As the C-130 pulled off the runway yesterday, I reflexively reached out to grab a section of the cargo netting that we had as a backrest aiming to hold on and prevent my slipping down the bench into the rest of the passengers. Mostly guys from my unit; we've fallen back into our respective battalions and companies for the trip home. A couple of civilians making the trip from Baghdad down to Kuwait and from there on to wherever else they might be going. And two caskets. We paused and saluted as they were loaded into the rear of the aircraft, flags draped across each. Returning home. Them; us. Thoughts of the separate homecomings that we would each experience.
If this seems abrupt; it is. The past few weeks have been a hazy rush. A thousand episodes. My last lunch with Faisel and Kadem, discussing their hopes at finding reconciliation with the Provincial Council. Giving my final regards, and a carton of Marlboros, to Governor Tahan. Meeting Shatha at Checkpoint 2 so she could give me two rugs that I had absolutely no chance to stuff into a duffle bag before leaving. A last cigar with Ali; I was finally able to get him a position on the new team so he could continue working directly with Baghdad's leadership- putting him in a good situation if he ever decides to jump into Iraqi politics- which I’m fairly sure he will someday. A final phone call with Mazin; our dinner last week was cancelled when a car bomb went off outside the checkpoint and he was unable to enter the IZ. Driving up to a checkpoint to have Riyad jump into my Expedition; a massive sandstorm decided to blow in before our last meeting- instead of canceling, we just said our farewells while sitting in the parking lot of the Rasheed hotel as a swirling dirt cloud dropped onto the windshield. True to form, he had one last packet of ‘information’ for me. Running around with Johnny, getting photos of the IZ; although he’s worked as an interpreter here for two years, he’s never visited some of the major landmarks and was certainly never allowed to bring his camera. I forced myself to sit down and knock out a letter of recommendation for him- maybe five minutes of my time, but a huge bonus for him to have a letter from an American officer attesting to his loyalty, dedication and ability. So often I’ve seen guys like him get blown off like guys like me; we make such a big deal out of trying to win Iraqi hearts and minds out there on the street, and then we treat our Iraqi employees- guys who ride out into the red zone with us, risking all that entails, and then when they get back from those missions, they go back home to their families in those same neighborhoods- with such thoughtlessness. You should never take loyalty for granted, especially in an environment like this. He was serious when he asked how he could join the US Army and take his family to the States, and I intend to find out for him. A new Civil Affairs unit got in about a week ago and we’ve been running around trying to bring them up to speed. I’m not sure what’s more difficult, explaining how the Iraqi government works, or explaining how the US Mission operates here. I gave equal time to warning about the dangers of VBIEDS and sniper fire on the streets of Baghdad as I did to the bureaucratic turf wars and organizational feuding in the halls of the embassy. We joke that the reason some of our documents are classified is not so they don’t fall into the hands of al-Qaeda, but that they won’t end up in the Washington Post. But then we have that ‘no, really- I’m serious’ look on our faces.
Within hours I’ll be back Stateside, with a couple of days of out processing. Turning in equipment. Right now, I’m just grabbing a coffee and checking email and catching up with old friends as I see them pop through the tent door. It is a homecoming of sorts for all of us here; these are the guys I went through our quick train-up last year with- we’ve each spent the year in various locations across Iraq. War stories over a latte. My original company in Tikrit didn’t lose anybody, I was glad to hear. Many of the soldiers are now a rank or two higher than when we left, and definitely look like they’ve got plenty of sun and sand on their faces. Lots of firm handshakes and backslaps, and talk about homes and wives and kids and beer. Most more than ready to get back home. But some, perhaps with a tinge of regret that things were left undone and friends were left behind here in this place; and maybe that things at home in the suburbs are not a welcome alternative to the streets of Baghdad, enjoined in a defiant effort to see through the storm and remake a world.
The sand in Iraq is persistent, and sometimes it gets under your skin.
