The Sandbox

GWOT hot wash, straight from the wire

Welcome to The Sandbox, a forum for service members who have served or are currently serving in Iraq and Afghanistan, returned vets, spouses and caregivers. The Sandbox's focus is not on policy and partisanship (go to our Blowback page for that), but on the unclassified details of deployment -- the everyday, the extraordinary, the wonderful, the messed-up, the absurd. All correspondence is read, and as much as possible is posted, lightly edited. If you know someone who is deployed who might have something to say, please tell them about us. To submit a post click here.

THE KEEP |

March 08, 2007

THE KEEP
Name: SGT Roy Batty
Posting date: 3/8/07
Stationed in: Baghdad, Iraq
Hometown: Yellow Springs, Ohio
Email: sgtroybatty@yahoo.com


It was beautiful, once, in that brief, halcyon era of aggressive building, fueled by rising oil prices and the limitless credit of the newest despot on the block, in a yesterday where the Americans were friends, Arab-on-Persian warfare was still a few years away, and the power of Tikrit's favorite son ran unchecked. In that gleaming age, this building was a shopping mall, tall, white and new, filled with fresh Western products, thanks to the hard-working folks over at the Ministry of Trade. An artificial waterfall cascaded down through the central interior courtyard, its clear raindrops illuminated by colored, recessed lights, and children played in the eternal rain as it landed in the wading pool below. Escalators purred quietly, smoothly lifting suburban women up to the shops above, languid in their thin black robes, their dark eyes flashing in the crisp air conditioning as they chatted to each other, excited at the prospects of a day's shopping. In the middle of the night, when the soldiers are sleeping, I fancy that I can still hear the whispers of their robes, edged with gold filigree, brushing against the tiled floors, somewhere back in the Stygian darkness.

Inside the human pipeline between Kuwait and Iraq, returning from RnR to the strange planet that is Baghdad, I ran into some fellow soldiers from my unit, and heard the rumor for the first time. The Great Surge is on, and we are destined to be a part of it. The 82nd is in town, ready to bring the smackdown to the various militia groups that have held this city in their grip for so long. I am excited to be a part of it, even if it means leaving our little Mayberry of a FOB next to the Ministry of the Interior. FOB Shield had become a comfortable home, with its excellent chowhall, the friendly Pakistani guys at KBR, and the cool civilian cops of the IPLOs. By the time I got boots on ground at the Thunderdome, I was greeted with a hearty handshake and a directive: "Don't bother unpacking. We leave tomorrow. Oh, and your soldiers already packed the rest of your gear for you." At least that trial was taken care of; nowadays the worse part of a move is figuring out how to squeeze all of my junk into a couple of duffle bags and a ruck.

The initial rumors had been been varied and interesting, which is how initial rumors usually sound. We're moving to a palace here, a hotel there, maybe an Iraqi Army FOB there. How bad can it be? I nursed a secret hope that they were going to put us up in one of those great five-star hotels that the reporters all stay in -- maybe the Palestine Hotel, or the Al-Rasheed, downtown near the Green Zone. It was not to be, however, and instead we ended up in this bombed-out, half-torched, abandoned hulk of a building, somewhere on the far east side of Baghdad. The place is completely gutted, and lacks every single amenity you need to work and live properly for three months. No electricity. No running water. No showers. No hot food. Not even a rickety bed to sleep in.      

Nothing.

When I stepped out of my HMMWV and looked on its bullet-riddled, RPG-spalled edifice for the first time,
my dream of mimosas with Christiane Amanpour disappeared with a quiet, stomach churning "pop".

Our translators tell us that it was an Iraqi Ministry of Trade shopping mall, built in the 80s by Saddam Hussein. It is of strange, crenelated design, with a sawtoothed exterior in which each successive floor juts out above the one beneath it. With the concentric rings of T-walls that we have added around it, the entire complex now resembles some brutal Vulcan castle. I think of the place as "The Keep." At some point, either during the first Gulf War, or during our invasion in 2003, the mall was looted by the local Shia people. Every single possibly useful item was stripped and hauled away, and then the first floor was set on fire. There are black charred smoke marks above the windows. The escalators look like the skeletons of long dead reptiles, nothing but steel ribs and the lolling plastic tongues of the handrails. The Iraqi Army used the structure for a while as a machine gun post, which explains why the fourth floor is filled with human excrement. We moved in four days ago, and have been shoveling it out ever since, as well as trying to improve the place in other, slightly more advanced, ways.

But really, it's not that bad. Part of me has wanted a rougher experience. The surrealism of eating Alaskan King Crab every single day for three months at Shield was not exactly what I had in mind when I first envisioned coming to this war torn city. This is more of a "real" experience, as if we are getting a little taste of what it was like back in OIF I, during the invasion, when food was scarce but America was winning, and who cared if you only got one MRE a day when you were allowed to actually shoot back at the bad guys?

Our new home combines all the best aspects of living in a coal mine, a bunker, and a ruined city, in one convenient package. We've boarded up and sandbagged all of the windows, since the locals still like to take occasional potshots at us, so except for the gray light that filters down from the central skylight, the interior of the structure is perpetually dark. They handed out cool little LED lights for everyone the other day, which strap right onto your forehead. At any one time there are several hundred multi-colored spheres of light bobbing around in the gloom, and out of that gloom lurch lumbering, hunch-backed troglodytes, bent low beneath the weight of their black weapons and gear; soldiers in body armor moving back and forth on their missions. I'm reminded simultaneously of H.G. Wells and Pogo -- "We have met the Morlocks, and they are us."

Without electricity, there isn't a whole lot to do when you're not out on mission. Books have enjoyed a sudden rise in popularity, along with chess sets and cards. You start keeping farmer's hours, which means once it gets dark everyone who's not on mission goes to sleep, as if on cue. It's interesting to think that the entire Western world is one flick of a switch away from the Middle Ages.

Sometimes we wander outside to enjoy the thrill of watching the local day laborers dig trenches in the mud for our plumbing. At one point I count ten soldiers standing around, smoking cigarettes, watching five old men and one teenage kid waist deep in the muck. It smacks a little bit too much of colonialism for me, and after a while I amble off to enjoy the only other available spectacle; that of watching the trash fire. It's a massive steaming hump of coagulated plastic and scorched metal, but if you throw on a couple old MRE boxes full of trash, you can get a pretty good bonfire going in no time. Living fire in the middle of a dark night is always hypnotic, but when you add the bullet-scarred concrete looming overhead, and the stark, empty faces of the tactical vehicles clustered around, the effect is even more powerful. Nothing quite says "apocalypse" with the same intensity, and the mingled taste of burnt plastic and tobacco in your mouth can't help but add an extra dimension to one's cinematic memories of combat Hell, born of Francis Ford Coppola and Joseph Conrad.

There are times, though, when the place still has a strange sort of timeless beauty to it. I woke up the other morning and swam my way out of the nylon folds of my sleeping bag. It was somewhere before six in the morning, and most of the soldiers were still asleep. A still, silver light was shining down the central courtyard, and the shaft was quietly full of birdsong. The little brown birds were flitting back and forth across the long-dead face of Saddam's waterfall, and my buddy, Phil, was standing there, out by the rails, alone, watching them with his head cocked to the side, peering up at them, that usual quizzical look on his face. The concrete stairs, once encased in marble, were salmon pink in the early morning light, looking more like ancient sandstone than raw cement. For that moment, it didn't look like just another bombed out building in Iraq, but rather like something from the last Indiana Jones movie -- the lost city of Petra, a rose colored ruin forgotten in the desert, a relic full of whispered secrets. In that moment, before the cacophony of the Baghdad rush hour burst over us like a wave; anything was possible -- perhaps even rebuilding this monument to suburban glory and mass consumerism.

Maybe then I could get that ice cold Pepsi I've been dreaming of for the past ten days.

Comments

Jesus. Stay healthy in that muck, young man. And keep an eye on your underwear bag.

I'm glad my tax dollars are keeping the troops full of Alaskan king crab while many still don't have proper personal and vehicle armor.

if you were having Alaskan king crab every night, does that mean some poor sucker somewhere else in Baghdad was doomed to eating chicken every night??

But that aside, your description makes for a good science fiction movie script. It sounds like living in a burned-out mall still beats living in a tent? Just stay safe and watch your step!

I believe that you will have a career as a writer when you leave the sevice. Your verbal pictures never cease to amaze me. Best of luck-hope you and your boys get home safely.

From "Duty in the Desert"; Sgt Batty is one of my favorite deployed milbloggers because his writings always leave readers with sand in their eyes, an indescribable stench smell in the air, and a surreal feel for war on the ground in Iraq.

When I read your stuff I feel like I'm there. You have a great gift for conveying images - lyrical, powerful images of the places you have been. Please keep writing, and often.

Roy, another great story on the war front,your writing just gets better,you have a gift use it well. and get home safe i will buy anything you write.keep safe, Peace

So glad to see you made it back ‘safe’ from R&R. Now, just get your head back in game, and stay safe, for real.

I have a list of a dozen or so authors and I have read everything that they have written. John Sandford, Lee Child, Robert Crais, Robert B. Parker and YOU. I check the blog everyday to see that you are safe, and to see what new wonder of words you have posted. I too feel the smoke burn my nose, the sand sting my skin, and taste the sensations of IRAQ.

Another wonderful post. Please stay safe and keep up the good work.

Roy, phenomenal. Again, I'm transported to your world, although possibly you need to ramp the sarcasm on the King Crab for some of the readers. Where/How do I send you any books, I mean pre-tech reading material?

Hey Sgt. Batty, you're back! Great to have you back... Love reading your posts... Always mixed with some humor and sarcasm, but with a real talent of putting us right there with you... Even though you describe something that is not so great, I feel somehow uplifted when I read your post... As always, God be with you and keep safe...

Sgt. Roy,
Again well done! You made me laugh & horrified me at the same time. Who else could have conflated H.G. Wells & Walt Kelly?
Keep writing; we need a first-hand account of The Big Surge.

"the lost city of Petra, a rose colored ruin forgotten in the desert, a relic full of whispered secrets"..reading this she begins a long, soft sigh....I see the Gods have looked kindly upon you and kept you safe Friend, for that, we are all truly gratefull. Once again, many thanks for your written words, for which they continue to make me see, feel, smell, taste and to think. Thank You..we will all wait till you grace us with your next entry. Till then, be safe, stay well and keep your feet dry..

I guess you're used to hearing what an amazing writer you are. I trust your wife burns a candle for you back home. Awesome post. Keep on keeping on.

Stay safe, SGT Batty. I am praying for you and your men.

Another great post, Sgt!

It's especially good to hear about the Surge away from the Politicians and the Media filter for a change.

Looking forward to your next.

Remember that 40 billion dollar, no-bid contract that Halliburton won? Well, that's where our Alaska King Crab comes from. And yes, the DFAC at Shield is not the only place that serves it, although it does appear to be the only chowhall that serves it EVERY single day! Clrusson, you're absolutely right, I would trade all the crab legs for a brand new M1151 with motorized turret and full frag kits. I'm still riding around in the same M1114 we picked up nine months ago in Baquouba, and every piece of scrabbled together armor on it was put on personally by me and my two soldiers.
Still, I just wanted to say that the single biggest thrill I get is reading all of your comments! I'm so glad that you like the writing, and that it paints a picture, both good and bad, of what we are doing over here. Thank you all so much, and keep sending your prayers/positive energy our way. We need it, and it works.

Batty - Again! Again! Great stuff! Glad you're back. Stay safe!

I heard from another soldier a while back that they were being served crab every single day for weeks on end. I couldn't help but suspect then that the Alaskan representative who arranged for the highway to nowhere had something to do with some exclusive contract where the Army -- a/k/a All American Taxpayers Paying to Subsidize the Alaskan King Crabbers -- gets to pay over-much for the over-fishing of a tasty delicacy with more cholesterol than bacon stuffed with lard coated with gravy. Or something like that. I can't help but think that someone somewhere thought it was a win-win-win. And at the time, were I in the room, I might have thought so too. Oh my.

But that's my sidebar thoughtage, clicking off while I stand next to the soldier named Phil, cocking my head too, to see if I can match his view. I know how I got there, so it doesn't surprise me that I'm not in my bedroom right now.

Soldier, write more, please. I pray for you and your buddies. You are in my heart and memory, forever.

Roy, you are one tough customer and I believe that if you had H.G.'s time machine and a toothache you'd visit Doc Holliday so you could stiff him for the bill. Stay safe.

Thank you for your honest thoughts about whats going one over there. I have friends there and its so hard to keep up on whats happening. I read your Blog frequently and I am always touched.

Another great post.....thanks

Stay safe. You're all in my prayers.

One of these days, you're going to be back in the US, a famous writer being interviewed on TV, and I'm going to be sorely disappointed to discover that you don't look and sound like Rutger Hauer (or amazed that you do). Oh well, maybe they can get him to do the voiceovers for the major motion picture.

My son deployed to FOB Shield two weeks ago. Your most vivid accounts of life and the conditions there have provided much needed detail of what he is experiencing. Thank you for your blog. I pray daily for my son, you, and all who are there in Iraq for freedom's sake.

F. Osburn

What a fantastic discussion. A blog dedicated to an interesting topic was just the thing I needed to cheer up. Thanks.

Nice topic thank you for sharing.Enjoyed reading it.

Wire drawing is a metalworking process in which the wire is passed through a series of dies so as to reduce its cross-section. For this purpose various kinds of Wire drawing machines are used. There are various elements of a wire drawing machine but the die and the lubricants are the most important ones for the greater efficiency and quality of produced wire.

Verify your Comment

Previewing your Comment

This is only a preview. Your comment has not yet been posted.

Working...
Your comment could not be posted. Error type:
Your comment has been posted. Post another comment

The letters and numbers you entered did not match the image. Please try again.

As a final step before posting your comment, enter the letters and numbers you see in the image below. This prevents automated programs from posting comments.

Having trouble reading this image? View an alternate.

Working...

Post a comment

TrackBack

TrackBack URL for this entry:
http://www.typepad.com/services/trackback/6a00d8341c5f3053ef00d834eac81a53ef

Listed below are links to weblogs that reference THE KEEP:

« Previous Article | Main | Next Article »




Search Doonesbury Sandbox Blog

LINKS


About

My Photo

FEATURED BOOK