Musings on the toughest easiest job I’ve ever had...
This is a fine war. A war without fighting. A war where I have an endless supply of books sent from back home, and thousands of movies and TV shows available on my computer. A war where people send me packages filled with things I don’t really need but appreciate all the same and open with an excitement that rivals a child’s at Christmas. A war in which I have not fired a single bullet that wasn’t intended for a target at the range. A war I trained for that looks nothing like I expected. A war where I’m getting fatter than I was when I got here – that’s not a spare tire around my waist, that’s a KBR puppy.
I’m busy every day and bored all day long. I’m excited to be here where the action is and wondering where the hell the action is. I email or talk to my wife on video-chat nearly every day and instead of making it easier it makes it harder to take the distance. Some days it makes it easier. Other days I think that if I see her on my screen again – flat, lukewarm and plastic -- without touching her, I may lose my mind.
My first tour here I was outside the wire very often. I talked with Iraqis and worked with them and ate their food. I learned they were happy we chased out Sadaam and that they wanted the war to end… how they wanted us to leave and at the same time dreaded us leaving. I heard the daily rumors from the street. How we were making a difference, building a country, winning the hearts and minds… or not. And I remember the look of complete disbelief when I spoke about my home in Hawaii – it could have been Mars I was describing. We learned about each other and from each other. There were good guys and bad guys. The bad guys were always trying to kill us whether we were inside or outside the wire. Body armor was second skin and a weapon was an extra appendage.
Back then the sound of small arms fire was almost comforting to me. Small arms fire meant that the good guys were engaging the enemy – and that fight was almost inevitably going to end up with dead bad guys. I became afraid of mortars after a while but seldom ran to the bunkers… The mortars and rocket attacks were daily, but so random. By the time I could get to a bunker the attack was usually over. But there were those times when three or four rounds would come in and I’d think it was over… then 5 more would come and I’d think how stupid it would be to be caught out of the bunker when I had had so much time to get there. Sometimes they’d wake me up, my bed shaking violently, with my mind still trying to register what that sound was. Other times they’d keep me awake as I thought about the people I’d seen that day in the hospital with missing limbs and melted off skin and quiet moaning. On nights like that they sometimes got close enough to make me think about writing that last letter and leaving it on the desktop of my computer labeled, “If I am dead.”
Car bombs and IEDs were a constant threat when I was traveling in a convoy, though I never got hit by one or even came close. The closest I came to the car bombs was when they blew up at Assassin’s Gate, about a block from where my office was or on the road just outside the Green Zone… the other side of the wall. “Close enough” was a relative phrase.
This time around, part of me wants to get close – as ridiculous as that sounds. Here on this air base it is so quiet that it is almost like the war is over. That’s a good thing, but I know that it is not over and that people are still being shot at and killed… I’m just further from it. My men are out there in it. My job is to wait and worry and write awards for them. Where is the glory behind a desk – even in a war zone? I want to be challenged so that I can stand up and fight. I want to shoot back. I want to defend myself and defeat the evil so I can go home. This is one of the toughest easiest jobs I’ve ever had. And I love it.
I love doing the hard time… even when that hard time is easy. That must be confusing to some people but that is what it feels like. Staying motivated, working hard every day to ask, “What can I do today to make a difference?” is sometimes more difficult when you feel so disconnected from things. I am here to support and back up my team… and I am so proud of them – even though I am envious of them being out there doing what I want to do. My fingers are in everything and yet I feel no sensation. I guess I’ve learned a lot in the past 5 months about leadership, communication, perspective, and organization. At the root of all that is the lives of the men I’m in charge of and what I will do for them – and I don’t mean to sound as if I’m talking about altruism in any sense – I’m certainly not an altruist. I suppose I’m just really gaining a respect for what those in positions of real responsibility do.
I used to wonder why the “leaders” were so highly respected and given so many perks… after all it was those of us on the bottom doing all the work. But I think I get it now. I spend more time doing “nothing” now and getting a lot more done. It’s a difference between mind work and muscle work. Not everyone is capable of doing the mind work whereas virtually anyone can do the muscle work. And the mind work is critical to the success of any mission or job. Remove one person loading a truck and the job goes slowly… remove the guy who made the contacts, hired the driver and planned the route and delivery and you blow the whole job. Simple really and I know I’ve always known it at some level but am now gaining a real appreciation for it.
I’m busy every day and bored all day long. I’m excited to be here where the action is and wondering where the hell the action is. I email or talk to my wife on video-chat nearly every day and instead of making it easier it makes it harder to take the distance. Some days it makes it easier. Other days I think that if I see her on my screen again – flat, lukewarm and plastic -- without touching her, I may lose my mind.
My first tour here I was outside the wire very often. I talked with Iraqis and worked with them and ate their food. I learned they were happy we chased out Sadaam and that they wanted the war to end… how they wanted us to leave and at the same time dreaded us leaving. I heard the daily rumors from the street. How we were making a difference, building a country, winning the hearts and minds… or not. And I remember the look of complete disbelief when I spoke about my home in Hawaii – it could have been Mars I was describing. We learned about each other and from each other. There were good guys and bad guys. The bad guys were always trying to kill us whether we were inside or outside the wire. Body armor was second skin and a weapon was an extra appendage.
Back then the sound of small arms fire was almost comforting to me. Small arms fire meant that the good guys were engaging the enemy – and that fight was almost inevitably going to end up with dead bad guys. I became afraid of mortars after a while but seldom ran to the bunkers… The mortars and rocket attacks were daily, but so random. By the time I could get to a bunker the attack was usually over. But there were those times when three or four rounds would come in and I’d think it was over… then 5 more would come and I’d think how stupid it would be to be caught out of the bunker when I had had so much time to get there. Sometimes they’d wake me up, my bed shaking violently, with my mind still trying to register what that sound was. Other times they’d keep me awake as I thought about the people I’d seen that day in the hospital with missing limbs and melted off skin and quiet moaning. On nights like that they sometimes got close enough to make me think about writing that last letter and leaving it on the desktop of my computer labeled, “If I am dead.”
Car bombs and IEDs were a constant threat when I was traveling in a convoy, though I never got hit by one or even came close. The closest I came to the car bombs was when they blew up at Assassin’s Gate, about a block from where my office was or on the road just outside the Green Zone… the other side of the wall. “Close enough” was a relative phrase.
This time around, part of me wants to get close – as ridiculous as that sounds. Here on this air base it is so quiet that it is almost like the war is over. That’s a good thing, but I know that it is not over and that people are still being shot at and killed… I’m just further from it. My men are out there in it. My job is to wait and worry and write awards for them. Where is the glory behind a desk – even in a war zone? I want to be challenged so that I can stand up and fight. I want to shoot back. I want to defend myself and defeat the evil so I can go home. This is one of the toughest easiest jobs I’ve ever had. And I love it.
I love doing the hard time… even when that hard time is easy. That must be confusing to some people but that is what it feels like. Staying motivated, working hard every day to ask, “What can I do today to make a difference?” is sometimes more difficult when you feel so disconnected from things. I am here to support and back up my team… and I am so proud of them – even though I am envious of them being out there doing what I want to do. My fingers are in everything and yet I feel no sensation. I guess I’ve learned a lot in the past 5 months about leadership, communication, perspective, and organization. At the root of all that is the lives of the men I’m in charge of and what I will do for them – and I don’t mean to sound as if I’m talking about altruism in any sense – I’m certainly not an altruist. I suppose I’m just really gaining a respect for what those in positions of real responsibility do.
I used to wonder why the “leaders” were so highly respected and given so many perks… after all it was those of us on the bottom doing all the work. But I think I get it now. I spend more time doing “nothing” now and getting a lot more done. It’s a difference between mind work and muscle work. Not everyone is capable of doing the mind work whereas virtually anyone can do the muscle work. And the mind work is critical to the success of any mission or job. Remove one person loading a truck and the job goes slowly… remove the guy who made the contacts, hired the driver and planned the route and delivery and you blow the whole job. Simple really and I know I’ve always known it at some level but am now gaining a real appreciation for it.
Labels: iraq
posted by Joe at Wednesday, February 13, 2008
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