A Six Day Tour: Day 5-6

FRAGO, Semper Gumby, or whatever you want to call it, back at COB Allahlone for the night and the mission changes. Moto gathers us up and breaks the news that we will have another two days of move going north after the southern leg. There is much rejoicing. So we mount up and strap on to head back south to the FOB Shire, a giant base that has two things to redeem it. First there are Air Force transient quarters, meaning real beds, and AC. The trip isn’t really faster, but we have done this run so many times that time seems to fly. We roll in, drop the HETs off and get rooms. A twenty man room can seem the height of luxury, when you are far from home.
The next morning, Moto has another FRAGO, rather than zipping down to FOB Junkyard, just a little down the road we are going to the big city, and to the mother of all FOBs the place where the term Fobbit was invented for. A place so big, one name wasn’t enough. There are only two problems with this. First, we have never been there before, and second we don’t have any maps that stretch that far.
When last the company sent a unit this way they had a week of prep and were all ‘picked men’. This utter bullshit was the result of officers getting overly involved in a single high profile mission. We would do this with our stock crew and zero prep. What could go wrong? They guys took a little extra care with their vehicles and weapons and as night fell we rolled out again. Dropping off some trucks at a FOB along the way we entered Baghdad.
The hi-way signs are in English and Arabic. One of the HET drivers, going by the call sign ‘Hawaiian Punch’ came over to our radio net, and we snuggled him in behind the forward gun trucks so he could give direction. You can tell you are closer to the capital by a very different military presence. Strykers sit at the check points, over watching the Iraqis and cars give us a little more breathing room.
Saying I saw Baghdad is like saying I have seen Sacramento, roll through a giant city at freeway speeds at night is not seeing a place. It is like going to Fishermen’s Warf and ordering the Fish and Chips. But we would get a real taste of the big FOB.
Unlike most US bases there are many entrances, and you have to pick the right one. We picked the wrong one at first, then had to crawl down a Baghdad street another mile or so to find the right one.
Now comes the fun. Where do we sleep? It is midnight when we are clear fo the gate, now we are lost in a brown metropolis of rehabilitated Iraqi buildings and prefabricated army ones. We drive for miles, literally miles from the gate, trying to find a billeting office. We drive in our convoy of habit through the night. Past bill board sized unit crests painted and lighted on towers. So much for OPSEC here. After an hour we stop an MP to ask directions. He doesn’t know. If a small town cop didn’t know where all the hotels in his town were I would fire him. This guy is a small town cop, with pretensions of grandeur. Never take a man seriously who thinks he is armed when carrying a 9mm in a combat zone.
Back the way we came to find the Mayor’s cell, past the PX complex. Not simply a building it is a complaex of warehouse sized buildings. Past both the DFACs. There are acres upon acres of MRAPs lined up in neat rows.
At the Mayor’s Cell they tell us we need to go to the OTHER Mayor’s cell. At that Mayor’s cell they give us a tent assignment in a tent city a half mile away. It is now past two thirty. We find the parking lot, and Moto heads in to find the tent.
PFC Tooth picks this time to inform me that he broke the key off in the lock of the ASV’s back door. While Moto looks for a place for us to sleep, I try to break the lock. First I try a tire iron, the army lock laughs at my efforts. I sneer back and get the Tanker Bar. A tool so simple they gave it a cool name. Sixty inches of steel with a round pointy end and a square wedged end. Made of cold hard steel. If I could ever find a guy who could swing it, it would make the ultimate crowd control device.
I try to pop the lock with this massive amount of leverage. The hasp bends to a forty-five degree angle. I use the bar to straighten the hasp, and look for another solution. As I prowl through the tool kits of the other trucks looking for a likely tool Moto returns. There in no room at the Inn, our tent is filled with someone else. My sleeping bag, shaving kit and change of clothes are locked in an armored vehicle, and there is no room to sleep in. I find the perfect tool. While the squad looks on I attack the rear of my truck with a 5 lb hammer. All I succeed in doing is punting some new dents in the armor. But it feels good.
Tooth had told me earlier that the inside door to the storage space was blocked. I toss the tools at him and crawl inside. Cursing, swearing and throwing cans of .50cal ammo about I un block the door in less than a minute. He didn’t even try.
Moto has made a command decision when I emerge from the ASV. We will squat, find an empty tent and occupy it. Fuck the Mayor’s cell. Tromping through the tent city we get a stroke of luck. Slayer recovery has staked a claim on a thirty man tent. There is room at the Inn. We pile in and stake our claim.
Out of habit I look around for Lifeguard, he is missing. I ask his crew, (we have been separated for this mission) Lifeguard has locked himself in his MRAP and passed out hours ago. The time 0400 as I slither into my sleeping bag. Lifeguard had been asleep for almost an hour and half. Smart guy there.