Mortars and Rockets and Shells, Oh My!

My family has been begging for a new blog entry, so I took a little time out of my last three days to write one.  I promise a much… sexier entry to come!

In less than four weeks, my feet will again be on American soil.  Though one would expect me to be more than ready to return to my home, to modern conveniences, to comfort, I’m torn inside.  I do miss each of those things and more, but I’ve grown accustomed to and even quite fond of my new surroundings.  I don’t feel like my time here should be finished, and I’m not sure I’m ready to return to my much more complicated life back in the states.  I never imagined I’d feel so peaceful and content in the middle of a war zone.  I don’t believe that Baghdad has seen the last of me.

I’m not sure how high the temperature has reached.  I’ve stopped checking.  I do know that instead of reporting clear skies or haze, Weather Underground occasionally reports ‘smoke’.  I also know that it now remains in the triple digits well into the night.  It’s strange to walk outside at 10pm and it feel like noon on a summer day in Arkansas.  When the wind picks up, it vaguely reminds me of the few times I’ve left my hot blowdryer positioned on one area of my head for too long.  The rocky, quarter mile trek to the shower leaves me increasingly sluggish, and I’m often sweaty again by the time I reach my hooch.  I typically try to shower after work even though I don’t get off until 2200.  Not only is the walk much cooler, but the water is, as well.  Because the white, plastic tanks are not under any shade, there is no such thing as cold water.  Midday showers are scalding.

One thing that I am more than ready to return to is my kitchen.  Two months of free food from the DFAC has taken its toll.  There’s often a shortage of fresh produce when trucks can’t get through the city or into the camp, and sometimes I feel like a kid in a school cafeteria.  My coworkers and I gather around one another’s plastic plates attempting to discern what the mystery meat of the day actually is.  Of late, I’ve been returning to my trailer for lunch and dinner.  I’ve stockpiled Club crackers, green tea, and microwaveable bowls of Asian noodles in an assortment of flavors.  I’ve pretty much been surviving off of that and a pack a day of caffeine gum.

I’ve recently been caught in the middle of some renegade AK-47 rounds.  Unfortunately, my hooch is fairly close to the camp perimeter, and our work trailer is butted up right next to the wall.  Gaurd posts peek just above the razor wire adorned bricks, and when anyone gets too close, soldiers fire warning rounds in an attempt to frighten them away.  If they don’t retreat, the guards take aim and continue firing, and sometimes a fight ensues.  Occasionally, a stray bullet will find its way into the housing area or our contractor compound.  While enjoying a bowl of spicy kung pao noodles with Judge Judy, a round ricocheted off the roof of my room.  A couple days later, some windows were broken in the training trailer next to our office.  Most recently, a round lodged itself in John’s air conditioner while he and Sunny were catching a movie.  He was able to extract it with a pair of pliers to keep as a soveneir.

There have been quite a few exciting events over the last couple of weeks.  I considered shying away from this subject at least until I returned to the states for the benefit of my family’s concerns, but nothing that I’ve experienced here even compares to the devastation that’s portrayed and often exaggerated in the media.  It’s not unusual for Victory, Liberty, or one of the other nearby camps to take mortar rounds, but rarely does one hit close enough to even cause me to bat an eye.  When my bed shakes just enough to stir me awake in the night, my lids flutter open only for a second, and I vaguely remember it the next morning.  In fact, I’ve grown so accustomed to the sound of explosions, I’ve almost become complacent.  That is, I had until just a few days ago.

After lunch on Saturday, most everyone had run off to meetings and appointments.  Only Lisa and I remained, and we worked quietly from our opposite ends of the trailer.  For some reason, my ears were devoid of headphones, and the only sounds in the office were those of server fans and clicking keys.  At approximately 1330, a round hit uncomfortably close and caused a secondary explosion.  Lisa and I looked up from our work and at each other.  Something had just blown up.  Mere moments later, a much louder, closer round landed, shaking the dust from the ceiling, flickering the flourescent lights, and causing expletives to involuntarily flow from my mouth.  Lisa and I both pushed our chairs back from our desks, eyes fixed on one another.  

I’ve wondered if I only imagined the sound of the third mortar flying directly over the CIDNE trailer, but I’m sure I didn’t.  I squinted my eyes well before it impacted only a hundred meters away.  In a split second, Lisa and I were on the floor and under our desks.  The sound of silence after the blast was deafening.  After a few moments, we peeked over our black swivel chairs and crawled out.  Taking mortar rounds is apparently just as effective as the triple espresso chai latte I order every morning, because I was suddenly wired.  It was all I could do not to let out a bellowing, "Whoo-hoo!"  I sprinted to the door just as every other contractor in the compound began filing out of their offices.  The cloud of dust and dirt was just beginning to settle over the canal, and the sound of sirens filled the muggy air.  Lisa and I later took a drive to see exactly where they each hit, but we were only able to find two points of impact.

It’s quite possible that I’ll be travelling north for a few days next week.  Some adjustments need to be made to our software in a remote location, and I quickly raised my hand to volunteer.  I’ve been begging since I arrived for a ride in a helicopter, and this trip will be a fifteen minute ride in a Blackhawk.  Taji is only about thirty miles away, but the presence of IEDs make it much more dangerous to travel by convoy.  Though I know it will mean I can’t take pictures, I’d like to fly at night.  I can’t help but wonder how it looks when explosive light up the black Baghdad sky.

Cheers,
Felina