The Mongol Hoard, Part II

Yesterday I discovered where the Mongolians are camped out in a sub-complex near Eggars.  Today I invited myself over for a look-see.  After some embarrassing moments where I was trying to explain to the Mongolian guards why this Yankee wanted to enter their premises, they finally understood my intentions.  Who said speaking loudly and adding a vowel to each word didn't work?

The yurt in the middle of the Mongolian Compound.

Entering the yurt.  A portrait of Genghis Khan is the centerpiece.

Another view inside the yurt.

A "candid"shot.

I have a hard time imagining Genghis Khan in this little saddle.  I also doubt it would fit Denver, my mule.  I know it wouldn't fit my ass.

I was told was this instrument was but there were too many consonants for me to comprehend.  It didn't sound very good anyway.

R&R -- playing that hateful, Chinese game.

Anyway, I had a nice visit with the Mongolians.  I'd really like to visit them again when they're serving up some native cuisine.  I have no idea what that would be, but I'm game anyways.

The Mongol Hoard

One of the pleasures of being in Kabul at the various military compounds is being around so many of the allied and coalition forces that are here supporting the war effort and the country building in Afghanistan.  NATO is here in force and a number of other European countries trying to get into NATO.  We've got Macedonia here, Albania, and other countries providing representatives to this effort.  Trying to recognize each country from its camo uniforms is difficult; so many look alike that it's hard to differentiate.

The smaller contingents aren't providing combat soldiers, however.  They're mostly gathered at the headquarters elements and compounds here in the Kabul region.  They're contributing to the war effort, but they're also contributing to the overcrowded conditions here.

One of the countries providing troops is Mongolia.  When they first arrived, small squads of Mongolian Army soldiers marched around in formation with all of their "battle rattle," helmets, weapons, body armor, and new uniforms.  American and British soldiers only armor up if they're going outside the wire, so to speak.  It didn't take long for the Mongolians to get a feel for how Americans fight their wars.  The helmets have come off in favor of soft caps, I have to elbow my way into the chow halls now where Mongolians have discovered good American mess hall food, and now I have to elbow my way into the MWR building where the common use computers are located.

The Mongolians now have discovered Facebook, Yahoo Mail, Skype, and other social networking sites.  Because none of them have their own laptops, unlike every American soldier, airman, sailor, and marine who is here, they use the common use computers here at MWR.  They may not fire their weapons alongside Americans while serving time here in Afghanistan, but these Mongolians certainly will go home better oriented to the American lifestyle and culture than when they first came.  Long live Facebook...

Merry Christmas from Afghanistan!

There's both better and worse places in the world to be right now.  I'd prefer being home with Suzanne and celebrating with friends and family.  But, in a twisted kind of way, the Army is home for me too and if I have to spend it in one of the 'stans, I'd prefer doing it with the US Army.  Hoooaahh...

A Shackleton in Kabul

I was having lunch today at the New Kabul Compound DFAC (Dining Facility) and talking with some work mates.  I looked up and noticed an American NCO walking towards me.  His name tag had Shackleton on it.  It's not a common name but one that carries a lot of weight around the Antarctic business.  I thought there might be a connection to Sir Ernest Shackleton.  I stopped him and asked him if he was related to Sir Ernest.  I didn't even finish my question when he replied that he was.  The young NCO is the great, great nephew of Shackleton.  He seemed pleased that someone in the region had a clue as to who Ernest Shackleton was.  Everyone at the table had no clue as I'm sure few in the Army do.

So, a remotely related piece of Antarctic history lives and breathes in Kabul today.  Small world...

A Death in Kabul

Things have been pretty busy here in Kabul.  They didn't get any better when one of our senior techs, who took a leadership role at the New Kabul Compound (NKC), died two weeks ago.  Gerard was young, experienced, a technical whiz at the communications infrastructure that we support here, and an Air Force veteran.  His sudden death shocked us and reminded us that we all are at risk over here.  We still are trying to fill the void that he left.

Gerard, I didn't know you well or for that long.  But you were a good guy and you will be missed.  Travel well, my friend.

Abandon Ship!!! Better Digs, Part III

Last night I heard some weird sounds coming from my room.  They sounded like someone chiseling around my window.  I blew it off, slept well, and this morning took a nice hot shower and went to work.

I received a call first thing this morning from Ray, our guy who manages our billeting and ensures we live in decent conditions.  He told me that my hot water heater had fallen off the wall in my bathroom and that it had flooded into my bedroom.  Since he was on the job, I turned my attentions back to work.  Then it dawned on me -- my laptop was in my bugout bag which was sitting on the floor.  I got up to go find a driver to get me back to the house, when Ray stopped by my office to tell me that I ought to go home and sort things out.

Sure enough, there was two inches of water in my room.  Ray had picked everything that counted up off of the floor.  I immediately checked my laptop, and while the outer protective case was damp, I suspect my laptop is fine.  I won't know for sure until I turn it on tonight.

What saved my laptop was Ray's quick action, and that my two Afghan rugs and my dirty clothes in the laundry bag had soaked-up enough of the water. 

Remember my comment about poor engineering in my previous post?  The hot water heater was mounted by cheap, thin screws loosely drilled into the marble.  When the heater came down, it ripped out the cheap plumbing, ripped out the electrical socket in the wall, ripped off the shelf beneath the mirror, and broke some glassware. 

The bedroom floor is slanted, I discover now, so that the water accumulated the furthest away from my front door.  So, as I spent two hours squeegeeing the water out the front door, half of it flowed back into the bedroom.  I remembered an old WWII movie in the process (it might have been "The D.I.").  Anyway, in the movie, a Marine who killed a mosquito by slapping it loudly while on a patrol was forced to dig a grave (full-size human grave, 6' down) along with his battle buddy, while another recruit was filling the grave in at the same time. 

So, I dragged my rugs out onto a balcony handrail for them to dry.  I'm homeless again, it seems, and this evening I'll look for another bunk to crash on while KBR attempts to repair the damage to my room.

Better Digs, Part II

It's getting darker earlier now that we're approaching Winter Solstice so I haven't taken more photos of the new place, The Tillman House, where I now reside.  I work between 10 and 12 hours a day, so I arrive at work in the dark and leave to go home in the dark.  On my recent "day off", where I only work 8 hours, I was able to get back to the abode and take some photos with my iPhone.

Portal shot of the Tillman House.  One of the guards is walking towards me.  The vertical electrical box to the right converts the generator power to 220 volts for the house electrical service.

Every house in Kabul has stone or concrete walls that separate it from the street and the neighbors.  Every large home becomes a compound with a walled courtyard in the front with no backyard at all.  Added to these walls now are additional blast walls and concertina that reminds us that we're living in a war zone.  Rockets and mortars still fall within the compound and this additional protection is meant to keep you alive during these brief but intense reminders of war.

A shot taken from my room out to the courtyard.

The rose garden in our courtyard.

So, you're thinking that I'm living in the lap of luxury, right?  Well, considering the tent I was in for the first two weeks, yeah, maybe I am.  Despite the nice looking exterior to these newer buildings and houses, there really is no engineering underlying the construction.  Our guy who manages the housing for my company told me that he supervised the construction of the Tillman House from day one.  He said that the workers used practically no mortar when they set the bricks, used no rebar, and slapped concrete up quickly to finish the product.  This area is prone to damaging earthquakes, and I was told to run out of the house should there be one -- this house probably would collapse.

When we first moved in, all the guys using the showers and toilets caused the sewer system to back up and flood throughout the first floor and basement of the house.  KBR (the current support contractor) had to come out two days in a row to roto-root the drainage system to clear out all of the water bottles and plastic wrappings the construction workers had rammed down the drain. 

In the photo above, you'll notice the yellow tank behind the rose garden.  This is a chlorine injection system that squirts chlorine into the well water to kill some of the impurities.  It doesn't kill all the bad stuff, so we still have to brush our teeth with bottled water.  Anyway, this is our second tank.  The first one died last week, in the process dumping the tank's entire chlorine contents into the well water.  The next morning when we all rose to take showers and get ready for work, all that came out of the faucets and shower heads was milky white chlorine solution that reeked of its bleach smell.  The chlorine ate away all the fake chrome plating from the sink and shower drains.

I made the right decision not to take a shower that day and poured a bottle of water over my head to sponge bathe.  Others, not so wise, chose to risk a shower, and in the process one guy nearly was overcome by fumes and had to be dragged outside to recover.  Others pissed into the toilets, mixing the ammonia in their urine with the chlorine, and creating mustard gas.  Two other guys currently are suffering complications from this experience. 

The street from the Tillman House leading outside the compound.

This photo depicts the street separating the US Embassy from the Tillman House.  There's two blast walls adorned with concertina wire.  The shorter one on the inside keeps us from escaping our man-made prison.  The larger one prevents even the most persistent escapee from entering the US Embassy.  Walking or driving from here to the outer gate entails passing through four other checkpoints all of which are protected by armed guards. 

There's enough armed guards carrying AK-47s in our housing areas to maintain a certain level of safety.  Nearly everyone else is armed too with M-4s and pistols.  It's an armed camp that the Taliban can't easily penetrate.  So, the rockets and mortars come instead.

All of this makes me appreciate raking leaves back home.  At least there, I can drink beer.

Better Digs

I recently moved to a real Safe House, a new home called the Tillman House, named after Pat Tillman, the Arizona Cardinal turned Ranger who was killed by friendly fire here in Afghanistan a few years ago.

I'm out of the tent and into real quarters.  We can't walk from the house to the compound.  We have to be driven there in an armored car because we pass through streets that have been targets for IEDs and bombs in the past.  We also don't have commercial Internet access there yet, and that is why I have not updated this blog in the last week or so.  I've been chided by nearly everyone who reads this, so this is a quick update until I get the time to submit another post.

One view from the veranda of the Tillman House

And another view.

Kabul is surrounded by mountains that mostly have turned white with the recent snows.  And there's more on the way.  Days are still sunny and warm, but nights have cooled to the point where we know winter is coming and wet and muddy days will soon be the norm.

A Friday Bazaar

Most of the compounds around Kabul used to allow its residents to walk downtown to frequent restaurants and shops.  Since the Taliban have resorted to car bombs and attacks on coalition forces, we are no longer allowed to walk outside the compounds.  The local shopkeepers had become dependent upon the westerners shopping in their stalls.  So, in the name of good relations and good business, the bazaar has come to us on Eggers -- but only on Fridays.

Some interesting drawings and paintings.

 

The usual cloth, clothing, and trinkets.

A gem seller with loose stones.  I'm told the prices are good.

Nothing attracted me except the gemstones.  I'll have to confer with my friend who is a gemologist to see what I need to look for and what prices are reasonable.

The troops were more attracted to the the piles of DVDs that were available.  We get AFRTS here (military television), but most Soldiers pass around stacks of DVDs for their entertainment back in the barracks.

The Alamo

One of the "Safe Houses" where Americans live is The Alamo.  This is where I currently reside, although today all of the techs that were housed with me left to go to a new and much improved Safe House, The Tillman House, named after the professional football player turned Ranger who was killed by friendly fire a few years ago.  I'm now living alone in a GP Medium tent erected in the courtyard of a former mansion.  I'm so lonely and confused...

NOT.  Anyway, I'll figure out what is going to happen to me sometime tomorrow.  I've got to work all night in the Technical Control Facility, where I currently work, to assist with an Authorized Service Interruption (ASI) for some equipment that needs repair and maintenance.

Ah yes, home sweet home.  I'm learning to dig tent living again.  It will be much better when winter comes, dumps piles of snow onto the dirt and dust, and I get to traipse through it going to and from the showers and bathrooms.

We have bunkers to run to should RPGs, mortars, rockets, or bombs go off near our compound.  I've been lucky so far.  But I'm told that we get hit every few weeks or so.

  

More shots of the Alamo.  It's a pretty good sized compound.  The military have priority for the hard billets.  Sleazy, slimy contractors like myself are relegated to the tents.

Some Sights Around Eggers Compound in Kabul

I took a couple of photos today of some odd stuff at Eggers.  The first shot shows the specific place the military has deemed appropriate for cigar smoking. 

What's interesting about this, and I don't know if this was intended to be humorous, but the Afghan Air Improvement Committee (whatever that is) allows open incineration of paper products every day in metal bins.  Kabul is known to have some of the worst air pollution in the world because of the open burning and the surrounding mountains that keep the smog in place throughout the year.

Adjacent to the cigar smoking area was this remnant of an old Afghan mosaic:

                                          
Eggers is located near the old and new US Embassies.  The neighborhood that existed before the Russian and Taliban occupation/destruction must have been a nice area.  The houses were large and had protective walls around the courtyards.  After the destruction (Russian/Taliban/US), the US moved in and created a "Green Zone" just like the one that existed in Baghdad.  The US now leases all of this neighborhood (for millions of dollars) and is free to modify all of the buildings for its use.  Here, an old, traditional mosaic shows the ravages of war and the US presence -- it now is positioned below a row of electrical junction boxes powering this portion of the compound.  When the US leaves, most of this neighborhood will have to be razed and rebuilt by the Afghans who own the property.  No big deal, I think, since they are becoming rich with US lease dollars.

Bagram and On To Kabul

We arrived in Bagram at 0215 hours.  We bused from the flight line to the terminal.  After processing in (every time one moves in this theater, your CAC card (Common Access Card -- your ID) is scanned.  This way, the military knows where everyone is located for many reasons (feeding, medical, evacuation, notifications, etc.).  I noticed that there were three flights to Kabul this morning.  This is unusual I was told.  Normally there is only one flight per day and one has to wait up to four days to get on it.  Looking at some of the poor tired souls in the terminal who had been waiting that long, I felt more dread.  I'm already tired from my trip and looking at the terminal, there was only one latrine, no beds or cots, stiff chairs, and dirty linoleum on which to lie down.  The irony is that Bagram is only 50 miles from Kabul.

A few years ago, the military would bus everyone down to Kabul from Bagram AFB.  Since the advent of IEDs and suicide bombers, only certain armor uplifted vehicles were allowed to make the drive.  The British still made the run and I was looking for some Brit Soldiers to befriend in order to get down there. 

The first two flights to Kabul were supposed to take off around 0400 and 0430.  Last flight was at 1100.  Our baggage had not arrived at the terminal yet and the time was now 0400.  I'm thinking this was another military SNAFU that would mean that I would have to try to get onto the 1100 flight or be delayed for a day, sitting in the terminal smelling badly and wishing I was somewhere else.

Baggage finally arrived around 0500 but the two C-130 flights were delayed -- I guess to wait for us.  Anyway, we eventually get manifested on these birds and waited in the terminal to board the buses to go back out to the flight line.  Finally, some USAF sergeant shows up and calls out our names and everyone runs to the buses.  Except for me.  My name wasn't called.  The sergeant had my CAC card, hadn't called me out, so I was left standing in the terminal wondering what other bullshit I had to go through in order to get to Kabul.  I ran (again) to the manifest desk and spoke with the reps there and explained the situation.  They told me that I was manifested and that I should be on the plane.  I wasn't I told them.  They now ran out to the line to resolve it for me -- I guess they saw how pitiful I looked and couldn't bear to see me in the terminal for another day or two.

Anyway, I get on, fly the 11 minute flight to Kabul International Airport, and arrive only to be confronted with a sign stating that transportation to the various compounds around Kabul only happens at 0600 and 1500.  It's now 0645 hours.  I coudn't imagine being stuck in another empty marble room with nowhere to go until that afternoon.  Fortunately, I was speaking with a Soldier back in Bagram who had been waiting two days for a flight.  He works the Army communications program that my company supports and he gave me the phone number to the Tech Control Facility at Eggers.  I called, told the guy at the other end of the phone that I was a new ITT guy and asked him if he could provide transportation.  Yep.  30 minutes later I was riding a Disney E-Ticket ride with my Uzbeck driver who made up his own driving laws as he went.  How we didn't kill multiple bicyclists and two donkeys I'll never know.  The ride woke me up and I was ready to report to work -- and find a bed to sleep.

The coalition here truly is international.  I've seen Canadians, Brits, Italians, Mongolians, French, Norwegians, and others that I haven't yet recognized.

 

Seems like all the coalition forces drive around in armor uplifted Toyota Land Cruisers with a complete array of radio antennas.  It's difficult to pick out your vehicle and driver from every other Land Cruiser driven by a Uzbek.

Leaving Kuwait

Because I was to spend a few days in Kuwait City meeting the Program Support Team, I needed a visa.  The Army runs a visa service out of Ali Al Salem LSA.  It takes 24 hours to get one's passport back for both entering and leaving Kuwait.  So, I spent another couple of days sitting in sandstorms and wondering if I was going to get out.  Other Soldiers and contractors I spoke with told me horror stories of being stuck in Kuwait for a week or two while flights were filled by higher priority passengers or flights delayed by weather and mechanical reasons.  The bummer was that I was spoiled from staying at the Courtyard and Hilton for three nights and now I was back to dusty and dirty tents holding up to 16 guys. 

I got up early to pick up my passport and went over to the flight manifest tent.  Put my name on the list for Bagram.  There's usually no direct flights to Kabul so one has to fly either to Bagram or to Kandahar and then get manifested on another plane to Kabul.  I was told to return at 1630 hours for roll call.  I did, made the roll call, and made the manifest.  The dispatcher told me that normally flights to Bagram are filled and folks spend days trying to get out.  I was lucky.  I probably would make this flight -- my first day on the list.

In typical military fashion, those who were flying to Bagram were told to standby in the tent and wait for a formation at 1800 hrs.  I asked one of the dispatchers if I should go get my gear and haul it up to the line.  She replied no, that I would have plenty of time to grab my gear before the buses arrived at 1930.  So I waited.  At 1800 hours, we all filed outside to stand in another formation, a last roll call, and then we were supposed to palletize our baggage.  I ran to my tent, packed up all of my shit, and hauled it to the pallet area.  One of my bags weighed 80 lbs and the other weighed 45.  Plus, I have my backpack with computer gear and other documents and cables.  It's no easy task hauling all of this up a gravel pathway for 150 meters.

Got to the pallet area and saw no one.  No pallets either.  Dropped my shit where I stood and walked over to two cargo guys and asked them where everyone was for my flight.  They looked at me, looked at the road leading to the air base, and said that I was too late.  Panicked, I ran to the manifest tent and spoke with the lady who told me I had plenty of time.  She was starting to give me the usual bureaucratic double talk but I was in no mood for that.  I resorted to my infantry officer behavior, causing another guy came round the cube to assist me.  He called ahead out to the runway and spoke with the USAF.  Word came back that there would be no problem for me to haul my baggage onto the flight.

I was on the phone with my wife telling her my sad stories when the buses arrived and we loaded.  The sandstorm that I feared would cancel the flight subsided and we boarded a C-17 headed for Afghanistan.

  Traveling with Soldiers and 120mm mortar rounds.

I don't know how many Taliban we've killed with 120mm mortars, but I guess we've been expending some ammo on them.

First glimpse of Afghanistan out the cargo ramp of a C-17.

We arrived at Bagram AFB at 0215 hours on Sunday.  Afghanistan is 2.5 timezones east of Kuwait.  I am 11.5 hours ahead of Colorado Springs. 

Of Bedouins and Bedoons: Stateless People in Kuwait

I ran across the term "Bedoon" while reading the morning Kuwait Times newspaper a few days ago.  I assumed that it was another term for Bedouin.  I was wrong.  It refers to another group of people who, while residing in Kuwait, do not share Kuwaiti citizenship even though they claim to be Kuwaitis.

The population of Kuwait is estimated anywhere from 3 to 5 million.  Of these, there are only 1 million recognized Kuwaitis.  The government would know that since it pays out an oil stipend to its citizens.  The majority of the residents in this country are foreign workers, mainly Indians and Pakistanis, but most all countries are represented here performing jobs in the service and construction industries.  Kuwait requires any foreign worker to be sponsored by one if its entities, KRH being one.  These sponsorship companies recruit foreign workers, pay them, hold their passports so they cannot slip away, and repatriate them when they are terminated or their contract expires.

Bedouins and Bedoons fall into another category.  Bedouins, of course, are recognized to be stateless people by all of the countries in the region.  They're nomads, and they are allowed to roam across borders but stay mainly to the interior areas of the desert.  Bedoons are not nomads.  Depending upon whom you ask, Bedoons are either true Kuwaitis who have been nationalized by other countries and have returned home, or they're interlopers who have renounced their citizenship in other countries, have migrated to Kuwait, and have no passport from any country -- thus stateless.

Bedoons number about 100,000.  It's not a terribly large number but enough to concern international committees working human rights issues.  Kuwaitis generally despise and distrust them.  Most of the Bedoons are southern Iraqi and Iranian, thus Shia, and are not welcome in the Sunni world of Kuwait.  Bedoons are not afforded any of the privileges of Kuwaiti citizens and are discriminated against for jobs and advancement.  Some, however, have managed to befriend members of Kuwait's Parliament and have been naturalized.  This door, having been opened, may not be closed easily.  The debate rages on in the Op Ed sections of the local newspapers.

All Good Things End In Time

I'm back at Ali Al Salem and residing in another tent in the middle of a sandstorm.  All military flights heading to Afghanistan leave from here and you have to be signed into base in order to manifest.  Also, there's passport checks and visa requirements that have to be taken care of.  My passport has been turned in to stamp me out of Kuwait and get the pre-approvals to go into Afghanistan.  I'm trapped here.  I have to pick up my passport at 0530 hrs tomorrow, manifest, and then be present for a roll call at 0630 hrs and 2000 hrs every day until I get out.

I'm hoping to fly tomorrow but there are no guarantees.  Sandstorms here or in Afghanistan will prevent flights coming and going.  And there is no guarantee that I'll fly directly into Kabul.  I may end up in Bagram or Kandahar and then forced to find a C-130 flight headed to Kabul.  Nothing is easy.
 

The Persian Gulf

I stayed at the Hilton Resort Hotel on the beach last night.  It's a very nice hotel and I wished I had stayed here for all three nights instead of breaking up my stay between here and the Marriott Courtyard.  Amenities here are far better than at the Courtyard.

The hotel sits right on the beach and there's Kuwaiti versions of cabanas along the beach for guests to relax in (complete with sofas and rugs).  I had a chance this morning to walk along the water's edge and take some photos.

Looking back at the Hilton.

One view of the water with a tanker in the background.

Another view.

I walked to the water's edge and reached in to touch the water -- mostly to say that I've been in the Persian Gulf.  And then, it dawned on me that I had made a terrible mistake.  Three days ago when I was driving through the city, I smelled the odors of open sewage.  My driver told me that the Kuwaiti sanitation system had failed two months ago and they have not been able to fix it.  As a result, tons of unprocessed sewage is dumped into the Gulf daily.  The water has been off limits to swimmers.  And now, my hand was dripping with gawd knows what filth. 

I ran to the swimming pool to conduct a quick wash before running to my room to complete the cleansing.  Thoughts of typhoid, dysentery, and other unpleasant ailments came to mind.   Anyway, I'm back in the room typing this and finishing my packing, so I'm not dead yet.  Thank gawd I'm not OCD.  But I do have to finish this so I can flick the light swith on and off 12 times...

Kuwait City

After suffering through a couple of restless nights at Ali Al Salem LSA, I checked into the Marriott Courtyard near downtown Kuwait City.  It's a world of difference.  Only thing it lacks, however, is alcohol.  I'm going to have to get used to that.  This has to be the nicest Courtyard in the Marriott inventory.  It looks like regular Marriott and has all the amenities that regular Marriott hotels have.  It's too bad I have to check out today (I could only reserve two days) and head to the Hilton.  One day in the Hilton and then it's back to Ali Al Salem to spend another restless night before heading north.

A shot of Kuwait City through my dirty and tinted hotel room window.

Another shot through the hotel window.  There's construction cranes everywhere helping to build new buildings downtown.  Unlike Dubai, Kuwait isn't broke and is spending its money on new infrastructure.

Inside the lobby atrium of the Courtyard.  Looks more like a Hyatt Regency than a Courtyard.  It's too bad that I won't be able live in one in Kabul.









My company has hundreds of employees here in Kuwait and most all of them are enjoying their stay.  The Kuwaiti people are friendly and hospitable.  They're also thankful for what the US had done for them.

Lingering Gulf War Effects

As I was leaving the Ali Al Salem Air Base yesterday to head downtown, I noticed that the Hardened Aircraft Shelters (HAS) on the base were all damaged.  It occurred to me that the damages were the result of US precision guided munitions used during the six-week bombing campaign leading up to the ground invasion for Operation Desert Storm.  All of the HASs had thick plates blown off in the curved roof section.  The impact location was the same for all -- a tribute to our precision munitions. 

Later on, while I was driving in Kuwait City with a driver from my company, I asked about the HASs and why no one had repaired these after nearly 20 years.  He told me that there was a dispute going on between Kuwait and the French firm that built them.  Kuwait is asking for damages because the HASs were knocked out in a single blow.  The HAS design was supposed to protect the aircraft within it.  The French firm's position is that it did not design the HAS to protect against US munitions, only Soviet and other potential enemy munitions known at the time of design.

Not all progress has stopped here in Kuwait.  I didn't see any other sign of war from my drive around town yesterday.  In fact, the city has grown quite a bit since 1990 and there are construction cranes working around the clock helping to build other modern high-rise office buildings and apartments.  Not all is perfect in this paradise, however.  Driving into town from Ali Al Salem, I noticed a beautiful enclosed sports arena complex.  Another company rep told me that the facility had never been used or occupied.  Its foundations weren't engineered correctly and that the complex was sinking into the sand. 

Ali Al Salem, Part II

Spent two days and nights at Ali Al Salem at the Army Logistical Support Activity (LSA).  Sixteen guys packed into a tent and a lot of snoring.  I slept about three hours the first night, none last night.  I'm exhausted.  The good news is that I've now checked-in at the Marriott Courtyard Kuwait City and the hotel is great -- better than any other Courtyard I've ever seen or stayed in.  It's my first time downtown too and I'll explore it tomorrow night when I'm rested.

 One of the "streets" of tent city in the LSA.  Troops coming and going from the theater pass through here.  I stayed in N5.

Entering the tent.

My bunk.

Probably the only location in the Army that has a McDonalds on post.  Not only that, but one that stays open 24/7 everyday. I wasn't motivated enough to eat a Big Mac at 0300 hrs.

Ali Al Salem, Part I

We finally arrived in Kuwait twenty hours after we were supposed to.  The World Airways charter broke in Leipzig, Germany after we landed.  We lined up to reboard the plane at 1100 hrs Saturday, but were told the plane required maintenance.  Delay after delay occurred.  The word was passed that the plane was ready around 1600 hrs and that we should get ready to go.  We lined up again -- and waited.  The flight commander (an O-6 stuckee) announced that the original time was bogus and that parts needed to be ordered, shipped, installed, and inspected.  We returned to our bunks and our books, tried to sleep in the bunk room, but the lights and noise were too great.

Another time was announced.  The plane would be ready to go at 0430 and we needed to transport at 0400.  To add insult to injury, Daylight Savings ended in Germany at 0300 Sunday and we had to relive another lost hour.  Lined up at 0400 ready to go.  And waited.  Another announcement.  There was water leaking out from the galley.  Another delay and an uncertain future.

By this time, we were enjoying the hospitality of the Eastern Germans.  We were all in this together, except they were not deploying to the Sandbox.

An announcement that the plane was ready came at 0500.  We lined up yet again, this time to be surprised that the shuttle buses actually arrived, the line moved, and we were transported to our POS plane.  At 0600 we took off for our delayed adventure.

We landed at Kuwait International Airport four and a half hours later.  We waited an hour and a half for the baggage to be unloaded, then drove in a caravan of buses for an hour to the Ali Al Salem Air Base out in the desert.  Ali Al Salem is the transition point for US Forces and contractors entering and exiting Kuwait.  After waiting an hour for a briefing, we received a scaled-down briefing that lasted 10 minutes, and then were directed outside to unload four trucks holding our baggage.  By this time, it was dark, a few external lights were available, and we were faced with a daunting task of finding our two green duffle bags amongst five hundred others.  The wise ones who had been through this before had their flashlights available.  It took two hours to recover everyone's baggage, load them into ITT vans, and then unload them near our camp tent.  Pictures of the compound will be included in the next post. 

We got oriented to our new surroundings, walked around a little, found the latrine and the showers, and took long hot showers and put on clean clothes.  We all felt better. 

Tried to sleep,  but we have sixteen guys racked out in eight bunk beds, a few of whom snore. I didn't get to sleep until around 0300 Monday morning and stayed asleep until 0730 when I was awoken by flashlights and activity as everyone arose and began our new workday.  I'll be glad to move to my final destination -- if I have one.

The Places in Between, Part II

I've been finishing the book, The Places in Between (by Rory Stewart), as I cool my heels here in Leipzig.  Two quotes stand out for comment:

"They were religious questions.  Islam, much more than Christianity, is a political and social religion.  Clear rules govern who and how you can marry.  In this region most people married their first cousins."

And then:  "Everyone in Rezak was descended from a single grandfather.  There were six houses and seventy people in the village..."

The river valley Stewart walked through in the winter was inhabited by small clans and tribes.  The two quotes above describe the lineages from which all these tribesman descended.  What I haven't quoted is Stewart's discovery that these tribes constantly warred with each other and most of the tribesmen (certainly not the chattel (women and dogs)) never moved further than 40 kilometers each way down the valley in his lifetime.

I keep thinking back to the images of the "imams" we see in the news.  Am I wrong that these guys all look f...ing crazy, have one eye, and are toothless?  I attribute most of it to inbreeding!  I'm serious!  How does a western power civilize groups like these and restore central government?  When you consider all that Karzai has accomplished since 2003 (read nothing), the answer is -- you can't.  All we can do is kill our share (or more than our share since we're nearly alone in doing it), call it good, and move on.

This book has reinforced my worst fears about the potential end states resulting from our occupation.  Vietnam never looked so good.

Broke Dick in Leipzig

We left the gate at Bangor, got out to run-up area, and sat.  The captain announced that an "indicator" was malfunctioning and that we had to return to the gate to get it fixed.  We spent another hour on the plane while the "indicator" was repaired and inspected, then took off.  Our next stop was Leipzig, Germany.  I'm one of the few guys on board who remember that East Germany was a rogue, enemy state while I was in the Army.  I was in Grafenwoehr in 1989 when the wall came down and I have stories to tell about the East Germans coming to the west for the first time in their lives.  Now, we were landing at an airport that we (NATO) had targeted for attack should war have broken out previously. 

Twenty years has changed everything for Leipzig.  The US Military has built a facility here where AMC (Air Mobility Command) flights can stop over.  There are shops and food courts for us to use.

A historical reference poster on the wall of the facility.

And then the announcement came that the plane was broken and needed fixing, and that it would take over eight hours to repair.  Lodging would be provided, we were told.  So, I'm dreaming about getting downtown to a gasthaus and drinking bier.  Sounded pretty good to me.  And then they opened this door from the lobby to our bunkhouse...

 

I hadn't seen this type of accommodation since the troop ship we crammed an entire infantry battalion into off the coast of California back in the early 80s.  Needless to say, we're all bummed.  Thank gawd the plane stayed in the air over the Atlantic.  If the plane breaks every time it lands, I fear we're riding a hangar queen of an aircraft to Kuwait.  I miss United Airlines!

No idea when this POS will take off again, so for the time, I'll enjoy my stay in the former GDR. 

A Hero's Welcome --- To the Mostly Undeserving

Unbeknown to us, there was a scheduled stop in Bangor, Maine before the plane continued on to Leipzig, Germany.  I had been there before on a military flight coming back from Reforger 82 when I was with the 7th ID out of Fort Ord.  As we were walking through the jetway, I heard the sound of clapping and cheering.  As I entered the terminal, there was a gauntlet of military retirees, former military, and their wives welcoming us to Bangor, thanking us for our service, and wishing us well on our upcoming mission overseas.  I was overwhelmed.  Very, very touching and I was very appreciative. 

These guys are not with the USO.  They staff a separate welcoming office in the terminal where they talk with the Soldiers and Marines passing through.  Good Americans all.  You'd never see this in Los Angeles.  The dry erase board reflects the number of planes and military personnel these guys have welcomed since 2003.

Here's their "store front" in the terminal.

They've collected thousands of military coins from the units and officers and NCOs and placed them in these shadow boxes.  They have run out of space in order to display them all.

A closer view of the coins.

All-in-all, I was proud to be an American after passing through these folks' grateful smiles and handshakes.  I just wished we were coming home instead of going out.  Many on the young Soldiers on our plane have not been in combat and have not even been overseas yet.  There's a year's worth of adventure and misery to be experienced before this kind of welcome is truly deserved.

Here's a plug for these guys and what they do:  Maine Troop Greeters, Bangor Maine

www.themainetroopgreeters.com

I'll be making a donation to them for their kindness and the knowledge that their attention will go to more deserving guys and gals returning from war.

Leaving Fort Benning

Because Fort Benning now has a couple of brigade combat teams (from different divisions), the Army built a new deployment center at Lawson Army Airfield.  It's quite a nice facility and I think this is what Fort Carson wants to build at Peterson AFB for its Soldiers. 

We were fed a hot meal, hit the head, received some motivational speeches (mostly from Soldiers with no patch on their right arm), and boarded our World Airlines charter flight.

It was good to leave Fort Benning again, for the third time in my life, and 25 years since the last time.

The CONUS Replacement Center (CRC) actually was not a bad experience.  I just didn't need to be sleeping in the barracks again.  Once I get overseas, the CRC experience will just be another old memory that I choose not to recall very often.

PQ and CIF

Went through medical and dental screening today.  The process is streamlined and pretty effective, especially when the cadre has to process 500 folks through it in one day.  The good news is that I'm PQ'd (physically qualified) for deployment.  The bad news is that they shot me up with Anthrax (which I asked to be excluded from -- didn't work) and Smallpox.  I remember the Army giving me another dose of this crap but I couldn't prove it.  So, both arms need exercising.  Oh, and someday I can get a job as a mail clerk in the local post office (Anthrax distribution center).

Then came CIF (Central Issue Facility).  When I retired, I swore off CIFs forever.  That oath has held for 14 years.  Until today.  What a pain-in-the-ass.  Understaffed and undersupervised, the line of Soldiers and civilians drawing their gear and equipment snaked out the doors.  To make matters worse, everyone is issued IBA (individual body armor) now.  This stuff is heavy, uncomfortable, bulky, hot, and confining.  Depending upon one's location, you'll wear it all the time, or not at all.  I'm hoping for the latter, but I suspect the former.  And it's not over yet.  We have another formation at 1700 hrs to be instructed on how to piece all this stuff together (there are 14 separate components that have to be stitched together). 

Lastly, because of all the delays, we ate MREs for lunch, and I know we're getting more tomorrow when we have the Death by PowerPoint briefings (from 0700 - 1900 hrs).

I'll be glad to get to the war zones.  It's got to be easier than this.

The CONUS Replacement Center (CRC)

The CRC is where Soldiers and civilians process through before deployment overseas.  The Soldiers who go through the CRC at Fort Benning are going without their units.  All divisional units have their own deployment centers at forts across the country.  I'm seeing a lot of reserve and USANG guys going through.  Also, there's a small platoon of DoD civilians who are here going through too.  Contractors like me make up the bulk of the population here.  The CRC processes 500 folks a week for deployment.

These are the barracks we stay in.  Four men to a room, two women to a room -- separate barracks for men and women.  Common latrine and showers.  Just like the good old days of basic training.  Chow hall is in the same complex along with a Day Room where there's TV and pool tables.  Chow is good and plentiful.  My roommate asked for a two-egg omelet and got a 12-egg one instead.

Here's my barracks room.  There's two bunk beds in the room with four wall lockers.  It's fine unless someone snores.  There is someone next door snoring so loudly that I hear him through a brick wall.  Thank god he's not in my room.  Actually, I'm lucky.  I've only got the one roommate and he's a good guy.

Here we are preparing for our 0615 formation to get transported to Main Post for more processing.