Part 33 (1/2)

One day, the Bradleys picked us up from a sniper op. We had just turned off Haifa onto one of the side streets, and all of a sudden-buh-lam. We'd been hit by a ma.s.sive IED. The back of the vehicle lifted up and slammed back down. The inside filled with smoke.

I could see the guy across from me moving his mouth, but I couldn't hear a word: the blast had blown out my ears.

The next thing I knew, the Bradley started moving again. That was one tough vehicle. Back at the base, the commander kind of shrugged it off.

”Didn't even knock the tracks off,” he said. He almost sounded disappointed.

It's a cliche, but it's true: you form tight friends.h.i.+ps in war. And then suddenly circ.u.mstances change. I became close friends with two guys in the Guard unit, real good friends; I trusted them with my life.

Today I couldn't tell you their names if my life depended on it. And I'm not even sure that I can describe them in a way that would show you why they were special.

Me and the boys from Arkansas seemed to get along real well together, maybe because we were all just country boys.

Well, they were hillbillies. You've got your regular redneck like me, then you got your hillbilly who's a whole sight different animal.

ONWARD

The elections came and went.

The media back in the States made a big thing of the Iraqi government elections, but it was a nonevent for me. I wasn't even out that day; I caught it on TV.

I never really believed the Iraqis would turn the country into a truly functioning democracy, but I thought at one point that there was a chance. I don't know that I believe that now. It's a pretty corrupt place.

But I didn't risk my life to bring democracy to Iraq. I risked my life for my buddies, to protect my friends and fellow countrymen. I went to war for my country, not Iraq. My country sent me out there so that bulls.h.i.+t wouldn't make its way back to our sh.o.r.es.

I never once fought for the Iraqis. I could give a flying f.u.c.k about them.

A short while after the election, I was sent back to my SEAL platoon. Our time in Iraq was growing short, and I was starting to look forward to going home.

Being at camp in Baghdad meant I had my own little room. My personal gear filled four or five cruise boxes, two big Stanley roller boxes, and a.s.sorted rucks. (Cruise boxes are the modern equivalent of footlockers; they're waterproof and roughly three feet long.) On deployment, we pack heavy.

I also had a TV set. All the latest movies were on pirated DVDs selling at Baghdad street stands for five bucks. I bought a box set of James Bond movies, some Clint Eastwood, John Wayne-I love John Wayne. I love his cowboy movies especially, which makes sense I guess. Rio Bravo may be my favorite.

Besides movies, I spent a bit of time playing computer games-Command and Conquer became a personal favorite. Smurf had a PlayStation, and we started getting into playing Tiger Woods.

I kicked his b.u.t.t.

DAS, HELOS, AND HEIGHTS

With Baghdad settling down, at least for the moment, the head shed decided they wanted to open up a SEAL base in Habbaniyah.

Habbaniyah is twelve miles to the east of Fallujah, in Anabar Province. It wasn't quite the hotbed of the insurgency that Fallujah had been, but it wasn't San Diego, either. This is the area where before the First Gulf War, Saddam built chemical plants devoted to manufacturing weapons of ma.s.s destruction, such as nerve gas and other chemical agents. There weren't a lot of America supporters out there.

There was a U.S. Army base though, run by the famous 506th Regiment-the Band of Brothers. They'd just come over from Korea and, to be polite, had no f.u.c.king clue what Iraq was all about. I suppose everybody's gotta learn the hard way.

Habbaniyah turned out to be a real pain in the a.s.s. We'd been given an abandoned building, but it was nowhere near adequate for what we needed. We had to build a TOC-a tactical operations command-to house all the computers and com gear that helped support us during our missions.

Our morale sunk. We weren't doing anything useful for the war; we were working as carpenters. It's an honorable profession, but it's not ours.