the private boxes that overlooked the ballroom. A couple of small offices were carved out of the grand entrance area for my supervisors. Every inch of space was used.An airlock door separated this section of the Palace from the Middle section where several conference rooms were located and where the rotunda under the big green dome of the Palace is located. Marines check people into the North end and let people move back into the rest of the Palace. There was one long hallway down the front of the Palace from the middle section to the far South end. During sandstorms, a haze could be seen if looking from one end of the hallway to the other; a reminder that the air inside was only marginally more clear than the brown fog of the outside. It was in this hallway when, during the rocket attacks of late March and April of 2008, my boss and I were walking as the “duck and cover” alarm went off advising everyone to: “duck and cover, stay away from the windows.” We had been walking and talking and simply continued until we came to a place where we would be passing windows. The rocketing of the Green Zone had been going on for several days or weeks at that time. The “all clear” had not been announced over the loud speakers yet, so we stopped and continued our discussion. Several other people were also stopped waiting for the” all clear.” A woman standing next to T. suddenly broke into tears and literally slid down the wall into a crumpled pile, sobbing on the floor. We turned and watched; there was nothing we could do. Some people came to her assistance, helped her up and escorted her away. The all clear sounded and we proceeded on.
Hooch
This was during the time when, because of the incessant and random rocket attacks, the Ambassador had ordered all personnel to remain under hard cover at all times. That meant that the housing units were abandoned and everyone was sleeping on cots in the Palace. In the daytime, people could go shower in their hooches, wearing hard gear to and from, but had to sleep and work inside the cover of the Palace. A great amount stress was created by these circumstances; living in cramped conditions on cots together with fellow employees, wearing body armor to go to meals or to shower, and rockets falling without warning.
My office was located at the far south end of the Palace, immediately south of a large room used for the Internet café for the troops and others, the library, and the Green Bean coffee shop. This is where the Ambassador and dignitaries like Condoleezza Rice would address the staff. The room from which my office was cut was once Saddam’s decision room. A large room which under American use, contained offices for perhaps as many as one hundred people. On the domed
ceiling were painted horses in a large circle against a background of clouds and blue sky. These represented the Arab tribes. On the east wall was a mural of a mosque, on the west wall the famous scud missiles with flames shooting from them, flying toward Iran. We worked in a room about twenty feet by twenty five feet; ten of us, plus a conference table. Well, usually only seven or eight of us, but when the guys who were out taking a one hundred percent inventory of one of the larger contractors were in Baghdad, we had ten. It was a crowded place to be, but we were under hard cover never worrying about the rocket attacks. We had no windows, so when the duck and cover 
alarm went off we just kept working. Even when the rocket hit the Embassy near the entrance we normally used, maybe two hundred feet from our office, we did comment that it sounded like a direct hit, but we kept working. Within seconds K. came rushing into the office to tell us it hit right where they were standing smoking. They came in, of course, when the C-RAM (Counter Rocket, Artillery, and Mortar) went off, but it was at that location.
I should explain the systems we had for warnings. One was a simple announcement over the intercom system which extended to many parts of the Green Zone where US personnel would be residing or working. This system reacted to rockets that had already landed. You may hear an explosion and then the announcement would come across the loud speaker; “duck and cover, get away from the windows….” The C-RAM system actually would pick up the rockets on radar and give a five second warning of its impact. “Incoming, incoming. Take cover;” followed by a boom.
The rule for the dining facility (DFAC) was to drop down and get under the tables. Our particular facility had a special hard cover. Sometimes we did get down, but usually, about half of us just kept eating. I do remember a time when my two bosses and I were having dinner and a large boom was heard out the window near us. The rocket hit half a block away. We all looked at each other and, without speaking, moved in unison, albeit slowly, to get under the table.
It started Easter Sunday. There were, I think, twelve or so separate attacks with several rockets in each. I wondered if it was just the type of reminder they had been giving us on holidays such as they did on Thanksgiving. Monday there were no attacks. I reasoned that my thinking was correct. Then came Tuesday and beyond. The attacks actually coincided with al-Maliki’s assaults on Basra and Sadr City, both at that time controlled by the Madhi Army of Shiite Muslim cleric Muqtada al-Sadr. Regardless, the attacks continued daily, dawn until dark. Ten, twelve or more a day. Three, four or more rockets in each attack. The Iranian rockets were launched from people’s backyards, school yards and other innocuous places where it would be difficult for the Americans to find and retaliate against the perpetrators. In addition, they used timed detonators so that the persons setting the rockets were long gone by the time they launched. Guidance was better than random, but not precise by any measure. The LZ (Landing Zone) Washington helicopter landing site three hundred yards from the south end of the Embassy where I worked, was hit several times, leading us to believe that it was being targeted.
This was during the time when, because of the incessant and random rocket attacks, the Ambassador had ordered all personnel to remain under hard cover at all times. That meant that the housing units were abandoned and everyone was sleeping on cots in the Palace. In the daytime, people could go shower in their hooches, wearing hard gear to and from, but had to sleep and work inside the cover of the Palace. A great amount stress was created by these circumstances; living in cramped conditions on cots together with fellow employees, wearing body armor to go to meals or to shower, and rockets falling without warning.My office was located at the far south end of the Palace, immediately south of a large room used for the Internet café for the troops and others, the library, and the Green Bean coffee shop. This is where the Ambassador and dignitaries like Condoleezza Rice would address the staff. The room from which my office was cut was once Saddam’s decision room. A large room which under American use, contained offices for perhaps as many as one hundred people. On the domed
ceiling were painted horses in a large circle against a background of clouds and blue sky. These represented the Arab tribes. On the east wall was a mural of a mosque, on the west wall the famous scud missiles with flames shooting from them, flying toward Iran. We worked in a room about twenty feet by twenty five feet; ten of us, plus a conference table. Well, usually only seven or eight of us, but when the guys who were out taking a one hundred percent inventory of one of the larger contractors were in Baghdad, we had ten. It was a crowded place to be, but we were under hard cover never worrying about the rocket attacks. We had no windows, so when the duck and cover 
alarm went off we just kept working. Even when the rocket hit the Embassy near the entrance we normally used, maybe two hundred feet from our office, we did comment that it sounded like a direct hit, but we kept working. Within seconds K. came rushing into the office to tell us it hit right where they were standing smoking. They came in, of course, when the C-RAM (Counter Rocket, Artillery, and Mortar) went off, but it was at that location.I should explain the systems we had for warnings. One was a simple announcement over the intercom system which extended to many parts of the Green Zone where US personnel would be residing or working. This system reacted to rockets that had already landed. You may hear an explosion and then the announcement would come across the loud speaker; “duck and cover, get away from the windows….” The C-RAM system actually would pick up the rockets on radar and give a five second warning of its impact. “Incoming, incoming. Take cover;” followed by a boom.
The rule for the dining facility (DFAC) was to drop down and get under the tables. Our particular facility had a special hard cover. Sometimes we did get down, but usually, about half of us just kept eating. I do remember a time when my two bosses and I were having dinner and a large boom was heard out the window near us. The rocket hit half a block away. We all looked at each other and, without speaking, moved in unison, albeit slowly, to get under the table.
It started Easter Sunday. There were, I think, twelve or so separate attacks with several rockets in each. I wondered if it was just the type of reminder they had been giving us on holidays such as they did on Thanksgiving. Monday there were no attacks. I reasoned that my thinking was correct. Then came Tuesday and beyond. The attacks actually coincided with al-Maliki’s assaults on Basra and Sadr City, both at that time controlled by the Madhi Army of Shiite Muslim cleric Muqtada al-Sadr. Regardless, the attacks continued daily, dawn until dark. Ten, twelve or more a day. Three, four or more rockets in each attack. The Iranian rockets were launched from people’s backyards, school yards and other innocuous places where it would be difficult for the Americans to find and retaliate against the perpetrators. In addition, they used timed detonators so that the persons setting the rockets were long gone by the time they launched. Guidance was better than random, but not precise by any measure. The LZ (Landing Zone) Washington helicopter landing site three hundred yards from the south end of the Embassy where I worked, was hit several times, leading us to believe that it was being targeted.
Ba'ath Party Headquarters from camp
Blackhawk camp, where I lived in a small compound operated by my employing agency, was literally in the parking lot of the Ba’ath Party Headquarters, now a bombed out shell. Saddam had been in the bunker under that structure during much of the initial campaign into Baghdad. A Tee wall separated our camp from the Iraqi special operations unit that used a salvaged portion of the former Ba’ath building. We learned that during the rocket attacks, an Iraqi was found on the roof of the headquarters building with antenna and radio equipment, ostensibly calling in coordinates. Targets other than the Embassy and the heliport included some Iraqi government 
officials’ homes along the Tigris River to the north of our camp, maybe a kilometer or so from us. I don’t know that the CSH (Combat Support Hospital) was a target, but it had several rockets fall in its parking lot or nearby. The CSH was two hundred yards from our camp. Phoenix base was also hit several times, once resulting in several military personnel being killed as they worked out in the gym.
I recall most of this time as a series of anecdotes, and perhaps my experience is best shared that way. On the Tuesday after Easter we walked to breakfast to the sight of a huge plume of billowing black smoke from behind the Embassy where the DFAC was located. The DFAC was unharmed but a warehouse behind the DFAC was hit by one of the early morning rockets we had heard from our beds. The next day one hit housing units behind the Embassy, one of which belonged to a friend of mine. He was not in it at the time. It was in these early days that one of the Embassy employees whose office was across the hall from mine, was killed in his hooch. Within a week or so there was a directive that all Mission Employees (those working in the Embassy under the greater umbrella of the Ambassador) were required to wear hard gear at all times while outside the Embassy compound and had to use the buddy system – no one walking alone. This directive also closed the Palace pool and outside MWR (morale, welfare and recreation) events. Employees were given the option to sleep in the Palace.
Gary and I had gone from the Embassy back to the camp one morning using the buddy system. He needed something and I did as well. There had been no rockets that morning. Before we could get back to the Embassy the attack started. We retreated to the duck and cover bunker in our camp. Better than most, our duck and cover bunker was equipped with benches along the sides and a light and fan. The benches were covered with dust, a testament to the lack of use of the bunker. It would be some time before the dust would settle there again. Made of concrete six inches thick and shaped like an upside-down “U” the bunkers provided cover from the blasts and flying shrapnel. Most, including ours, had short tee walls at the open ends so that all sides were fairly well covered.
We sat in rows along the sides of the bunker, facing each other, knees nearly touching, waiting for the all clear. We heard several blasts then silence. Finally the all clear sounded over the loud speakers positioned around us. Gary said he was not going back to the Embassy; without a “buddy” I could not go either. I went back to my hooch. Gary and Randy were playing Tiger Woods Golf in the MWR room on the TV there. Agnes went about her cleaning, others their own business. It was not long before another attack came; we followed the same routine scrambling to the bunker. We waited, the all clear sounded, and then another attack came. Although they had started late in the morning, there were more attacks that day than nearly any other.
We could hear them exploding around us, some near some farther away. At one point, Randy and I were sitting outside. I was smoking a cigar and drinking an aperitif in the late afternoon. The day had been a series of jaunts to the duck and cover bunker. I had my helmet near and my vest on. It was eerie when we heard the whistle of the rocket over our heads. It was as clear as if blown directly into our ears. We jumped simultaneously and ran to the bunker. Had we looked up, I am convinced we could have seen the rocket. As we entered the bunker we heard the blast. It was very close, perhaps at the CSH.
There was really no time nor reason to reflect on the happenings around us; simply react. It was not until I was sitting in Chester’s Cigar Bar at the Hotel Le Royal smoking a cigar and enjoying the last of a draft beer I had with my Caesar salad that I allowed my mind to reflect on what we had been through. Although it was then May, it was too cool to sit outside on the tenth floor veranda, but the glass could not mask the night lights of Amman as they rolled over the hills into the distance. A typical low rise sprawling Middle-eastern city of a couple million. Everything is the color of sand except those buildings painted white. The high desert of Amman reminds me a lot of Reno, Nevada.
Blackhawk camp, where I lived in a small compound operated by my employing agency, was literally in the parking lot of the Ba’ath Party Headquarters, now a bombed out shell. Saddam had been in the bunker under that structure during much of the initial campaign into Baghdad. A Tee wall separated our camp from the Iraqi special operations unit that used a salvaged portion of the former Ba’ath building. We learned that during the rocket attacks, an Iraqi was found on the roof of the headquarters building with antenna and radio equipment, ostensibly calling in coordinates. Targets other than the Embassy and the heliport included some Iraqi government 
officials’ homes along the Tigris River to the north of our camp, maybe a kilometer or so from us. I don’t know that the CSH (Combat Support Hospital) was a target, but it had several rockets fall in its parking lot or nearby. The CSH was two hundred yards from our camp. Phoenix base was also hit several times, once resulting in several military personnel being killed as they worked out in the gym.I recall most of this time as a series of anecdotes, and perhaps my experience is best shared that way. On the Tuesday after Easter we walked to breakfast to the sight of a huge plume of billowing black smoke from behind the Embassy where the DFAC was located. The DFAC was unharmed but a warehouse behind the DFAC was hit by one of the early morning rockets we had heard from our beds. The next day one hit housing units behind the Embassy, one of which belonged to a friend of mine. He was not in it at the time. It was in these early days that one of the Embassy employees whose office was across the hall from mine, was killed in his hooch. Within a week or so there was a directive that all Mission Employees (those working in the Embassy under the greater umbrella of the Ambassador) were required to wear hard gear at all times while outside the Embassy compound and had to use the buddy system – no one walking alone. This directive also closed the Palace pool and outside MWR (morale, welfare and recreation) events. Employees were given the option to sleep in the Palace.
Gary and I had gone from the Embassy back to the camp one morning using the buddy system. He needed something and I did as well. There had been no rockets that morning. Before we could get back to the Embassy the attack started. We retreated to the duck and cover bunker in our camp. Better than most, our duck and cover bunker was equipped with benches along the sides and a light and fan. The benches were covered with dust, a testament to the lack of use of the bunker. It would be some time before the dust would settle there again. Made of concrete six inches thick and shaped like an upside-down “U” the bunkers provided cover from the blasts and flying shrapnel. Most, including ours, had short tee walls at the open ends so that all sides were fairly well covered.
We sat in rows along the sides of the bunker, facing each other, knees nearly touching, waiting for the all clear. We heard several blasts then silence. Finally the all clear sounded over the loud speakers positioned around us. Gary said he was not going back to the Embassy; without a “buddy” I could not go either. I went back to my hooch. Gary and Randy were playing Tiger Woods Golf in the MWR room on the TV there. Agnes went about her cleaning, others their own business. It was not long before another attack came; we followed the same routine scrambling to the bunker. We waited, the all clear sounded, and then another attack came. Although they had started late in the morning, there were more attacks that day than nearly any other.
We could hear them exploding around us, some near some farther away. At one point, Randy and I were sitting outside. I was smoking a cigar and drinking an aperitif in the late afternoon. The day had been a series of jaunts to the duck and cover bunker. I had my helmet near and my vest on. It was eerie when we heard the whistle of the rocket over our heads. It was as clear as if blown directly into our ears. We jumped simultaneously and ran to the bunker. Had we looked up, I am convinced we could have seen the rocket. As we entered the bunker we heard the blast. It was very close, perhaps at the CSH.
There was really no time nor reason to reflect on the happenings around us; simply react. It was not until I was sitting in Chester’s Cigar Bar at the Hotel Le Royal smoking a cigar and enjoying the last of a draft beer I had with my Caesar salad that I allowed my mind to reflect on what we had been through. Although it was then May, it was too cool to sit outside on the tenth floor veranda, but the glass could not mask the night lights of Amman as they rolled over the hills into the distance. A typical low rise sprawling Middle-eastern city of a couple million. Everything is the color of sand except those buildings painted white. The high desert of Amman reminds me a lot of Reno, Nevada.
Soft American Jazz was playing; the decor distinctively British, although the hotel post-dates that era. It was designed to make Westerners feel comfortable. Other than a man and a woman in traditional Arab dress, the man in his Dishdashah with shumagg on his head, she wore an abayah, hejab on her head with her face exposed, the rest of the patrons could as easily have been in London, New York or Chicago.
I took a long draw; I blew the smoke toward the high heavily wooded ceiling. Nibbling on a nut from the dish in front of me I reflected on the recent events back in Baghdad. The reality began to sink in. The realization of the true essence of the danger we were in crept timidly and with great hesitation to the forefront of my mind. It finally occurred to me that the difference between us and those who had been killed or injured by the incessant attacks was a matter of luck. The rockets had fallen where they were instead of where we were. We heard them, they felt them. The rockets shook the ground near us, the ragged steel shrapnel tore through their bodies. All because they were hit and we were not. They were neither more nor less a specific target than we were. I quickly decided that these were things I would not want to dwell on for long, nor in any great depth. I swept the thoughts back to where they had been safely kept until then. I crushed the last inch of cigar into the ash tray. I drained the glass of the remaining beer. The waiter came rushing to my side, obsequious in his offer to fulfill my further needs. I asked for the check, signed it, and returned to my room.
After the employee was killed in his hooch and other housing units were hit by rockets, a directive was issued requiring employees to wear hard gear at all times while outside and all employees would be required to sleep under hard cover, i.e. the Palace, and no one could drive in or ride in anything other than a hard (armored) car. All movements outside the Green Zone were indefinitely cancelled. The only people allowed into the Green Zone from BIAP were essential employees. Work became whatever could be done inside the Embassy and over the computer.
Compound villa
Cots were issued to all employees and people began finding places in their offices, in the hallways anywhere they could to sleep at night. I slept one night in my office with my suite mates. The cot gave me a terrible back ache, the women in another office found it desirable or necessary to stay awake and talk and laugh half the night; all in all it was a miserable night. Gary had closed our camp in light of the Ambassador’s orders. Most of the residents of our little camp were not Embassy employees but contractors who guarded another compound we had south of the Embassy. This compound was three former homes with walled yards. These homes were the typical concrete homes of well to do Iraqis. They were in fact hard cover. We had encircled them with Tee walls and secured them with a combination of American and South African guards, all of whom lived in the Blackhawk compound. An additional contingent of Iraqi guards supplemented the efforts of the professional guards; they manned the watch towers. The problem with this compound was that it was located immediately next to a group of twelve-story apartment buildings. The compound was an easy target for potential insurgents in the apartments. As a result, we could not use it for our offices, nor could anyone from the Embassy stay overnight there. Nonetheless, Gary moved our camp to that compound and procured hard cars in which to drive back and forth. In light of the circumstances and because the employees were not Embassy employees, the Embassy security people allowed Gary to use the compound instead of our camp.
The morning following my first horrible night in the office, I prevailed on Gary to prevail on my bosses to allow me to stay at the compound. Without going into detail, an exception was made and I spent the next weeks until the restrictions were lifted, at the compound. At least there was a bed and quiet at night.
The worst time for all who worked in the Embassy was this particular time. Outside rockets were dropping randomly and without warning; inside people were living in close quarters, working and sleeping in virtually the same space. Non essential people were not allowed into the Green Zone, all travel was suspended. Nerves were raw.
Cots were issued to all employees and people began finding places in their offices, in the hallways anywhere they could to sleep at night. I slept one night in my office with my suite mates. The cot gave me a terrible back ache, the women in another office found it desirable or necessary to stay awake and talk and laugh half the night; all in all it was a miserable night. Gary had closed our camp in light of the Ambassador’s orders. Most of the residents of our little camp were not Embassy employees but contractors who guarded another compound we had south of the Embassy. This compound was three former homes with walled yards. These homes were the typical concrete homes of well to do Iraqis. They were in fact hard cover. We had encircled them with Tee walls and secured them with a combination of American and South African guards, all of whom lived in the Blackhawk compound. An additional contingent of Iraqi guards supplemented the efforts of the professional guards; they manned the watch towers. The problem with this compound was that it was located immediately next to a group of twelve-story apartment buildings. The compound was an easy target for potential insurgents in the apartments. As a result, we could not use it for our offices, nor could anyone from the Embassy stay overnight there. Nonetheless, Gary moved our camp to that compound and procured hard cars in which to drive back and forth. In light of the circumstances and because the employees were not Embassy employees, the Embassy security people allowed Gary to use the compound instead of our camp.The morning following my first horrible night in the office, I prevailed on Gary to prevail on my bosses to allow me to stay at the compound. Without going into detail, an exception was made and I spent the next weeks until the restrictions were lifted, at the compound. At least there was a bed and quiet at night.
The worst time for all who worked in the Embassy was this particular time. Outside rockets were dropping randomly and without warning; inside people were living in close quarters, working and sleeping in virtually the same space. Non essential people were not allowed into the Green Zone, all travel was suspended. Nerves were raw.
******
The reaction of the various people was interesting and instructive. There were many who could not take the rocket attacks at all. K. was one. He stumbled several times, injuring himself, running from his hooch to duck and cover bunkers. Although he gave an outwardly calm expression his actions and talk made it clear that he was not doing well. He did not go outside unless he had to. He somehow got the idea that there might be an invasion of the Green Zone. He openly worried about that and looked for places in the Palace where he might hide if we were overrun. For the sake of those who are not familiar with the Green Zone, it is a secure area about two miles square. Inside there were several major US military camps, not to mention the various other coalition partner forces in other embassies. But the mind does funny things in stressful circumstances.
I began to watch carefully to note how my colleagues were reacting. I was the link between our staff in the south end and my supervisors in the north end. I recommended that K. be sent to Camp Klecker at BIAP (Baghdad International Air Port) until he left for leave or the rocket attacks stopped. I approached him with that option and he gave it some consideration but decided in the end to wait until he left on R&R.
On one of the days we were stuck in the camp going in and out of the duck and cover bunker, and when several hooches behind the Embassy were hit, without injury, Alex showed up at our camp with a back pack. Alex was a Romanian-American and a friend of Randy’s. He wanted a place to stay, he did not want to stay behind the Embassy in his own hooch. I suppose he thought he was better off with us. Gary was not happy, but Randy obliged Alex.
The game of choice on the Play Station or whatever other make of TV computer game player it may have been, was Tiger Woods Golf. Tiger Woods Golf was actually a pleasant distraction. I didn’t play, but Randy was expert and Gary was close, so was Piedt. It was entertaining to watch them play. Gary could not beat Randy and that frustrated his retired Marine “Gunny” Sergeant ego greatly. They played for hours at a time. They played in the MWR room. On one occasion, Gary and Piedt were playing while several of us watched. I was on the couch sitting on the end closest the door. Randy was on a chair at the opposite end of the couch and furthest from the door. The C-Ram went off and we all got up to move to the duck and cover bunker. Somehow, Randy made his way out the door before me even though I was closer. The story grew with each telling by Gary until it became something like; “The judge wasn’t moving fast enough so Randy knocked him down and ran right over top of him. The judge had footprints on his back.” It surfaced at every barbeque after the attacks stopped and Gary never tired of telling it – and embellishing it.
Alex brought another game to the camp when he arrived for his several days stay. It was some sort of G-I Joe game with guns and bombs going off. I said, “there isn’t enough of that outside?” I don’t like those games anyway and certainly not in the circumstances we found ourselves. I left Alex and Piedt to their play. Shortly after that conversation, a rocket blast was heard and we all headed for the duck and cover bunker. Within seconds, a couple of additional rounds hit. About that time, Piedt and Alex came running into the bunker. They were laughing. They said they were not sure the sounds were the game or from rockets outside.
John worked in the TOC. He was an extremely nice guy and conscientious. He had been in Iraq for two years with the military, first during the original invasion, then for a year at a later time. He saw a lot of action in the early years of the war. He had worked in his position in the TOC for a year or so, making his tenure in Iraq over three years. He was an example of how people can be in those environments too long. John jumped at every sound. If the truck dropped the dumpster (which it did often) he started for the duck and cover bunker. If a rocket landed no matter what time of night, he was in the bunker. Everybody in the camp knew he was too edgy and so did he. We often said, “John, why don’t you go home?” I surmise that when people have been in a dangerous situation for so long without injury, they begin to consciously or sub-consciously believe that their luck may be running out. It is hard for me to know what brings on this reaction after someone has endured for so long, but it is a real phenomenon. It is part of what the vet was talking about in Times Square in early November. Within a month or so John did make the decision to go home for good.
Agnes cleaned the camp and our hooches. She was Filipino. Kobis was a security guard and former South African Policeman. Agnes was noticeably frightened every time we huddled in the bunker. On one occasion, rockets had hit to the north of us. The prior attack had hit to the south. Kobis was sitting in the bunker with the rest of us and decided to analyze the attacks. “That hit to the north.” He said. “The other one hit to the south. They are triangulating us.” As he talked Agnes’ eyes grew larger and larger. Gary not so subtly asked Kobis to stop.
I was awakened by the solid, heavy, sharp and distinctive sound of a rocket exploding nearby. Then came another; it was 6:30 in the morning on my day off. As I lay in my warm bed, I debated whether to crawl under its somewhat secure metal plate form or just stay where I was and hope for the best. Within a few minutes I could hear the sirens and the all clear. I rolled over. Since my normal awakening time was 6:00. I wondered if I would be able to fall back asleep. I thought that I might just as well start the day. But I wanted to catch up a bit on sleep. I turned a few more times under the covers. Then the sirens came again, and the voice over the loud speaker somewhere outside, "duck and cover! Duck and cover!" Within a few moments another boom, and another, and another. I got up. No sense in delaying it any longer. I turned on my computer. "All clear. All clear." The muffled voice declared. I turned on the light by the coffee maker. Boom! Boom! A belated; "duck and cover! Duck and cover!" I started the coffee then sat at my computer. More booms, some close, some in the distant. For an hour maybe more it kept going. I decided that I may as well relax. If the unlikely event of a direct hit on my hooch happened, then it would surely be my time to go. A fatalistic attitude I suppose, but I never had the feeling that I would die in Iraq. I was pretty confident in that.
Belief in ultimate survival does little to quell the effects that the experience has on the psyche from being in such uncertain and therefore stressful circumstances. I was home on R&R in a Best Buy with Sharon and our son Patrick. The people in the audio section were trying out the speakers, and of course, as with all people of that age and inclination, they wanted to hear the base. The base speakers could be heard everywhere in the store as a boom, boom. Then it would stop until the next person listened. Boom, Boom. I asked Sharon if she noticed. She didn’t. My ears were tuned into those sounds. I knew they were not rockets, after all I was in the US at Best Buy, but my experience made it impossible to not notice all such sounds and identify them in an instant. We began to be able to recognize a rocket from the sound of the dumpster being dropped, but also a rocket from a car bomb; a rocket that hit outside the Green Zone or fell short. It just happens. And all of this is what the vet in Times Square was talking about and trying to get people to understand. Things that happen in war stay for a long time. I am fortunate to have only been working there a short time in a relatively secure setting. It has happened in all wars and is a reason we should avoid wars at all costs. The toll in human suffering is far too extensive and great.
Part II. must wait,
Until the Next Connection,
Dan
Until the Next Connection,
Dan
