From Victory to Taji

After several uneventful days at Camp Victory, I was told I could finally pack my bags and get ready to head to my new home. I couldn’t wait to finally “drop my pack.” Any more than two weeks living out of a seabag gets to be too much. After only a few days at Camp Victory, I was completely sick of it. For one thing, there are hardly any Marines there. Those that are there do get together one evening a week to tell war stories and smoke cigars. That would have been my sole source of sanity there, as I’m sure it must be for those that attend. I don’t hate the people from the other services. In fact, some of the best folks I’ve met in the military have been Army NCOs or officers. It’s just that for a Marine it is a complete culture shock. There are many reasons. First, being at Camp Victory completely turns around everything you’ve ever thought going to war is like, and it’s too much to handle. As good as living in a trailer is, it builds nothing of the camaraderie that exists between Marines living in the field, in a hole or in a tent, eating MRE’s, living the dangerous strenuous shitty life we’re used to out there. Second, there are way too many people at Victory and waaaaaayyy too many “chiefs.” Take Sergeants Major, for example. They get together once a week. What do you think they talk about? Uniform regulations, for one. I’ve never seen so many damn regulations. There are arguments about what Navy people are allowed to wear when they put on the Army uniform. Arguments about what parts of the uniform civilian contractors are allowed to wear and how they wear it. What you’re allowed to PT in. What shoes you can wear. What you can wear to/from the shower. When you should/shouldn’t salute. Speaking of saluting, I absolutely can’t believe that there is saluting going on in Iraq. In the Marine Corps we don’t salute in the field. This prevents officers from being targeted by snipers. This is a perfect example that illustrates the “non-field” mentality that exists at the major bases in Iraq. (Plenty of Army officers have voiced their disapproval to me about this policy, too.) At the entrance to the chow hall at Camp Victory, there is actually a sign that reads: “Random force protection measures in effect. Sorry for the inconvenience.” Hello? Inconvenience? I was speechless the first time I saw that. We are doing nothing more than building castles in Iraq. The longer we're there, the more attention goes in to "improving the base." That means better food, paved roads, more buildings. The vast majority of the soldiers never ever go outside the wire. If they do, there is plenty of incentive to get back to Pizza Hut before dark. In my opinion, if we can’t stomach being out among the populace and living light, we ought to leave. Many parents don’t want to hear this, and I’m reluctant to say it. But the simple fact is, many of the occupants of our bases in Iraq are not living much differently than back in the States. Pick up a newspaper and you’ll see Marines and soldiers in the streets patrolling. But those guys are a tiny part of our presence here. I know this is just the Marine in me talking, but here is what I think of Camp Victory: soldiers complaining and trying to get laid. Soldiers walking around with sandy dusty weapons that they lay on the ground while they eat. Weapons not on “safe.” And more complaining. Really, why even give them weapons? Plenty of them have been shot on accident. Plenty. What a really shitty way to go. You go all the way to Iraq just to get shot by another soldier that was a dumbass. If the base was ever attacked, the soldiers would kill more friendlies than bad guys. I’d be willing to bet on that. Once, a soldier went crazy and started firing his weapons at things. This was in the middle of the night, when Camp Victory was still blacked out after dark. Well there were a whole shitload of people that emerged from there trailers and fired blindly in the general direction of the gunfire. Very scary. We could do a lot more with a whole lot less people in this country, if we would re-think the way we're working here. Many people know this, and you don't have to look hard to find them.

A Sergeant picked me up and took me to the air terminal. It was a small room, like a bus station waiting room. Bags were stacked against one wall. I arrived an hour early and drank a cup of coffee and watched TV. When the helicopters were about to land, I grabbed my bags and got in line. A KBR contractor and I struck up a conversation. He was a soldier in the first Gulf War and had been working for KBR for a couple of years. He now spent time at various bases in Iraq. Thankfully, he helped carry one of my bags. It was pitch black outside, and I nearly fell down an embankment because I couldn’t see my feet and I was off balance with all the gear I was carrying. The Blackhawks landed, and our stick [our group] replaced they guys getting off. They passed us by with their gear, faces dim in the green light of the helicopters. We
walked down the embankment and through the wind and the din of the rotors. Only by yelling at the top of your lungs can you talk to anyone near you, and even then, they are mostly reading your lips. I swung my gear into the chopper, and struggled to buckle myself in. With the gear and the people inside, you could barely move. A few minutes later, the doors slid closed, and we were pretty comfortable. It was warm in the cabin and the bags pushed against us as the rotors changed their pitch. The crewmen manned the door guns up front. The only lights were the green cabin lights up front, and they were only bright enough to see the gunners’ faces. Thirty seconds later we were airborne. We crawled slowly into the air and banked over the fences and bunkers and buildings that lined the base's airfield. I checked the digital compass on my watch, and saw that we were headed northwest right away. Taji is only 28 kilometers away from Baghdad, and the flight would be short. We flew fast and low. The lights below were bluish green and amber, and they lit up simple houses, narrow alleys, and trash-filled parking lots. Blazing fires burned on either side of our helicopter. Both looked like oil fires. I was captivated by my first real view of the “real Iraq.” It looked much like flying over the bowels of China. Just a few differences; for example the lack of vehicles below. It was 11 PM. The only cars I could make out were the few that careened through alleyways and small streets below at speeds that would have made cops spill their coffee in the States. In China, cars had seemed to be everywhere. Also, never while I flew in China did I have the knowledge in the back of my mind that people below me might shoot at me if they could see me. Within a few minutes, we descended onto an airfield similar to the one we had just left. The skids of the helicopter scraped down in the darkness onto flat dirt and gravel, and I piled out with my stuff. It was 11:20 PM on Saturday, April 1, 2006. I was finally in Taji.