“Do not leave the bunker!”

I have been on the road the past few days visiting the officers who work for me outside of the IZ. It was actually a nice break in my routine to get out of Baghdad and see some more of this country. Not only did I get a break from the endless meetings, but I was able to get a better understanding of what my officers are doing.

I was surprised to see that both locations have just as good (if not better) accommodations than what I have in the IZ. Now, when I say “good accommodations”, I’m speaking relatively good accommodations as compared to life back home. No matter how you cut, soldiers over here are not living in luxury compared to what they have at home. Having said that; I still have no complaints. The living conditions I have now are much better than what I had as a Second Lieutenant during Desert Storm.

Even though we have good food, clean living areas and actual plumbing, there’s no getting around the fact that you’re living in Iraq. But then again, there’s no sense in complaining about it so you might as well accept it. The fact is that everyone here is a volunteer and we all knew what to expect before we arrived.

I saw a bumper sticker that pretty much summed it up: “Embrace the Suck!”

But to be honest with you, I think it is good for a man to live a Spartan’s life from time to time. It cleanses the body as well as the soul and helps you appreciate better what you have at home.

One of the places I visited was called the Kirkuk Regional Air Base or KRAB. I liked it up there. It was big and open and I was able to going running outside instead of on a treadmill. The temperature was not as excessive as in the IZ and there were enough trees to help maintain your morale. Of course, anyone who attended our wedding (inside joke) or who knows me at all will see the humor in the fact that I felt comfortable at a place called “KRAB”.

While I was at KRAB, I took the above picture of an old Soviet made MiG 17.

Once done there, I hopped on a plane for the short ride down to Basra. The plane we took was a chartered flight and the plane itself seemed to be as old as the MiG I saw. It had a Ukrainian crew that spoke no English which made for an interesting trip.

During my second night in Basra, I was woken up when the trailer I was in started to shake. I thought that maybe the person next door had slammed their door shut. But then I had the camp alarm go off and I knew that it had been a mortar round impacting close by.

I got up and grabbed my gear as quickly as I could and followed the line of flashlights as they made their way to the closest bunker. I was very impressed by how quickly and orderly everyone huddled into the small cramped bunkers. Each one had a “bunker warden” assigned to it that took accountability of who was there and then ensured no one left until we were given the “all clear” signal. A loud voice would come over the camp PA system demanding that we “do not leave the bunker”. I can assure you that I had no intention of leaving the safety of the sand bagged igloo until I knew it was safe outside. We ended up making two trips to the bunker that night and didn’t get back to sleep until sometime after 1 am.

While I was sweating it out in the bunker, I couldn’t help but recall that my uncle had lived through this same (but more prolonged) experience as a boy. My uncle is British and is old enough to have lived through the Battle of Britain when residents of London had to spend their nights in bunkers due to Nazi air raids.

Back then, the enemy was on the offensive and brought the war to our doorsteps. Now, I feel the emeny is on the run and only able to get off sporadic shots at us and is limited to operating to a confide area.

When I got back to my bed, I came to the conclusion that it is far better for me and my comrades to live through this experience over here in Iraq than for Mara and the kids (and your kids as well) to live through a similar experience back home, the way my Uncle did.