A six day tour, Day 7-9

I am pulled out of a fit full sleep by the creaking of a tent pole. A four inch tent pole fifteen feet over my head. The tent sounds like the mother of all dust storms has settled into the base. Flaping and creaking it makes sleep impossible. SO I crawl out of my bag and begin to pack my stuff up, a few minutes later I am fully awake and packed.
SPQR and Wookie woke up about the same time, and Moto is not far behind. We grab our stuff and hump it out to what we think will be gale force winds. Outside is a light breeze and sunny skies. I hate this place.
The gear loaded we decide to do some therapeutic shopping after chow. The PX is HUGE, like Wall Mart big. There is an attached Iraqi Bazaar mostly staffed by Kuwaitis and Turks. But you can’t take bags from the PX to the Bazaar, or vice versa. I stomp back to the ASV with my purchases and try to attack the lock again. Slayers are in their wrecker and loan me more tools.
The giant Army lock laughs at the hammer and cold chisel. The hack saw just seems to polish it. I polite inquire about master keys. Master keys are an army device, about three feet long with long handles. They look like giant wire snips. Civilians call them bolt cutters. Seeing as the army runs on the ability to lock things up, master keys are carefully controlled items. Only the platoon sergeant has them, in his truck, a few miles away.
I am about to loose hope when SPQR shows up from the PX.
“Hey Sergeant?” He asks, although I consider him a friend his military courtesy won’t allow him to simply use a last name. “I saw some bolt cutters at the Bazaar.”
I consider my bank account (single and low bills at home), my frustration level (I am glad my ammo is in the truck), and I tell him to lead on.
Thirty dollars later I am whistling a jaunty song with a pair of bright red brand new master keys over my shoulder, as I walk from the PX to the parking lot. I am sure every supply sergeant and MP took my picture. There is nothing more frightening, than a guy in dusty grimy uniform, obviously not a local, with a pair of Master Keys.
The lock snaps with ease. Mission accomplished. Now fuss no muss. I store the tool on Lifeguard’s truck. Now I have the ability to open any lock… once.
While I was focused on reliving my frustration, the sky has gone from blue to brown, and we may be socked in here. Wookie, SPQR and Tooth have disappeared. They return as Moto takes off to find out if we can sneak out even in the bad weather.
The three enlisted men look smug. Then point out the flag pole. In front of the Tent city was an empty flag pole, now it flies a Jolly Rodger. The thing is, it could stay there for weeks, before someone decided to find out it wasn’t authorized.
Moto and the trans guys have bullied the gate into letting us roll. So it is with a light heart that we mount up and roll for the gate.
I have seen Baghdad, and it wasn’t even worth the T-shirt. Never have so many occupied so much space for so little effect. I am sure there are soldiers there, but all I saw was bureaucrats who wore the same outfit. I need to go back to my little corner of the country.
The trip up is quick, picking up some trucks at FOB Junkyard and bag to FOB SHIRE. Our billeting was never even turned in. HET guys who didn’t need to go on this trip kept them open for us. I fee good enough to call the folks, and check my email.
The next day would find us socked in from the same sand storm. We get a free day to bounce around the post, sleep in and just relax. The day after the weather clears and we head back to Allahlone. The day after will be more new territory for us.