Tuesday, December 09, 2003

11:30 –Baghdad. On the way back to my spanking new Turkish trailer the other evening, the narrow walk between sandbag barrier and trailer wall was unexpectedly flooded with a gaggle of giggly girls – maybe a half dozen in all, maybe twelve to sixteen years old – who skipped or pranced or whatever giggly girls do past me and down the path.

My initial reaction, of course, was a neck wrenching double take. Why would there be children here?

Huh? Why?

Ok, I’ll tell you, and spare you the speculation.

I was nearing the aforementioned Turkish trailer the next day and exchanged pleasantries with a soldier who was sitting in one of the plastic hooch chairs a few doors down. From him I learned that his duty was to guard these girls. Apparently, they were from the north, had turned in their parents and other family members for manufacturing IED’s, and were now under the protection of the Coalition. The haggard G.I. had been chasing them around all morning and had finally corralled them in their trailer, an exercise akin to herding cats. This morning, the Marines were encircling this trailer with concertina wire, having recognized the dangers within and without. Ultimately, this means our “Bremer Youth” program is working.

We’re still having problems with our local power supply, however, so not everything is working as well as our reeducation campaigns.

A large group of Ungrateful Whiny Prima Donnas motored to the Al Rashid last night to celebrate John’s departure. Maybe it was rude to have this celebration while he was still here, even taking him with us, but we were dying for a non-KBR meal. There’s a couple of restaurants at the hotel, which had been closed for Ramadan, and had just reopened. We had made reservations for a dozen and a half at one or the other of them. It really doesn’t matter which because, as it turned out, the hotel was in complete darkness when we arrived.

Fortunately, most of us carry flashlights everywhere and these torches provide ample illumination towards and into the basement bar. Here, we were obligated to drink as much beer as we could before it warmed up and was lost forever, a task we pursued with zeal until a big armed guy (big guy, big arms, big gun) interrupted our labors to inform us that the hotel would be closing at 19:30. As this meant our restaurant would not reopen, we went DFAC (no joke – to the Dining FACility) on the first floor to chow on KBR food. As expected, it tastes a little better in the dark after a few liters of beer.

They did have better cookies than at the palace (which is more cake-centric, anyway).

After dinner, as we worked our way through the lobby on our way out, the lights started to flicker back to life. No one doubted that this was a suitable going away party.

What else ain’t working? The decapitation contractor’s plan to get the giant Saddam heads off the palace grounds, that’s what ain’t working.

In answer to the call by Force Protection, I volunteered for Head Inspection. On the surface, this was in direct response to their need for additional personnel as required to keep a close eye on the Iraqi contractor, thereby ensuring the safety of the Coalition. The request was made of all hands, since the Army is too busy elsewhere to pick up these mission critical assignments. Under the surface, my real desire for volunteering was because I wanted to watch big equipment move stuff. Hell, that’s why I became an Engineer to begin with.

And move stuff they did, just not very far.

The four heads came down last week, taken from their mounts atop the palace and deposited on the ground adjacent, until such time as the contractor could secure a smaller crane to load them onto flatbeds and haul them away. Crane secured, the contractor returned and in the past three days has worked to gets the heads off site.

When I arrived at my two hour shift this afternoon, there was one of the heads, nose down on a flatbed, cabling taut to the 20 ton crane. Soon, the crane’s idle increased, and the head was lifted while the truck drove out from under it, and the head was set nose down in the dirt. Then there was much scrambling and discussions by the crew during which I learned that the front gate was too narrow for Saddam’s shoulders, and he was too tall for overhead power lines, and they couldn’t easily transport him on his side, but they might just use a cutting torch and take off a portion of his width, but when the back gate was remeasured it they found it would pass the despot, and it’s 15:30 and time to call it a day.

This was the first head. Three days, and all that’s happened is Saddam’s bronze bust has gone from an upright position to a nose down in the dirt position. If this is typical for Iraqi contractors, we’ll never get our eighteen billion spent.