A Six Day Tour: Day 3-4

Leaving COB Allahlone and off into the hinterlands of Iraq. FOB Stinky, known for the distinctive odor that reminds me of that time the septic tank backed up. To get there we will have to go through a major population center. The favorite past time there is to practice the NBA attack. In other words, from the top of the building with a hand grenade, through the turret, nothing but net! Seeing as the national past time of most arab countries is football (Americans call it soccer), followed closely by rock throwing. I have seen kids occasionally leave a football dirt lot to throw rocks at us, so it may be a dead heat.
On second thought the real national pastime here is begging things off American patrols… but I will get to that later.
As the sun goes down we are rolling out the gate in our brand new smokeless MRAP. “Scotty Doesn’t Know” by Lustra is on the head sets and we are ready to rock and roll. As we hit the suburbs, I lock and load my M4. The M240 is always loaded, but I usually don’t load the rifle. The remote chance of it going off and a bullet bouncing around my turret is higher then that I will need it anywhere but a city.
The bolt does not slide easily forward. I have cleaned the guts so often that it has no lubrication. I reach down into the turret and pull out a spray bottle of CLP. A quick squirt and everything works fine. Of course if I had checked this before leaving the wire, I wouldn’t have one more head ache.
Tall buildings and people on both sides of the street are going to give men neck strain. Every car at an intersection is muzzled as we pass through the city center, and still the HETs get rocks thrown at them. There are no issues until we are rolling out the other side. The IPs have shut down the road for a suspected IED.
US units would cordon off the area, call higher and have highly trained professionals come out and dispose of it. Iraqis are a little more direct. They get behind their trucks and then shoot at it until, either it blows up or is in enough pieces that one of them feels comfortable walking up and kicking it. Iraqi Police marksmanship being slightly better than the Arab world as a whole, this only take three or four magazines.
It only takes twenty minutes to clear things their way, instead of three hours our way. And we are off and into the desert. This is the second most boring road we have traveled yet. So I amuse myself by watching Slayer throw chem lights around in the cab, and try not to sing along to my music. Some people should only sing in the shower. I shouldn’t be allowed to do that.
The problem is that as a white boy with no rhythm I love to sing and dance. Sometimes it results in a doctor being called and someone putting a wallet in my mouth so I don’t bite my tongue. Normally I sing and dance on my bike. Yes you can dance on a motorcycle at speed, it looks stupid but who cares? Gunning is similar, but the mike means they can hear me, and Doc Philly has to watch my feet move to the music. I think I have solidified his PTSD claim.
FOB Stinky has bunk beds and hardened tents. Not bad. There is also the best alterations shop, and the largest chow hall I have ever seen. We all go shopping, when we wake up, then hang out at the trucks. When the convoy is ready we will roll. Inevitably there is a game of rock kicking, which consists of kicking a rock at anyone walking by.
Moto tells us that there was a successful NBA attack 700m form the gate that day. So no singing and dancing until we are a few miles down the road.
Return is reverse of arrival. Back through the city and onto the hi-way. Halfway through the city one of the HETs blows a tire. They limp it out of town. Parked on the side of the road, occupying more than a mile and a half of space the Slayer mechanics go to work on it. This is not like changing a car tire. It involves air tools and three vehicles, including the one being worked on. There are tales passed around the battalion of three hour tire changes. SGT Nasty and his truck pull up to lend a hand.
Someone is a NASCAR fan and it isn’t SGT Nasty, who got his citizenship just before we left to come here. Slayer is trying to get on a pit crew, and we are rolling in 20 minutes. Another leg done, and another good nights sleep.