From an eMail to Mom

To: mom@aol.com
From: axis@iraqidesert.com
Date: 30 Oct 2004 0430 GMT
Subject: Thanks!

Thanks again for the care packages. The pictures made my day, especially the one Austin drew of me videotaping a tank. Everyone got a big kick out of that one. I told everyone that the next package will probably have deer jerky in it, so I have half a dozen guys stationed outside my tent in case I try to slip by without sharing. (I guess what I’m trying to say is, it's my life or the jerky, so…I hope Dad got a deer.) And if you make Christmas cookies, can you send me some? I miss homemade Christmas cookies, especially the chocolate peanut butter chip ones.
Not much new here. I'm staying very busy between work and being president of the airmen's council. We start shooting hometown Holiday greetings next week and I expect about 150 participants -- that's a lot of videotape. Fortunately, I have some volunteers to help me keep it all flowing smoothly. I'll make sure you get a copy of mine if I do one.
My allergies have started acting up again. I was surprised, because I haven't had a single episode since I started on the Zyrtec. Apparently even the strongest allergy medication can't protect a person allergic to dust from the desert. It gets so thick here sometimes you can't see a hundred yards. I have to clean my desk twice a week just to keep the grit out of my keyboard.
Other than that, things are fairly pleasant here most of the time. There aren't as many bugs as they warned me about. It's funny how we get a dozen safety briefings on various vicious strains of spiders, scorpions and parasite-ridden sand fleas, but so far the only bugs I've seen here are regular old flies. And man, are they aggressive! Those suckers will sit right on your eyeball if you don't blink fast enough. You swat them away and they only move over an inch. Now I understand how the starving orphans in Sally Struthers' commercials are so covered in flies -- you can't get away from them. I made the mistake of yawning outdoors one day and almost swallowed one. Gross, huh?

Papercuts and Lemon Juice are Nothing

20 Oct 2004 (Wednesday)
Comm Compound, Tallil AB, Iraq
1000
Well isn’t that a pisser. I arrived at work and opened my email to find one with a subject line in all caps: ‘FW: NOTIFICATION OF SELECTION FOR REASSIGNMENT’. Inside was an official looking 12-page document notifying me that I’m being reassigned to Charleston, SC starting the end of February. Orders were the last thing I expected to get while here, especially for Combat Camera.
I don’t know if I like this or not. I know I’ve done a lot of complaining about not traveling in the three years since I joined the Air Force, but being on Temporary Duty Assignment (TDY) 200 days a year isn’t exactly what I had in mind. This means school will have to take a backseat again – at this rate I won’t see a bachelor’s degree until I’m 40.
But then I think, I have no kids, no husband, no house – what better time to see the world while hanging out of a helicopter by the seat of my BDU pants? My boss back home has already told them about me while he was up there visiting. He says it was all good stuff, they can't wait for me to join them, blah, blah, blah. But I guess I can't dwell on that right now. It’s done, I’ve accepted the assignment, and now I’ll have to live with it.

Ramadan Approaches

To: mom@aol.com
From: me@iraqidesert.com
Date: 12 October 2004 2:36 PM GMT
Subject: RE: RE: Hi Ma!

[Excerpt] Things are still pretty okay here. The food's no worse than at home, which isn't really saying too much. Instead of the MREs I was expecting, the Army operates a dining facility not far from tent city. The mac and cheese is bland, the veggies are cooked gray and the 'meatloaf' could be anything from soy to coyote, but there's always lots of salad, fruit, cereal and my favorite staple -- Power Bars and strawberry milk. And chow gives us a way to use three of the 12 hours we work every day, so that alone makes the trip worthwhile.
And we do have coffee, but one of my co-workers insists on making it weak, hoping to stretch our supply. Now, maybe it's just me, but if you're going to make a 12-cup pot of coffee with two scoops of grounds, then you might as well skip the whole damn process and have the Swiss Miss next to the microwave. Although I made it into the shop tent first this morning and made a 10-cup pot with five scoops (oh, caffeine heaven! Well, maybe not heaven. Maybe more like...San Francisco). You should have seen his face when he took a sip. I thought he was going to sprout exclamation points from his eyeballs. Serves him right, the cheapskate.
There are some really cool shops around the BX area here that have a lot of local arts and crafts in. There are beautiful samovars, leather camels, jewelled hookas and enameled vase. Sergeant B and I were so enthralled with the goods until she picked up a jewelry box and looked underneath. It said "made in China". I just rolled my eyes. It figures. Some of the stuff really is local, though, and that's what I'll bring home. I heard there's an Iraqi version of Wal-Mart a few miles off base, although I probably won't get to see it this time. That would be something, huh? I wonder if their smileyface logo has a turban on it?
The local Iraqis (mostly Shi'ites) have been relatively quiet (not that I would know if they weren't -- we're so insulated here), but it is generally believed that things will get a little hairy near the end of Ramadan on November 13. The Muslims and Shi'ites are supposedly friendly here, but there are still a LOT of people in the nearby town who'd like to turn our base into a big hole in the dirt. We are in a lower risk area than most of the bases in Iraq, but when you're in a war zone, that's like saying one guy is less dead than another. It doesn't mean a whole lot.

Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah

To: mom@aol.com
From: axis@iraqidesert.com
Date: 08 October 2004 11:17 AM GMT
Subject: Hi Ma!

How are you? Yeah, I know -- what took me so long? Well, it was busy for a while, but there's not much going on in our neck of the desert now except daily dust storms. I actually like it here and am enjoying learning how to survive. I've learned to celebrate the small things, like when we go from HeatCon Four/110 degrees to HeatCon Two/108 degrees. Or when I get to the bus stop for chow just as the shuttle arrives -- that's enough to make my day!
The people make a big difference. I like most everyone I work with, and my bunkmates are easy to live with. Not sure how well everyone will get along once the rainy season starts, but why worry? I guess we'll manage. Mail helps, too. Everyone from the lowest ranking Airman to the Colonel who commands the base watches for that email "You Got Mail" every afternoon. We're not really hurting for supplies here, but it's interesting the things we occasionally run out of. Last week as the BX started to run low, trash bags and cereal became serious currency. You could probably get a firstborn child for a handful of 30-gallon can liners and a box of Froot Loops. When I got here, shampoo was the hot item. I don't want to know who was going without it at the time.
While the pace of life is weirdly slow here -- because of the heat and dust, not even the vehicles move very fast -- there are some stressors that get the blood pressure up. It's the same old story, where the guy in charge has no idea what his people are supposed to be accomplishing, so every time he sticks his nose in, he makes a mess of everything. In my team's case, it's a captain with a bad case of short guy syndrome who has so little work to do that he spends his time either annoying my boss or making prank calls around the base. And yes, I mean the kind of prank calls 12-year-old boys make. I really try not to let it get to me though. I just keep chanting to myself, "It's only four months, it's only four months." If that doesn't work, I remind myself that my Army friends are here for 12-15 months, and they have it a lot worse in many ways.
Gotta get back to work now, but I'll write again soon.
Love you!
M.

Where in Hell Am I?

03 Oct 2004 (Sunday)
My quarters
0130

I woke up starving and immediate regretted not taking Sergeant B up on her offer to go to chow when she stuck her head in around 1700. I imagine there’s a midnight chow, but I have no idea how to get to the DFAC. Fortunately, one of my tent mates was up and offered me some cold pizza and plums. Her name is Darlene and she’s stationed in England. We chatted for a few minutes before she left me alone with my pizza and went to bed. She seems nice. We have an addiction to gossip rags in common, so I gave her the copies of US Weekly and People I picked up at the airport.
I need more sleep now.

Axis, Meet Ralph

WARNING: Rated PG-13 for gratuitous vomiting and cartoon sex

02 October 2005 (Saturday)
Tent City, Tallil AB, Iraq
1400

I have finally arrived at my ultimate destination, and am in respectable shape considering I haven’t eaten or slept in 48 hours. Our C-130 made an assault landing on the bumpy strip of asphalt that passes for a runway here around 1100. I was humiliated to find my stomach trying to empty itself of its meager contents for most of the trip. I never get airsick, but this time the only thing that kept me from heaving up my last airplane snack was my hand clapped over my mouth and my determination not to puke in front of Oliver North and his entourage. I wasn’t convinced it was him until George asked the Marine Lieutenant Colonel napping next to us. He said he’d had lunch with Ollie at Al Udeid, so I couldn’t argue with that.
George and I spent most of the short, bumpy flight practicing signing. He has a deaf sister and is fairly fluent, but we were both a little rusty. After he fell asleep, Sergeant Scott kept me awake with his chattering, for which I was grateful. Every time I’d start to nod off from sheer exhaustion, my stomach would churn and I’d have to fumble around in my suitcase for a sandwich bag just in case.
After we landed at Tallil, we dragged ourselves to a tent behind the passenger terminal for a quick briefing. The briefer looked annoyed when I asked to be excused. “This will only take five minutes,” he snapped. I looked him in the eye. “I don’t have five minutes.” I ran out into the heat and dust where I was confronted by a row of porta-potties. I slammed into the first one and slammed back out when I noticed a huge and slightly disturbing graffiti of Beetle Bailey giving it to a cartoon Anna Nicole in the ass. I threw open the door of the next one to discover a shit-covered toilet seat and a stench that made me think 'hellmouth'. After that, I didn't give a flying rat's ass if anyone saw me spew, so I heaved-ho right there in front of God and everybody next to the main road to the airfield. I must have looked like death, because when I returned to the tent all the guys immediately offered to get me water/tissues/industrial-strength disinfectant.
My crew showed up shortly thereafter to collect me and my bags. I made a small wave in the direction of Sergeant B, the one I’d already corresponded with, and she ignored me. I realized later that while she’s a nice person, she’s not exactly a social charmer.
The captain, Chief, First Shirt and Sergeant B piled me and my bags into a pickup truck and headed for Tent City. I was tired, sick, hungry and hot, and from the dirty truck window Tallil looked like a slum in the Arizona desert. I thought, “This is my life for the next four months,” and wanted to throw up all over again.
I was slightly buoyed by the sight of my quarters. When the napoleonic captain dropped off my bags and quipped, “You got the dulex [sic] suite!” I thought he was kidding, but the 9 x 9 sheet-draped enclosure was indeed much cozier and cleaner than I’d expected. Sergeant B had made the bed with crisp lavender sheets and a floral-patterned mink blanket to insulate me from the freezing stream of air shooting over my head. Under the bed were four drawers, and beside it was a waist-high bookcase containing an alarm clock and a bottle of water. On the opposite side of the room from the bed were a small wardrobe, a tiny table for my laptop, and a folding chair. There were two small rugs on the plastic-lined concrete floor and the sheets hanging around the enclosure were clean and bright. I felt much better knowing I would not be sleeping in an open-bay tent with 10 other women as I had expected. The little bed looked so inviting I wanted to crawl right into it.
Unfortunately, my new crew decided it was more important that I eat, even though my stomach was in very vocal disagreement. I tagged along to the dining facility (DFAC) and tried valiantly not to fall face-first into my plate of vegetables and spare ribs. I managed a few mouthfuls of carrots and corn, then sat and stared around me. The DFAC was fairly large, lined on both sides by long tables placed close together. The entrée line was at the front, and the center aisle contained a bread island, drink stands, a salad bar, and a few coolers for pastries, ice cream and sodas. Much better than the tent and G-rations I’d expected.
I was relieved when they dropped me off at my tent and told me to get some sleep. Tomorrow is a minimum manning day, so I don’t have to report to work until Monday. Right now, all I want to do is shower, sleep, and sleep some more.

The Club Med of the Middle East

02 Oct 2004
Passenger Terminal, Al Udeid AB, Quatar
0130 hrs

I’ve made a few friends without any difficulty so far, so I feel like I can begin to discriminate. I think I’ll start with my three pre-pubescent, pigtailed trailer mates who couldn’t stop chattering despite my obvious attempts to pantomime sleep at them. After 20 minutes of repeatedly dozing off and being jerked awake by giggling, I gave up and decided to wait for my flight in the terminal, if the Quonset hut with a desk can be called that. The airports have become alarmingly smaller and more desolate with each leg of my journey since I left Florida. This is surely a sign of things to come.
It’s amazing how many MacDill folks I’ve run into since I left, not to mention Floridians in general. Three from Patrick, two from Hurlburt Field (including the cute captain I sat next to on the flight from Frankfurt to here), and a few from Eglin. I met a major from the 310th at Tampa International, a crew chief from ISO at the bus stop here tonight, and when our flight landed here in Al Udeid, the voice I heard booming a welcome through the plane was none other than our own former SP chief, Chief H. It was good to see him again. He kiddingly chastised me for not staying on at Al Udeid (oh, I only wish) and coined me while I stood in line to in process. Al Udeid is lucky to have him. I still miss his blustery cheerfulness at MacDill. I wonder if he has any idea the impression he left behind.
At 0200 hours, I know I should be tired, but since it’s only 1900 back home, I’m wide awake. Fortunately the guys accompanying me to my next stop are all friendly and willing to put up with my chattering. There are seven of us traveling on together – Tom, George, Mason, Swoop, Scott, Wyatt and me. I met Tom at the AMC terminal in Baltimore. He’s a Civil Engineering (CE) Readiness guy with a wife, a couple kids and a growing pet problem. It seems every time he returns from a trip, their pet menagerie has grown another member (the last time it was an insecure wiener dog). He’s been helping me out getting where I need to go and knowing what I need to do. As much as I am always prepared to go it alone, it’s always a pleasant surprise when I find a stranger who’s willing to help.
Then I met George (rut-ro Rorge!) during the bag drag last night. I was facing a mountain of bags once again, and this time no cart to be had. The cute blonde 22-year-old next to me had three offers to carry her bags, but this unskinny, bespectacled brunette experienced no such relief until George took pity on me. I ran into him again on my way to the PAX terminal to check on my flight, and somewhere along the line we picked up Mason, a Senior Airman of some Middle Eastern ethnicity with a refreshing sense of generous chivalry. Sergeant Scott is another CE troop, a Tech who is almost as thin and brittle as the cigarette in his hand. Then there’s Swoope, a supply troop, and Wyatt, another CE guy.
We’ve been waiting for our flight for several hours now and doing our best to pass the time. I played Siberia for a while, a mystery game that’s spawned a new nickname I can add to my collection. When George asked what I was doing and I told him I was solving a mystery, he laughed and said, “I’ve suspected it for some time and that only confirms it.” I raised my eyebrows at him. He told me he’d suspected I was Velma, from Scooby Doo. At first I was a little offended (was it Baudelaire or Balzac who said that a woman doesn’t mind being called intelligent provided she is assured she’s still hot?), but when the guys all agreed that they always like Velma better (for my benefit? Who knows), I got over it and the nickname stuck. ‘Jinkies’ became the invective of the day.
Al Udeid is a nice base for being in the middle of the desert – nice dining facility, lots of air conditioning and hardened facilities – but I’m ready to get where I’m going and settle in.

Stopover

01 Oct 2004
Rhein Main Air Base, Germany
1300 hours

Sometimes I wonder if the airman I try to be will ever drown out the civilian I was for 27 years prior, but I don’t think so. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being herded like cattle and bellowed instructions at by a combat-booted office worker.
And to think, this tiled terminal is the closest I’ll get to civilization for the next four months.
Time to move on.