Christmas in Baghad brings soldiers together

12.27.07

Hello again, Waterbury. I write this having just observed my second Arabian Christmas. It wasn’t as bad some might think. Of course I’d have rather spent it with my family. Christmas was always the one holiday I tried to make it back to Vermont to spend with family. In fact, in 15 years I think I’ve only missed three — two in Baghdad and one that my wife Terri and I spent in North Carolina.

This one was, of course, my daughter Alexandra’s first and I’d like to have seen her playing with wrapping paper and smiling for all the cameras that were surely recording the event, but I made the best of the situation. I spent Christmas Eve and Christmas night watching over the mohallas, or city neighborhoods.

Normally when I go on a night patrol I add my truck to the platoons that I send on patrol as an extra vehicle. This gives me freedom of mobility to move between the two platoons I send out nightly. But on these nights I replaced one of my crews and gave at least four of my Bandits a night off to call their families or rest up as best they could. It wasn’t just me giving up a holiday night to relieve these men; my crew was there with me. I’d like to make them the center of this column as not a one of them said a word about giving up their holiday so another crew could stay in.

My crew travels around the battlefield in my vehicle ensuring I get where I need to be safely. They start each mission about an hour before I do. They prepare the vehicle by mounting my .50-caliber machine gun, ensuring the radios have the right loads in them, packing the food and water, cleaning the windshield, and stowing any special equipment I deem essential for each particular mission.

When I show up for each mission briefing, my vehicle is always in running order or “fully mission capable,” as we say. There is often a “little gift” waiting for me in my seat, whether it’s some candy, a cup of coffee, or a rubber chicken. Whatever it is, it either makes me laugh or brings a tiny smile to my face at the least.

Spc. Woods is my driver. He’s responsible for ensuring the vehicle itself is in good working order. He’s a 33-year-old first-termer from California and reminds me of … well, me. That’s because we’re both in our 30s, yet can still hang with the “young bucks.” You’d think that being older than most of my Bandits he’d be more reserved, but he still manages to make sure the mirror on my door doesn’t go a single mission without bumping into something!

Spc. Williams, a 26-year-old first-termer, is my troop armorer. He’s from New Hampshire and responsible for all the weapons in the entire troop, and as such he is my gunner. He has the best view in the truck because he stands in the middle of it with his upper body exposed to the elements (and smells) in the turret. He can slew back and forth and look in any direction ensuring our machine gun, “The Darkness,” as he calls it, covers anything that might be a threat to us.

Sgt. Hartman from Illinois is 24, and on his second enlistment. He is my troop fire support noncommissioned officer. Since we’re in the middle of the city and don’t call for much indirect fire, his main responsibility has shifted to being my “ranger buddy.” That means that wherever I go, he goes, and watches my back. When I dismount the vehicle and patrol on foot with one of the platoons, he’s there with me. When I enter a building to meet with a sheik or interview a resident, he goes first and makes sure it’s safe. He’s always “got my back.” Since he is always with me, he is always “in the know” about what’s going on. This unfortunate fact has gained him another duty of taking care of most of the paperwork I generate when I’m out and about in the mohallas. None of this stuff is what he joined up for, I’m sure, but he gets it all done and doesn’t complain.

The four of us have spent many a night staring out the windows of our truck at the streets of Baghdad, watching for curfew violators, weapons smugglers, people placing improvised explosive devices, or IEDs, or other all-around bad people who might do harm to either us or the residents of the mohalla. Oddly enough, this can get incredibly boring, but boring is GOOD. We pass the time telling tales of girls, school, or playing the “name game” to stay alert.
These three men and I have developed the kind of closeness you can only get from spending eight to nine hours a night in a truck with the same guys. If you think about it for a minute, you’ll see what I’m getting at. There are no rest areas on the streets and Spc. Williams is in a harness that keeps him from falling out of the truck if it rolls over — that’s right — now you get it, no one “goes” anywhere alone.

When a patrol is over and I dismount to turn in a report or start movement on whatever new course of action has developed from this mission, my crew is still hard at work. They have to stow all our equipment, refuel the truck, order or replace any new parts that the truck needs and lock it up safely before our next mission. This can take anywhere from 30 minutes to several hours, depending on what the vehicle needs.

These three men take care of everything I need to go out in the streets and do my job. I couldn’t get anything accomplished without them, and we’re doing plenty, but I’ll save that for another installment. I just wanted to share with you a little something about with whom I spent my second Arabian Christmas.