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« Marine v Ex-Marine | Main | Phony Soldiers and Otherwise »

September 30, 2007

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Dry Skies and Thunder

By Greyhawk

You are looking at Iraq, from on high, a birds-eye view (but the bird is a satellite, so you've got a great view...)

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Let's zoom in a bit and see what we can see... look - over there...


Coalition forces positively identified a foreign terrorist killed in an operation Tuesday in Musayyib as a senior al-Qaeda in Iraq member. Abu Usama al-Tunisi was in the inner leadership circle of Abu Ayyub al-Masri, the leader of al Qaeda in Iraq and was a likely successor to him. Al-Tunisi was the military emir of Baghdad's southern belt and took over the role of emir of foreign terrorists when al-Masri became the overall leader.

Al-Tunisi facilitated foreign terrorists and helped equip them for improvised explosive device attacks, car-bombing campaigns and suicide attacks throughout Baghdad. Foreign terrorists conduct most of the high profile attacks in Iraq. Over 80 percent of the suicide attacks are conducted by foreign terrorists.

During an operation Sept. 25, Coalition forces targeted al-Tunisi and other al-Qaeda in Iraq leaders. Credible intelligence from several previous operations led Coalition forces to the location of a known al-Qaeda in Iraq meeting and supporting aircraft attacked the time sensitive target. Al-Tunisi and two other terrorists were killed during the attack.

And there...
Task Force Marne AH-64 Apache helicopters responded to an improvised explosive device strike Sept. 24, killing the four extremist militants responsible.
And over there...

A concerned citizens group alerted Coalition Forces to the location of a weapons cache Sept. 25.

The concerned citizens approached Soldiers of Company C, 1st Battalion, 30th Infantry Regiment, 2nd Brigade Combat Team, 3rd Infantry Division, who were providing overwatch along a main route, and told them they knew the location of a cache.

Soldiers followed the concerned citizens to the site. The cache consisted of two 60mm mortars, one Chinese rocket-propelled grenade launcher, one 57mm projectile, a Russian PG-7M infantry anti-tank launcher, three Iraqi OG-7 RPG launchers, seven rocket-propelled grenades, three blasting caps, 24 feet of yellow detonation cord, a spool of command wire, 4 ounces of PE-4 bulk explosives, two empty fire extinguishers, one four-foot steel pipe and a blue barrel for storage.

And there...

The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers has installed and handed over to Iraqi authorities a compact water treatment plant in Dhi Qar Province in Southern Iraq.

The Iraqis "have signed for the facility and it's operational," said Navy Cmdr. Michael Lang, officer in charge of the Adder Area Office of USACE's Gulf Region South district.

Busy, busy days...

Now we begin to zoom a little closer... closer... closer...

There, somewhere near the Iranian border you see something small. Drop in a little closer and you see it's two guys, sitting on a Pelican Case, waiting in the middle of the desert with weapons at the ready and their armor and helmets nearby. (One of them isn't me.) It is hot, and the wind is blowing without cooling, occasionally picking up dust from a few yards away and tossing it at their faces. They aren't easy targets, though. They see it coming, they casually turn their heads and wait for it to pass.

"Want to hear some music?" Asks one.

"You got an mp3 player in here?"

"iPod."

"Do it."

They stand. He flips the latches on the case and opens the lid, rummages for a minute inside, then pulls out the player and hands it to his partner. "You have speakers too, right?"

No answer, just a bit more digging, and out come the speakers. "If this doesn't bring them" he says, "nothing will."

They had been waiting for a helicopter, and had tried various rituals usually guarenteed to bring any awaited conveyence. They had lit cigars. They had gone to the port-a-potty. They had removed their armor.

All had failed.

Going to the trouble of setting up the portable entertainment system was close to their last hope. And sure enough, before the sounds of music even began the sound of distant rotors was heard.

"Well that worked." He put everything away. They quickly donned their armor and helmets and jammed in ear plugs as the now-visible birds circled the pad, kicked up dust, and landed. The gunners hopped out and opened doors for a handful of passengers who disembarked and headed to vehicles waiting on the side of a dirt road and drove off, raising more dust.

Now ready, the two would-be travelers stood and waited for the signal to board. It never came - the gunners hopped back on and the birds lifted off, circled again, and flew away. The noise faded.

Some locations have passenger services at their helipads, with people with radios who can sometimes tell you what's going on. Instead of all that, this one had dust.

One glanced at his watch. "That had to have been our ride. There couldn't be more flights out here today."

"What?"

They removed their ear plugs. "I said, I guess we'll hear some music after all."

"Wait - I hear rotors." He was right. Two more 60s flew into view. They did touch-and-go's for about 15 minutes, then go'd for good. As the noise faded, the wind gusted again, and dust blew.

They removed their armor and helmets and sat down again on the case, where the iPod remained. "By the way, I want to thank you for bringing your stuff in this case. Standing out here would suck." They drank warm water from clear plastic bottles. "How hot is it?" One asked. "It's only about 105. Funny, that really doesn't feel hot, does it?" "No." And it wasn't bravado - it really didn't feel hot. "Summer ended earlier this week, you know."

In the distance, rotors. They remained seated. The helos appeared as dots, then grew, then landed a few feet away on the pad. "They're going to shut down."

"What?"

"THEY'RE GOING TO SHUT DOWN. I CAN TELL BY WHERE THEY'VE LANDED. IF THEY WERE JUST GOING TO PICK US UP AND LEAVE THEY WOULD HAVE STOPPED OVER HERE."

The noise of the engines changed, grew quieter. The rotors slowed. They removed their ear plugs again.

"Hey, they're shutting down!"

"Don't worry. They're going to get lunch. (points to watch) It's lunch time. But this one's our ride." The DFAC, however, was a mile walk away.

The crew hopped out. "Hey, I know these guys. I'm going on out there." He wandered out onto the pad, where the crew had begun eating a picnic lunch beside the aircraft. "Gentlemen," he said, "mom says she'd appreciate it if you get junior home safely."

"I don't know man, an awful lot of dust blowing around out here... we can't see sh..."

"Naah, don't worry about it. There wasn't any dust 'til you guys got here and stirred it up." He lied, while the orchestra in his head began playing the theme to Lawrence of Arabia.

To one of the gunners: "How's flying?" The question was supposed to be
about flying conditions on that particular day, but the answer was about what it's like to fly the skies of Iraq every day:

"You know, it's not bad. We fly a lot, and it gets tiring some times. But I've seen things most people never will. The Mother of all Mosques, the crossed swords, the ruins of Babylon..."

He envied him that. Two trips to Iraq, and he'd seen none of them. he'd seen a lot of open desert, but none of the sites.

The crews finished eating, a fuel truck pulled up and fed the helos, and they loaded up and flew away.

To be continued here



Posted by Greyhawk / September 30, 2007 11:08 PM | Permalink

3 Comments

Trackbacked by The Thunder Run - Web Reconnaissance for 10/01/2007
A short recon of what’s out there that might draw your attention, updated throughout the day...so check back often.

you must have been a big fan of those serial cliff hangers as a boy, G... waiting for the next installment...

Flying off when I said to stay put I can understand, but, SMOKING CIGARS? You are on timeout forever! NO SMOKING!

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November 26, 2010


America@war
[Greyhawk]
I think anyone who's ever pondered the "comment" option - once only available on blogs and bulletin boards, now ubiquitous on almost any web site - will appreciate this:
The so-called faculty of writing is not so much a faculty of writing as it is a faculty of thinking. When a man says, "I have an idea but I can't express it"; that man hasn't an idea but merely a vague feeling. If a man has a feeling of that kind, and will sit down for a half an hour and persistently try to put into writing what he feels, the probabilities are at least 90 percent that he will either be able to record it, or else realize that he has no idea at all. In either case, he will do himself a benefit.

That's wisdom from the past, captured for posterity at the US Naval Institute, shared via the web on the institute's 137th anniversary.

From their about page:

The Naval Institute shall remain

INDEPENDENT - A non-profit member association, with no government support, that does not lobby for special interests;

NON-PARTISAN - An independent, professional military association with a mission, goals and objectives that transcend political affiliations; and shall encourage

IDEAS - Through its respected journals Proceedings and Naval History, its conferences, its books and its online content, in support of those who serve.

"The Naval Institute has three core activities," among them, History and Preservation:

The Naval Institute also has recently introduced Americans at War, a living history of Americans at war in their own words and from their own experiences. These 90-second vignettes convey powerful stories of inspiration, pride, and patriotism.

Take a look at the collection, and you'll see it's not limited to accounts from those who served on ships at sea, members of the other branches are well-represented.

I'm fortunate to have met USNI's Mary Ripley, she's responsible for the institute's oral history program (and she's the daughter of the late John Ripley, whose story is told here). She also deserves much credit for their blog. ("We're not the Navy nor any government agency. Blog and comment freely.") We met at a milblog conference - Mary knew (and I would come to realize) that milbloggers are the 21st-century version of exactly what the US Naval Institute is all about. Once that light bulb came on in my head, I mentioned a vague idea for a project to her - milblogs as the 21st century oral history that they are.

"Put that in writing," she said (of course - see first paragraph above!) - and here's part of the result.

Shortly after the first tent was pitched by the American military in Iraq a wire was connected to a computer therein, and the internet was available to a generation of Americans at war - many of whom had grown up online. From that point on, at any given moment, somewhere in Iraq a Soldier, Sailor, Airman or Marine was at a keyboard sharing the events of his or her day with the folks back home. While most would simply fire off an email, others took advantage of the (then) relatively new online blogging platforms to post their thoughts and experiences for the entire world to see. The milblog was born - and from that moment to this stories detailing everything from the most mundane aspects of camp life to intense combat action (often described within hours of the event) have been available on the web...

And et cetera - but since you're reading this on a milblog, you probably knew that. And you know that milblogs aren't just blogs written by troops at war, that many friends, family members, and supporters likewise documented their story of America at war online in near-real time, as those stories developed.

The diversity in membership of that group is broad, the one thing we all have in common is the impulse to make sense of the seemingly senseless, and communicate the tale - for each of us that impulse was strong enough to overcome whatever barriers prevent the vast majority of people from doing the same. Everyone at some point has some vague idea they believe should be shared - we were the people who, from some combination of internal and external urging, found and spent those many half hours persistently trying to write it down.

*****

But where will all that be in another 137 years? Or five or ten, for that matter. That's something I've asked myself since at least 2004 - when I wrote this:

Closing Blogs is nothing new. So many site's owners just give up on their own. They come and go, you know, these MilBloggers do. Like any other sort of blogger. Many post in the lonely down hours far from home, spill their guts for the world, then abandon their spots when the tour of duty is up. They have lives again somewhere in the world, and no need to share the details. So it goes.

Many are truly gone - no site left at all. "The page cannot be found." Other blogs remain, like abandoned defensive positions in shifting desert sands.

Membership in the ghost battalion has grown in the years since, and an ever growing majority of those abandoned-but-still-standing sites are vanishing. Have you checked out Lt Smash's site lately? How about Sgt Hook's? If you're a long-time milblog reader you know the first widely-read milblog from Operation Iraq Freedom and the first widely-read milblog from Afghanistan are both gone from the web. If you're a relative newcomer to this world you may never even have heard of them - or the dozens upon dozens of others who carried forth the standard they set down.

If you have a vague notion that something should be done about that, (a notion I've heard expressed more than once...) then you and I and the good folks at the US Naval Institute are in agreement. Preserving the history documented by the milbloggers is just one of the goals of the milblog project, the once-vague idea that we're now making real.

And it's a big idea, if I say so myself - too big to explain in one simple blog post, so stand by for more. Likewise, it's too big a task to be accomplished by just one person. So if you're a milblogger (and exactly what is a milblogger? is a topic for much further discussion on its own) I'm asking for your help. All I'll really need is just a little bit (maybe just one or two of those half hours...) of your time, and your willingness to tell the tale.

We've already made history, it's time to save it.

(More to follow...)




Posted 4:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) |

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The Mudville Gazette is the on-line voice of an American warrior and his wife who stands by him. They prefer to see peaceful change render force of arms unnecessary. Until that day they stand fast with those who struggle for freedom, strike for reason, and pray for a better tomorrow.
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  • Mom: Flying off when I said to stay put I can read more
  • Some Soldier's Mom: you must have been a big fan of those serial read more
  • David M: Trackbacked by The Thunder Run - Web Reconnaissance for 10/01/2007 read more

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The Mudville Gazette is written and produced by Greyhawk, who recently retired from 24 years of active duty in the US military, but will maintain this disclaimer: Unless otherwise credited, the opinions expressed are those of the author, and nothing here is to be taken as representing the official position of or endorsement by the United States Department of Defense or any of its subordinate components.

Furthermore, I will occasionally use satire or parody herein. The bottom line: it's my house.

I like having visitors to my house. I hope you are entertained. I fight for your right to free speech, and am thrilled when you exercise said rights here. Comments and e-mails are welcome, but all such communication is to be assumed to be 1)the original work of any who initiate said communication and 2)the property of the Mudville Gazette, with free use granted thereto for publication in electronic or written form. If you do NOT wish to have your message posted, write "CONFIDENTIAL" in the subject line of your email.

Original content copyright © 2003 - 2011 by Greyhawk. Fair, not-for-profit use of said material by others is encouraged, as long as acknowledgement and credit is given, to include the url of the original source post. Other arrangements can be made as needed.

Contact: greyhawk at mudvillegazette dot com

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*****

Tending Distant
Fires


Far from hearth and home, watching
Cold alone but not alone
On distant shore and only wanting
Safe return and little more

What tales we'll tell
When that time comes
When tales can be told

When things grim
Seem far away
When other fires go cold

Some distant sunset, vision fading
Memories remain
And tired eyes gaze 'pon folded flags
While distant drums beat their refrain

Saluting fallen friends whose names
And youth will never fade
Here's to those on other shores,
for them live well, the price is paid

- Greyhawk,
Baghdad,
December 2004