Posts
19:30 – Baghdad. Miscellany.
A couple of hotels were attacked with rocket propelled grenades (RPG’s) last week. The perps only aimed at one building (the one housing the journalists), but hit an adjacent structure through an unintended ricochet. About the same time, the Ministry of Oil (MOO) was attacked with missiles. For each, the perps scrapped together a multiple rocket launcher by welding several sections of pipe together. Then they camouflaged the whole contraption onto donkey carts. CNN showed one of the donkeys some hours after, still numb and shaking. Numerous other donkey-driven destructo-carts were discovered soon thereafter.
One more reason to be paranoid.
Should the palace be attacked any time soon, we will be warned not by the Gurka Horns, but by the “Giant Voice”, which has been installed this week. Not entirely dissimilar from the Civil Defense horns we use domestically, but modified so that we aren’t confusing tornadoes with mortars. If the attack is by air (rockets and launched stuff), a loud wavering tone is broadcast. During a ground attack, the system will play a bugle call (assembly, maybe, or swimming,… I can’t identify the tune yet). If livestock attacks,… I don’t know. Once the worst is over, a steady tone will sound. When it’s all done, the Giant Voice will announce “all clear”.
Sorry. “ALL CLEAR”.
I was really hoping for a more giant-like phrase, like “Fee Fi Fo Fum, beat the crap out of Al Qaida bums”, or even a good “Ho ho ho” a la the large green guy. Well, as it is, we can’t hear a thing, as we’re too far away from the horns. We’ll probably just stick our heads out the door and listen for the gunfire, as always.
The next few nights might make that strategy tough. With Eid al Fitr (the end of Ramadan celebration, not another acronym) in progress, we expect lots of celebratory gunfire. Throughout the party, many folks feel the most festive and satisfactory way of breaking their fast is to discharge lots and lots of bullets into the sky. Why we never did this in the suburbs is beyond me. There’s nothing in the sky, of course, so what could possibly go wrong?
We’re limiting our time outside after dark anyway, keeping a reinforced concrete roof between our heads and the empty sky.
Read More......
2003-11-25
2003-11-24
Monday, 24 November 2003
08:00 – Baghdad. Whereas I have become more or less accustomed to less than ideal sleeping conditions, some of our group becomes more and more frustrated in having to sleep en masse. Adding insult to this condition is a very strong perception that an improved billet is only a bribe away. Just make the correct deal with Laura in billeting and you will soon find a cozy two-man trailer in which to sleep. There’s a few other issues with billeting, but I’ll leave that story to Chuck, who had had enough one day last week and composed the following nastygram to the Lieutenant Colonel who oversees billeting. [It’s been edited for time, grammar and content and to fit your screen. Neither writes that well.]
=====
Sir,
I am writing to you in disgust and shear amazement of how the billeting assignments are handled. The billeting office is the most corrupt institution I have ever witnessed. It’s obvious that certain individuals in that office are swapping “trailers for favors”.
Why is it that people who have been here for months are falling further down the list? Why do we all get different stories and extremely rude responses to our inquiries at billeting? Why is “Laura” assigned to an entire trailer half (as per your hacked billeting database) while our female peers are still waiting for a place to live? Why are there empty trailers when people are still housed in the Chapel? Why do you contact people with paper flyers on their bed? Why don’t you send out public e-mails to explain the situation?
I am not the only one with concerns, questions and a great deal of consternation caused by such incompetence. We must have some positive action to demonstrate that corrupt sector administrators are brought back in line - checks and balances to ensure proper procedure is followed. We can continue to wait, but only if there is proof that you have control over the sector.
I am trying to keep my group in Iraq to rebuild this country, but they are threatening to exit if conditions are not improved. There must be some headway in billeting to demonstrate to my group that they will be fairly considered for a place to live through a consistent and appropriate procedure.
=====
To this, the Colonel responds,…
=====
I am appalled at your lack of professionalism and willingness to attack hard working folks. Your unprofessional attitude in writing something like this without knowing one iota about the process of personnel prioritization, with no understanding of what is really going on, slinging accusations and insults, and listening to rumors, innuendos, and hearsay is not what I would have done, but it is something I have come to expect from people here. [Holy run-on!]
The list you refer to above is NOT my billeting list; it is CJTF-7’s list that they control separately. Therefore, your information is based on a bad foundation. [It is nice to know that the Coalition Joint Task Force, i.e. the Army, has bad information about where U.S. citizens are sleeping at night. It’s less nice to know that this information can be easily hacked off of the server.] Here are some insights for folks who only have to worry about one thing in life.
The waiting list is based on date of arrival. An individuals place on the list occasionally changes based on the accuracy of the input data. If data is not entered in a timely manner, it will cause a fluctuation. We will work on that. Another variable is people not signing in when they arrive and deciding to sign in later on. We trust people and again use the date they say they arrived in country when placing them on the list. I do not condone rude behavior by my folks and will address that, but be sure that your folks are not being rude as well, because my folks are subjected to mistreatment daily.
Laura has a residence in the KBR camp, she does not live in any trailer here. In fact, she has been living in the Chapel because of fears of mortar attacks. Trailer 12, if it is in the transient camp as I suspect, is not supposed to have anyone in it. We are still working on getting transient trailers secured and hooked up to sewer facilities.
I do not have empty trailers that are habitable. If you know they are empty, and think we do not know, a nice visit or e-mail would be sufficient to ensure we remedy that situation. We have trailers going up everyday, but they are not completed yet.
What exactly would you like to hear? That the ministries have decided to bring as many people over as they can with a complete disregard for the logistics involved? That the same people complaining about billeting arrangements are the same people that do not check out of their billets so I can have the room re-assigned to the next person on the list. [Huh?] Instead, they hand the key off to their buddy? Which explanation do you want?
Your accusation of incompetence should stop right where it is. I know I am NOT incompetent, and the folks I have working billeting are not incompetent. They have to deal with whiny people all day long; they get pulled in 100 different directions all day long and they are working their butt off to try and provide a service to a bunch of ungrateful prima donnas. Your accusations of corruption trouble me, because you conclude this without any proof, using only your single-minded perception of life.
The only proof needed here is from you. If you can provide proof of wrongdoing, it will be handled. But you are NOT owed proof and we are not accountable to you.
I am a Lieutenant Colonel in the United States Air Force. I am here voluntarily to help provide a support structure to a group that has no idea how to do it themselves. [Wasn’t that the point of Chuck’s diatribe?] I serve my country based on my commitment to my nation and the belief that we are here to do the right thing for another country, NOT based on where I sleep or the amount of money I make. I cannot comprehend that people would leave Iraq because they are on a waiting list and think there is corruption in a lowly billeting office. Look in your own office and how you do business, I bet I could find “favor trading” there too.
We have been working hard to fix this problem [What problem?] without help from the people we support. Organizations like yours have shown up, laid down a list of demands, and expect everything the same day. In case you have lost sight of reality, we are in Phase III Combat Operations. This means that bad guys are still shooting at us. This also makes it hard to get the needed supplies and equipment to get the mission completed. We also had to deal with bedding down 750 people after the Al Rashid attack—a task we did smoothly with only a group of incompetent and corrupt individuals [He admits it, eh.]. We have projected 2000 bed spaces coming due with in the next 2 ½ months. We projected, purchased, and built housing without your help or input and it will meet all our needs. You should think about thanking these folks for what they are trying to accomplish for you instead of ridiculing them.
Seymour.
====
Apparently, Chuck found the Colonel’s button and pressed way hard. This argument was quickly forwarded to portions of our group. I found it relatively amusing, but thought that cooler heads must prevail if ever we were to ever get a housing upgrade. As such, I thought it best if I wrote Chuck’s response.
====
Colonel,
I understand your commitment to both your country and her mission in Iraq. However, I also understand that many of us here are not driven solely by a similar sense of duty, but instead by a mixture of adequate compensation and a strong sense of service. Service being a voluntary response, whereas duty is more of an obligation.
As an “Ungrateful Whiney Prima Donna”, I fully understand that to ensure our best efforts, to ensure that this important work gets done, we must be treated with a level of care such that our performance is not compromised. If we are too distracted by this housing situation (or the condition of the bathrooms, or how the need for additional office space overrides our need for a safe place to sleep), our performance will suffer, and our job will not get done efficiently or effectively.
Most CPA employees do not share your rugged history of roughing it for the Country. They instead are accustomed to a basic level of service, provided on a consistent basis. No one here believes that we are anyplace else but an active war zone, and only a nimrod would believe that providing housing and provisions for such a large group is not a substantial undertaking. The purpose of this communication is not to belittle your performance, but to express the great level of frustration that we feel when dealing with the billeting office.
Since I know of individuals who have accepted rooms in trailers without your knowledge, and I know of individuals who have moved down significantly on the billeting list, my assumption is that these are not the only examples and that this may be indicative of the performance of the entire organization. My basic desire is that additional housing units continue to be erected, that KBR secures and maintains control over their housing inventory and that forthright information regarding the status of billeting be distributed on a regular basis.
====
And today I got the keys to my new trailer.
However, the best to come out of this is that the “Ungrateful Whiney Prima Donna” label is wildly amusing, and we call each other that all the time. Whenever we get around to developing a unit insignia, we’ll include the following:
Vagitus Ingatis Reguli. Read More......
=====
Sir,
I am writing to you in disgust and shear amazement of how the billeting assignments are handled. The billeting office is the most corrupt institution I have ever witnessed. It’s obvious that certain individuals in that office are swapping “trailers for favors”.
Why is it that people who have been here for months are falling further down the list? Why do we all get different stories and extremely rude responses to our inquiries at billeting? Why is “Laura” assigned to an entire trailer half (as per your hacked billeting database) while our female peers are still waiting for a place to live? Why are there empty trailers when people are still housed in the Chapel? Why do you contact people with paper flyers on their bed? Why don’t you send out public e-mails to explain the situation?
I am not the only one with concerns, questions and a great deal of consternation caused by such incompetence. We must have some positive action to demonstrate that corrupt sector administrators are brought back in line - checks and balances to ensure proper procedure is followed. We can continue to wait, but only if there is proof that you have control over the sector.
I am trying to keep my group in Iraq to rebuild this country, but they are threatening to exit if conditions are not improved. There must be some headway in billeting to demonstrate to my group that they will be fairly considered for a place to live through a consistent and appropriate procedure.
=====
To this, the Colonel responds,…
=====
I am appalled at your lack of professionalism and willingness to attack hard working folks. Your unprofessional attitude in writing something like this without knowing one iota about the process of personnel prioritization, with no understanding of what is really going on, slinging accusations and insults, and listening to rumors, innuendos, and hearsay is not what I would have done, but it is something I have come to expect from people here. [Holy run-on!]
The list you refer to above is NOT my billeting list; it is CJTF-7’s list that they control separately. Therefore, your information is based on a bad foundation. [It is nice to know that the Coalition Joint Task Force, i.e. the Army, has bad information about where U.S. citizens are sleeping at night. It’s less nice to know that this information can be easily hacked off of the server.] Here are some insights for folks who only have to worry about one thing in life.
The waiting list is based on date of arrival. An individuals place on the list occasionally changes based on the accuracy of the input data. If data is not entered in a timely manner, it will cause a fluctuation. We will work on that. Another variable is people not signing in when they arrive and deciding to sign in later on. We trust people and again use the date they say they arrived in country when placing them on the list. I do not condone rude behavior by my folks and will address that, but be sure that your folks are not being rude as well, because my folks are subjected to mistreatment daily.
Laura has a residence in the KBR camp, she does not live in any trailer here. In fact, she has been living in the Chapel because of fears of mortar attacks. Trailer 12, if it is in the transient camp as I suspect, is not supposed to have anyone in it. We are still working on getting transient trailers secured and hooked up to sewer facilities.
I do not have empty trailers that are habitable. If you know they are empty, and think we do not know, a nice visit or e-mail would be sufficient to ensure we remedy that situation. We have trailers going up everyday, but they are not completed yet.
What exactly would you like to hear? That the ministries have decided to bring as many people over as they can with a complete disregard for the logistics involved? That the same people complaining about billeting arrangements are the same people that do not check out of their billets so I can have the room re-assigned to the next person on the list. [Huh?] Instead, they hand the key off to their buddy? Which explanation do you want?
Your accusation of incompetence should stop right where it is. I know I am NOT incompetent, and the folks I have working billeting are not incompetent. They have to deal with whiny people all day long; they get pulled in 100 different directions all day long and they are working their butt off to try and provide a service to a bunch of ungrateful prima donnas. Your accusations of corruption trouble me, because you conclude this without any proof, using only your single-minded perception of life.
The only proof needed here is from you. If you can provide proof of wrongdoing, it will be handled. But you are NOT owed proof and we are not accountable to you.
I am a Lieutenant Colonel in the United States Air Force. I am here voluntarily to help provide a support structure to a group that has no idea how to do it themselves. [Wasn’t that the point of Chuck’s diatribe?] I serve my country based on my commitment to my nation and the belief that we are here to do the right thing for another country, NOT based on where I sleep or the amount of money I make. I cannot comprehend that people would leave Iraq because they are on a waiting list and think there is corruption in a lowly billeting office. Look in your own office and how you do business, I bet I could find “favor trading” there too.
We have been working hard to fix this problem [What problem?] without help from the people we support. Organizations like yours have shown up, laid down a list of demands, and expect everything the same day. In case you have lost sight of reality, we are in Phase III Combat Operations. This means that bad guys are still shooting at us. This also makes it hard to get the needed supplies and equipment to get the mission completed. We also had to deal with bedding down 750 people after the Al Rashid attack—a task we did smoothly with only a group of incompetent and corrupt individuals [He admits it, eh.]. We have projected 2000 bed spaces coming due with in the next 2 ½ months. We projected, purchased, and built housing without your help or input and it will meet all our needs. You should think about thanking these folks for what they are trying to accomplish for you instead of ridiculing them.
Seymour.
====
Apparently, Chuck found the Colonel’s button and pressed way hard. This argument was quickly forwarded to portions of our group. I found it relatively amusing, but thought that cooler heads must prevail if ever we were to ever get a housing upgrade. As such, I thought it best if I wrote Chuck’s response.
====
Colonel,
I understand your commitment to both your country and her mission in Iraq. However, I also understand that many of us here are not driven solely by a similar sense of duty, but instead by a mixture of adequate compensation and a strong sense of service. Service being a voluntary response, whereas duty is more of an obligation.
As an “Ungrateful Whiney Prima Donna”, I fully understand that to ensure our best efforts, to ensure that this important work gets done, we must be treated with a level of care such that our performance is not compromised. If we are too distracted by this housing situation (or the condition of the bathrooms, or how the need for additional office space overrides our need for a safe place to sleep), our performance will suffer, and our job will not get done efficiently or effectively.
Most CPA employees do not share your rugged history of roughing it for the Country. They instead are accustomed to a basic level of service, provided on a consistent basis. No one here believes that we are anyplace else but an active war zone, and only a nimrod would believe that providing housing and provisions for such a large group is not a substantial undertaking. The purpose of this communication is not to belittle your performance, but to express the great level of frustration that we feel when dealing with the billeting office.
Since I know of individuals who have accepted rooms in trailers without your knowledge, and I know of individuals who have moved down significantly on the billeting list, my assumption is that these are not the only examples and that this may be indicative of the performance of the entire organization. My basic desire is that additional housing units continue to be erected, that KBR secures and maintains control over their housing inventory and that forthright information regarding the status of billeting be distributed on a regular basis.
====
And today I got the keys to my new trailer.
However, the best to come out of this is that the “Ungrateful Whiney Prima Donna” label is wildly amusing, and we call each other that all the time. Whenever we get around to developing a unit insignia, we’ll include the following:
Vagitus Ingatis Reguli. Read More......
2003-11-21
Friday, 21 November 2003
20:00 – Baghdad. I was awakened from my nap by the sound of gunfire. Machinegun fire, to be more precise, and it was coming from a point just over my left shoulder. I was alert in less than an instant and instinctively lifted my feet off of the floor. The floor being where enemy rounds generally enter a helicopter.
At that moment, the passenger facing me handed me a poorly scrawled note reading, ”we will be shooting our guns in ten or fifteen minutes”. Being fully, absolutely, and completely alert at the time, I realized that this note came from one of the gunners, and that all of the fire was friendly, probably aimed at the surrounding desolation. This was confirmed as I looked below to see the regularly spaced puffs of sand approach and pass through the charred remains of a turret-less Iraqi tank.
What a great ride.
I had to go to Arbil for a meeting with the Minister of Tourism and Public Works for ARNI (the Autonomous Region of Northern Iraq). Arbil is a beautiful city (compared to Baghdad). It’s said (by the people who live there) to be the oldest continuous human settlement, and is located in the foothills of the northern mountain range a hundred and a half miles north of here. It’s clean (by comparison), industrious (also by comparison), and much better landscaped. Since the Kurds there have long been strong supporters of the new regime, there results an environment with significantly less military presence, which is immensely calming.
Ooh, and the coffee.
But first - our two helicopters landed on a narrow ridge on the grounds of the CPA North compound outside of town, where we were met by a trio of UAV’s (Urban Assault Vehicles, i.e. SUV’s) who raced into town at speeds approaching 90 mph. Nice highway, actually, and a tribute to the independent Kurds who have been maintaining it for the past ten years (although superelevation rates could have been improved). Through the gate at the Ministry and we dismounted amidst a welcoming party including the Minister himself, as well as other provincial wheels and senior staff.
We were then escorted inside to a deluxe parlor where we would rest for a short time before the meeting. Here, relaxing on plush sofas, we were served brilliant espressos in wee gilded cups on wee gilded saucers and served by a besuited teaboy. By far, the best coffee I’ve had in six weeks.
The meeting itself went surprisingly well, although the interpreter needed some improvement. He kept using the English term “demand” instead of “request”, which put a sharper edge on the proceedings than was necessary. There were fourteen in attendance, plus three video cameramen and twice as many stills, recording for posterity and the Minister’s ego.
Afterwards, we retired again to the deluxe parlor and had another coffee. Through the interpreter, I praised the Minister for the coffee’s flavor and presentation and may have demanded something or other, but I have yet to pick up the least bit of Arabic. I did learn however, that the beans are foreign, just the methodology is local. If I had to guess, I’d say it was a light roasted Turkish bean, finely ground and espressoed, and served with just a spot of raw sugar. Compared to the swill KBR actually labels as “Fresh Hot Coffee”,… well, it was much better.
The flight was an excellent opportunity to see the countryside. Immediately adjacent to the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers are the date plantations. Just beyond, land is extensively irrigated and I could see patches and fields of corn and vegetables, as well as areas just planted with grains. Since most of my work here concerns irrigation, this was a bonus I would not have received had we taken the highway.
Further still from the rivers are the arid, less-productive lands, where I only saw scattered herds of sheep amongst the scrub. Beyond the scrubland was desert. Even so, there were scattered mud houses. I’ve no idea how folks survive out there, but they’ve been doing well enough without practically everything for four thousand years.
It all goes by pretty fast though, as the Blackhawks were cruising in formation at just less than 140 knots about 100 feet off the deck. They would change course quickly and sporadically and would only gain altitude to swoop over power lines. It was as close to a motorcycle as I’ve been since leaving the States. Read More......
At that moment, the passenger facing me handed me a poorly scrawled note reading, ”we will be shooting our guns in ten or fifteen minutes”. Being fully, absolutely, and completely alert at the time, I realized that this note came from one of the gunners, and that all of the fire was friendly, probably aimed at the surrounding desolation. This was confirmed as I looked below to see the regularly spaced puffs of sand approach and pass through the charred remains of a turret-less Iraqi tank.
What a great ride.
I had to go to Arbil for a meeting with the Minister of Tourism and Public Works for ARNI (the Autonomous Region of Northern Iraq). Arbil is a beautiful city (compared to Baghdad). It’s said (by the people who live there) to be the oldest continuous human settlement, and is located in the foothills of the northern mountain range a hundred and a half miles north of here. It’s clean (by comparison), industrious (also by comparison), and much better landscaped. Since the Kurds there have long been strong supporters of the new regime, there results an environment with significantly less military presence, which is immensely calming.
Ooh, and the coffee.
But first - our two helicopters landed on a narrow ridge on the grounds of the CPA North compound outside of town, where we were met by a trio of UAV’s (Urban Assault Vehicles, i.e. SUV’s) who raced into town at speeds approaching 90 mph. Nice highway, actually, and a tribute to the independent Kurds who have been maintaining it for the past ten years (although superelevation rates could have been improved). Through the gate at the Ministry and we dismounted amidst a welcoming party including the Minister himself, as well as other provincial wheels and senior staff.
We were then escorted inside to a deluxe parlor where we would rest for a short time before the meeting. Here, relaxing on plush sofas, we were served brilliant espressos in wee gilded cups on wee gilded saucers and served by a besuited teaboy. By far, the best coffee I’ve had in six weeks.
The meeting itself went surprisingly well, although the interpreter needed some improvement. He kept using the English term “demand” instead of “request”, which put a sharper edge on the proceedings than was necessary. There were fourteen in attendance, plus three video cameramen and twice as many stills, recording for posterity and the Minister’s ego.
Afterwards, we retired again to the deluxe parlor and had another coffee. Through the interpreter, I praised the Minister for the coffee’s flavor and presentation and may have demanded something or other, but I have yet to pick up the least bit of Arabic. I did learn however, that the beans are foreign, just the methodology is local. If I had to guess, I’d say it was a light roasted Turkish bean, finely ground and espressoed, and served with just a spot of raw sugar. Compared to the swill KBR actually labels as “Fresh Hot Coffee”,… well, it was much better.
The flight was an excellent opportunity to see the countryside. Immediately adjacent to the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers are the date plantations. Just beyond, land is extensively irrigated and I could see patches and fields of corn and vegetables, as well as areas just planted with grains. Since most of my work here concerns irrigation, this was a bonus I would not have received had we taken the highway.
Further still from the rivers are the arid, less-productive lands, where I only saw scattered herds of sheep amongst the scrub. Beyond the scrubland was desert. Even so, there were scattered mud houses. I’ve no idea how folks survive out there, but they’ve been doing well enough without practically everything for four thousand years.
It all goes by pretty fast though, as the Blackhawks were cruising in formation at just less than 140 knots about 100 feet off the deck. They would change course quickly and sporadically and would only gain altitude to swoop over power lines. It was as close to a motorcycle as I’ve been since leaving the States. Read More......
2003-11-18
Tuesday, November 18, 2003
12:00 – Baghdad. At times, this place starts to wear on me. There’s a variety of issues. None of them particularly surprising, just profound annoyances.
On one hand, there’s the increasing bureaucracy at the PMO. This is expected. We’re just a lowly contractor here and our role as engineers is being gradually usurped by ranks of government employees – accountants, lawyers, bureaucrats, all. As usual, they judge their own progress by metrics that they established for themselves. They dwell on process, instead of progress. I was commanded to attend a meeting last night with a large gang of these types from the various CPA shadow ministries. They filled the thirty foot long conference table, speaking in acronyms and sounding important, as if theirs was the most vital and complex task in the world. What was this task? The filling of a form. Fortunately for them, the entire PMO engineering staff was seated along the wall to provide assistance. Project Title? Hmm. How about we use the name of the project for this one? “But what about the COR/DCOR AOR?”
On the other hand, there’s ineffectiveness at the Ministry. Under Saddam’s reign, government employees learned to make no decisions, for fear that the wrong choice would result in the loss of one’s head. Under the new regime, the Iraqis need to learn (quickly) to make decisions and accept the consequences. Until then, there’s a whole lotta nothing going on. There is a great deal of reliance upon CPA to decide on things and get the work done. This slows the transitional period. I think the phase out of the CPA by the first of June is a pipe dream, but dream they will until it’s time to awaken [insert your own sleepy little analogy]. My guess is that the CPA will be gone in June. Well, not really gone, just renamed “United States Embassy”.
If I had a third hand, I’d count the lack of clear communications between CPA, PMO, Ministries, and Governorates. The PMO is trying to do our thing, which is to usurp the CPA thing. It’s neither smooth nor easy, and the first thing to fail is communications. Typical.
Of course, my fourth hand would point to the state of my food and lodging. I’m eating dorm food at forty and sleeping in a six man closet. Nuff said.
My fifth (prehensile) hand would throttle local living conditions. As above, but add the fact that the showers and toilets are filthy. Really filthy. C’mon, for the average, fair and real generous Iraqi wage of three bucks a day, you’d think KBR could hire a couple of bathroom attendants. Maybe full time. Maybe three or four to a stall.
Six hands? Sure. Six hands. I need a phone. It’s a little embarrassing when there’s no way for your client to get a hold of you.
OK. Seven hands, but that’s my limit. I’ve been stuck in Baghdad for the past six weeks. That will change tomorrow, when my plan is to head north for the day. Get out of town. See some sights. Clear some of this dust out my throat. Collect some literary fodder. Read More......
On one hand, there’s the increasing bureaucracy at the PMO. This is expected. We’re just a lowly contractor here and our role as engineers is being gradually usurped by ranks of government employees – accountants, lawyers, bureaucrats, all. As usual, they judge their own progress by metrics that they established for themselves. They dwell on process, instead of progress. I was commanded to attend a meeting last night with a large gang of these types from the various CPA shadow ministries. They filled the thirty foot long conference table, speaking in acronyms and sounding important, as if theirs was the most vital and complex task in the world. What was this task? The filling of a form. Fortunately for them, the entire PMO engineering staff was seated along the wall to provide assistance. Project Title? Hmm. How about we use the name of the project for this one? “But what about the COR/DCOR AOR?”
On the other hand, there’s ineffectiveness at the Ministry. Under Saddam’s reign, government employees learned to make no decisions, for fear that the wrong choice would result in the loss of one’s head. Under the new regime, the Iraqis need to learn (quickly) to make decisions and accept the consequences. Until then, there’s a whole lotta nothing going on. There is a great deal of reliance upon CPA to decide on things and get the work done. This slows the transitional period. I think the phase out of the CPA by the first of June is a pipe dream, but dream they will until it’s time to awaken [insert your own sleepy little analogy]. My guess is that the CPA will be gone in June. Well, not really gone, just renamed “United States Embassy”.
If I had a third hand, I’d count the lack of clear communications between CPA, PMO, Ministries, and Governorates. The PMO is trying to do our thing, which is to usurp the CPA thing. It’s neither smooth nor easy, and the first thing to fail is communications. Typical.
Of course, my fourth hand would point to the state of my food and lodging. I’m eating dorm food at forty and sleeping in a six man closet. Nuff said.
My fifth (prehensile) hand would throttle local living conditions. As above, but add the fact that the showers and toilets are filthy. Really filthy. C’mon, for the average, fair and real generous Iraqi wage of three bucks a day, you’d think KBR could hire a couple of bathroom attendants. Maybe full time. Maybe three or four to a stall.
Six hands? Sure. Six hands. I need a phone. It’s a little embarrassing when there’s no way for your client to get a hold of you.
OK. Seven hands, but that’s my limit. I’ve been stuck in Baghdad for the past six weeks. That will change tomorrow, when my plan is to head north for the day. Get out of town. See some sights. Clear some of this dust out my throat. Collect some literary fodder. Read More......
Tuesday, 18 November, 2003
22:15 – Baghdad. George and I were talking in the first office (he has yet to move from there). I had expressed that I got my fifteen hours in. I was quitting for the day. Our conversation turned towards the Iraqi’s we work with whom, especially during Ramadan, don’t seem incredibly productive. pop.
“My” Iraqi’s at the Ministry of Water Resources show up to the office at nine or so, then head downstairs at a little after twelve, so that they aren’t late for leaving at one. pop,… pop, pop.
George offered that “his” Iraqi’s in the shadow Ministry of Electricity are crammed six to a room just upstairs and he never sees them doing anything. pop, pop, pop,… pop, pop.
“What? Right upstairs”, I asked. pop. pop. pop, pop, pop pop pop popopop popopopopopop
“Yeah.” pop. poppop. pop.
“Then what the hell are they doing now?” poppoppoppop poppoppoppop poppop.
“Clogging!” was his reply, and we laughed and laughed, and then Bob raced in, yelling “get in the hallway now, we’re being attacked!” And we’re laughing harder now,… repeating, “clogging!” between guffaws.
Bob was overreacting (he’s from New York, you know). There was an attack, but it was directed at the bad guys, not us. The popping was the large weapons of a gunship and launched exploding stuff, confirmed by the distinctive kitten-like “purrrr” of the chain guns.
No doubt, the activity was near by, probably on the other side of the Tigris, a kilometer or two distant. Not too far I suppose, but far enough for me and pointed in the right direction. This is part of our new strategy to open walnuts with sledge hammers, essentially hitting back really really hard, wiping out all evidence of the homes of the Saddamites and their explosives factories, especially after they launch an attack on the Coalition forces. This is not to be compared with an only vaguely similar type of strategy used by the Israelis, who obliterate the homes of the PLO after the PLO attacks them.
No, it’s a different thing, altogether.
No. Really. It’s different. We aren’t vindictive. Read More......
“My” Iraqi’s at the Ministry of Water Resources show up to the office at nine or so, then head downstairs at a little after twelve, so that they aren’t late for leaving at one. pop,… pop, pop.
George offered that “his” Iraqi’s in the shadow Ministry of Electricity are crammed six to a room just upstairs and he never sees them doing anything. pop, pop, pop,… pop, pop.
“What? Right upstairs”, I asked. pop. pop. pop, pop, pop pop pop popopop popopopopopop
“Yeah.” pop. poppop. pop.
“Then what the hell are they doing now?” poppoppoppop poppoppoppop poppop.
“Clogging!” was his reply, and we laughed and laughed, and then Bob raced in, yelling “get in the hallway now, we’re being attacked!” And we’re laughing harder now,… repeating, “clogging!” between guffaws.
Bob was overreacting (he’s from New York, you know). There was an attack, but it was directed at the bad guys, not us. The popping was the large weapons of a gunship and launched exploding stuff, confirmed by the distinctive kitten-like “purrrr” of the chain guns.
No doubt, the activity was near by, probably on the other side of the Tigris, a kilometer or two distant. Not too far I suppose, but far enough for me and pointed in the right direction. This is part of our new strategy to open walnuts with sledge hammers, essentially hitting back really really hard, wiping out all evidence of the homes of the Saddamites and their explosives factories, especially after they launch an attack on the Coalition forces. This is not to be compared with an only vaguely similar type of strategy used by the Israelis, who obliterate the homes of the PLO after the PLO attacks them.
No, it’s a different thing, altogether.
No. Really. It’s different. We aren’t vindictive. Read More......
2003-11-13
Wednesday, November 13, 2003
16:45 – Baghdad. We’ve moved again, both office and billet. Instead of an All Hands electromail this time to tell us of this impending relocation, the powers that be simply deposited flyers on each bunk in the north wing, informing us that we would be relocated to the Chapel the next day. The bunks in the north wing are scattered around the foyer and the serpentine hallways and crannies formed by the sloppy subdivision of the larger spaces as required to accommodate the ever increasing office needs of the CPA. It’s a far reaching development, but there’s enough walls around to give the impression of reduced density.
The chapel, by comparison, is one large box of a room with a mural of the Dome on the Rock on one wall, and SCUD’s rocketing towards Jerusalem on another. It used to be Saddam’s local intimidation chamber. He would sit on his throne under the SCUDs, and pass life or death judgments on the unfortunate few who were commanded to attend. It is now filled with bunk beds, arranged in tight rows, separated by less than two feet on a side. I have yet to count, but there must be bunks enough to store at least three or four hundred people in this space, inconveniently located adjacent to the mess hall, where more than 11,000 meals are served each day. It’s a long way from the relative quiet (and bathrooms) of the north wing.
We refused to move there. Instead, we are living under our desks, more or less.
The ultimate solution to our office space dilemma is to take over a 14,000 square foot space at the south end of the palace. This may be a bit spacious for our current group, but we do expect the IIRO/PMO to grow to about 150 within six months, so we’ll need lots of room. As of now, there’s just the sixteen of us in the PMO now joined by the Admiral (David Nash, retired) and his staff of eight. It’s not as nice as it will be though, once the former tenants finish moving out.
KBR (Kellogg Brown and Root, pronounced “Halliburton”) is performing many of the mundane tasks associated with the occupation. In the palace, their most notable contribution is providing food and lodging to CPA staff. And since KBR folks need lodging to, they had been using this 14,000 square feet (0.130 hectares for the Metrically inclined) for offices and sleeping space. Most of the offices have been cleaned out, but there are still scores of tradesmen sleeping in “the Ghetto”, as they so lovingly refer to our new end of the building. They should be out of here and completely moved into their new accommodations by Friday.
Of course, saying something will be done by Friday is the Iraqi equivalent to “soon come”. A more reasonable estimate would be a month from now.
We expect to move our desks a couple of times as we take over the balance of the space and our staff increases. As for my bunk,… I’m happy where it is now, actually, and wouldn’t mind keeping it there for the duration. Although there are still six of us in one adequately sized storeroom to the back of the Ghetto, the lack of general palace noise is dramatic. Add to that the white noise from a very effective air conditioning unit, and we all overslept this morning, each victims of a rare relaxing sleep. Read More......
The chapel, by comparison, is one large box of a room with a mural of the Dome on the Rock on one wall, and SCUD’s rocketing towards Jerusalem on another. It used to be Saddam’s local intimidation chamber. He would sit on his throne under the SCUDs, and pass life or death judgments on the unfortunate few who were commanded to attend. It is now filled with bunk beds, arranged in tight rows, separated by less than two feet on a side. I have yet to count, but there must be bunks enough to store at least three or four hundred people in this space, inconveniently located adjacent to the mess hall, where more than 11,000 meals are served each day. It’s a long way from the relative quiet (and bathrooms) of the north wing.
We refused to move there. Instead, we are living under our desks, more or less.
The ultimate solution to our office space dilemma is to take over a 14,000 square foot space at the south end of the palace. This may be a bit spacious for our current group, but we do expect the IIRO/PMO to grow to about 150 within six months, so we’ll need lots of room. As of now, there’s just the sixteen of us in the PMO now joined by the Admiral (David Nash, retired) and his staff of eight. It’s not as nice as it will be though, once the former tenants finish moving out.
KBR (Kellogg Brown and Root, pronounced “Halliburton”) is performing many of the mundane tasks associated with the occupation. In the palace, their most notable contribution is providing food and lodging to CPA staff. And since KBR folks need lodging to, they had been using this 14,000 square feet (0.130 hectares for the Metrically inclined) for offices and sleeping space. Most of the offices have been cleaned out, but there are still scores of tradesmen sleeping in “the Ghetto”, as they so lovingly refer to our new end of the building. They should be out of here and completely moved into their new accommodations by Friday.
Of course, saying something will be done by Friday is the Iraqi equivalent to “soon come”. A more reasonable estimate would be a month from now.
We expect to move our desks a couple of times as we take over the balance of the space and our staff increases. As for my bunk,… I’m happy where it is now, actually, and wouldn’t mind keeping it there for the duration. Although there are still six of us in one adequately sized storeroom to the back of the Ghetto, the lack of general palace noise is dramatic. Add to that the white noise from a very effective air conditioning unit, and we all overslept this morning, each victims of a rare relaxing sleep. Read More......
Thursday, November 13, 2003
14:45, Baghdad – Now that Bremer and Kennedy have developed a plan for defending the palace, they have made it a habit of reminding us that they have developed a plan for defending the palace, and they send us electromail about how they are defending the palace every other day. Today’s focused on how well the palace was constructed, and how it could easily withstand mortar and rocket fire. On this point, I would tend to agree. A direct hit would do some local damage, but this is no house of cards.
Not at all. This is a house of bad taste.
When entering the palace grounds through the front gate, the first thing you notice is the giant heads. Saddam’s ego was huge, and he mounted busts to match atop four locations of the front of the building. Each is easily twenty feet tall, and depicts the former president in an open collared shirt and Kaiser helmet. When you stand close, you can look up his nostrils.
It makes me wonder sometimes that we have yet to tear these down as they seem to stalk the entire CPA staff throughout the day. I have heard that contracts for their removal have been signed and delayed and canceled due to concerns about the cultural significance of Saddam’s giant heads. Strange, on all of the murals and the city’s remaining statues, Saddam’s head has been violently removed. I’d at least have painted moustaches on them.
No. Wait. He’s already got a moustache. I’d have to add fright wigs instead, or giant arrows through his head (most likely, the horns are already under the helmet).
The only real problem I see with decapitation is that the Coalition-supporting bats probably live there. Each evening, they descend from their roosts to consume in great quantities the evil Saddam-supporting anti-Coalition mosquitoes that hang about the place. If the bats are dislocated, evil will win.
There are a few large bronze flourishes mounted near the north and south entrances but, other than those, there’s little of this place that would qualify it for the cover of Keeps and Castles. From the outside, what you notice mostly is the shear size of the building. At over 1,200 feet long, there’s at least a half a million square feet of finished space on two excessively tall main floors,… plus a basement,… plus ancillary structures,... plus the pool house. It’s reinforced concrete mostly, and covered in a dull yellow sandstone facade.
What is most noticeable about the interior is the marble. Marble floors. Marble walls. Marble stairs. Marble handrails. Marble bathroom fixtures. Marble wainscoting. Marble tables. Marble this and marble that. It’s totally marblectible!
And it’s atrocious.
The finish and installation quality is first rate, with complex and detailed patterns everywhere. But, despite robbing his people of trillions of Dinar, it still looks like Saddam only bought the marble that was on sale at Menards. Each room is different and there is no interconnecting theme of design – except for the theme of “gobs of mismatched cut rate sale bin clearance sale marble”.
What a pud.
The only feature that I really like is the ceilings in the hallways and antechambers. Many of them are frescoed in plaster, using various repeating floral and geometric patterns, delicately painted in pastel pinks, blues and greens. This type of finish does continue throughout the palace. Sadly, their subtle softness is in such contrast to the marble, that they have little affect on the rigid ambiance of the space.
Most spaces are lit by chandeliers. Big chandeliers. Small chandeliers. Sconce chandeliers. Queer chandeliers. Paid three bucks at Wal Mart chandeliers. Again, atrocious, tasteless details, cheap cut glass, and they’re bad work lights, too.
This place is not wired for anything even close to 21st century communications, so miles of cabling are strung on the ceilings and walls and floors, duct taped as required to reduced tripping hazards. There are very few naturally occurring electrical outlets, so there are now hundreds of extension cords and power strips strung across floors and in scattered and tangled piles, as required to power our numerous machines and accessories.
There aren’t enough bathrooms, either.
Ultimately, it won’t be missiles or mortars - what will destroy the palace is the thousands who work here. I have no clue what Saddam used this place for, but it was not intended as a functional administrative building. I don’t know the current CPA staffing levels either (besides thousands), but the Sergeant who tallies the folks in the chow line told me that KBR serves over 11,500 meals a day here. All these folks overtax the plumbing and the power, and I won’t be surprised when the building gives up, outlets smoking and sewage spewing.
Not exactly a fairy tale ending. Read More......
Not at all. This is a house of bad taste.
When entering the palace grounds through the front gate, the first thing you notice is the giant heads. Saddam’s ego was huge, and he mounted busts to match atop four locations of the front of the building. Each is easily twenty feet tall, and depicts the former president in an open collared shirt and Kaiser helmet. When you stand close, you can look up his nostrils.
It makes me wonder sometimes that we have yet to tear these down as they seem to stalk the entire CPA staff throughout the day. I have heard that contracts for their removal have been signed and delayed and canceled due to concerns about the cultural significance of Saddam’s giant heads. Strange, on all of the murals and the city’s remaining statues, Saddam’s head has been violently removed. I’d at least have painted moustaches on them.
No. Wait. He’s already got a moustache. I’d have to add fright wigs instead, or giant arrows through his head (most likely, the horns are already under the helmet).
The only real problem I see with decapitation is that the Coalition-supporting bats probably live there. Each evening, they descend from their roosts to consume in great quantities the evil Saddam-supporting anti-Coalition mosquitoes that hang about the place. If the bats are dislocated, evil will win.
There are a few large bronze flourishes mounted near the north and south entrances but, other than those, there’s little of this place that would qualify it for the cover of Keeps and Castles. From the outside, what you notice mostly is the shear size of the building. At over 1,200 feet long, there’s at least a half a million square feet of finished space on two excessively tall main floors,… plus a basement,… plus ancillary structures,... plus the pool house. It’s reinforced concrete mostly, and covered in a dull yellow sandstone facade.
What is most noticeable about the interior is the marble. Marble floors. Marble walls. Marble stairs. Marble handrails. Marble bathroom fixtures. Marble wainscoting. Marble tables. Marble this and marble that. It’s totally marblectible!
And it’s atrocious.
The finish and installation quality is first rate, with complex and detailed patterns everywhere. But, despite robbing his people of trillions of Dinar, it still looks like Saddam only bought the marble that was on sale at Menards. Each room is different and there is no interconnecting theme of design – except for the theme of “gobs of mismatched cut rate sale bin clearance sale marble”.
What a pud.
The only feature that I really like is the ceilings in the hallways and antechambers. Many of them are frescoed in plaster, using various repeating floral and geometric patterns, delicately painted in pastel pinks, blues and greens. This type of finish does continue throughout the palace. Sadly, their subtle softness is in such contrast to the marble, that they have little affect on the rigid ambiance of the space.
Most spaces are lit by chandeliers. Big chandeliers. Small chandeliers. Sconce chandeliers. Queer chandeliers. Paid three bucks at Wal Mart chandeliers. Again, atrocious, tasteless details, cheap cut glass, and they’re bad work lights, too.
This place is not wired for anything even close to 21st century communications, so miles of cabling are strung on the ceilings and walls and floors, duct taped as required to reduced tripping hazards. There are very few naturally occurring electrical outlets, so there are now hundreds of extension cords and power strips strung across floors and in scattered and tangled piles, as required to power our numerous machines and accessories.
There aren’t enough bathrooms, either.
Ultimately, it won’t be missiles or mortars - what will destroy the palace is the thousands who work here. I have no clue what Saddam used this place for, but it was not intended as a functional administrative building. I don’t know the current CPA staffing levels either (besides thousands), but the Sergeant who tallies the folks in the chow line told me that KBR serves over 11,500 meals a day here. All these folks overtax the plumbing and the power, and I won’t be surprised when the building gives up, outlets smoking and sewage spewing.
Not exactly a fairy tale ending. Read More......
2003-11-08
Saturday, 08 November 2003
08:30 – Baghdad. The Gurka’s have been reassigned, it seems. As I left the palace this morning en route to the shower trailer, the exterior door was guarded by two well-armed Marines. When I returned, they scrutinized my identification to a degree long disregarded by the Nepalese soldiers they replaced. I missed their entrance, but those who did likened it to an attack on the palace as they secured their position.
The Gurkas generally dressed only in their BDU’s (Basic Duty Uniforms), and were armed with M-16’s and long curved knives. These Marines are clad in their DCU’s (Desert Camouflage Uniforms), but also have rifles, pistols, knives, throat mounted radio, plastic handcuffs, flak vests and helmets. Apparently, they are specially trained in anti-terrorist/anti-insurgency techniques and will repel or destroy any anti-coalition forces that should breech the palace compound.
It would appear then, that Bremer and Kennedy have developed a plan for the defense of the Palace. Good. Elite fighting men have been placed on our perimeter. Good. The Gurkas have been tasked to patrol the “man camps” (trailer parks) around the palace, where there were no patrols before. Good. But can they defend against Igor Klic’s forehand? I don’t think so.
I played a few sets of tennis one recent Friday afternoon with Igor “Doktor Pumps” Klic and Peter “the Wolf” Petrovski, part of the Czech contingent here. Both work for the CPA, Igor in the shadow Ministry of Water Resources, and Peter in the shadow Ministry of Defense. If I could keep Peter running cross court, I had a chance at a point or two. With Igor though, only luck kept me from getting blanked,... and maybe the fact that I was using a poorly strung and small headed racket (it must have been the equipment).
Ultimately, they both ran me ragged.
Strange event, though. The courts are on the grounds of the Al Rashid, west of the hotel. If we were playing in the morning, I could have said that I “played in the shadow of the missile riddled hotel”, but I’m not into that Fox News kind of reporting. There were no hotel shadows on the west lawn in the afternoon. Actually, there were very few shadows at all. It was very sunny and very hot and very dry and each time the ball hit the paved court, puffs of dust would be dislodged. More dust to be re-lodged in the back of my throat.
The court fence has been incorporated into the defensive perimeter and has been topped with concertina wire. The adjacent pool has been drained since before the war and unused and dusty deck chairs are randomly scattered about it. The hotel is essentially deserted while it undergoes repairs, so there were no guests strolling the lawn. The building itself still shows the damage from each impact; blown out windows, shattered concrete, ash and residue from the explosions pepper the facade of the middle floors.
And we’re the only ones around, and we’re playing a few friendly sets of tennis. Read More......
The Gurkas generally dressed only in their BDU’s (Basic Duty Uniforms), and were armed with M-16’s and long curved knives. These Marines are clad in their DCU’s (Desert Camouflage Uniforms), but also have rifles, pistols, knives, throat mounted radio, plastic handcuffs, flak vests and helmets. Apparently, they are specially trained in anti-terrorist/anti-insurgency techniques and will repel or destroy any anti-coalition forces that should breech the palace compound.
It would appear then, that Bremer and Kennedy have developed a plan for the defense of the Palace. Good. Elite fighting men have been placed on our perimeter. Good. The Gurkas have been tasked to patrol the “man camps” (trailer parks) around the palace, where there were no patrols before. Good. But can they defend against Igor Klic’s forehand? I don’t think so.
I played a few sets of tennis one recent Friday afternoon with Igor “Doktor Pumps” Klic and Peter “the Wolf” Petrovski, part of the Czech contingent here. Both work for the CPA, Igor in the shadow Ministry of Water Resources, and Peter in the shadow Ministry of Defense. If I could keep Peter running cross court, I had a chance at a point or two. With Igor though, only luck kept me from getting blanked,... and maybe the fact that I was using a poorly strung and small headed racket (it must have been the equipment).
Ultimately, they both ran me ragged.
Strange event, though. The courts are on the grounds of the Al Rashid, west of the hotel. If we were playing in the morning, I could have said that I “played in the shadow of the missile riddled hotel”, but I’m not into that Fox News kind of reporting. There were no hotel shadows on the west lawn in the afternoon. Actually, there were very few shadows at all. It was very sunny and very hot and very dry and each time the ball hit the paved court, puffs of dust would be dislodged. More dust to be re-lodged in the back of my throat.
The court fence has been incorporated into the defensive perimeter and has been topped with concertina wire. The adjacent pool has been drained since before the war and unused and dusty deck chairs are randomly scattered about it. The hotel is essentially deserted while it undergoes repairs, so there were no guests strolling the lawn. The building itself still shows the damage from each impact; blown out windows, shattered concrete, ash and residue from the explosions pepper the facade of the middle floors.
And we’re the only ones around, and we’re playing a few friendly sets of tennis. Read More......
2003-11-06
Thursday, 06 November 2003
15:00 – Baghdad. Moving day at the PMO. The downstairs space was getting on people’s nerves. I could start to sense the hostility arising from the close quarters, so getting out of that space was imperative. For my part, I was getting more and more out of touch with the project conversation, a vital component of a project like this. It moves so fast and from many directions one has to hear what’s going on in each sector just to understand what’s going on in one’s own.
So we moved. Now, instead of a 350 square foot office in Saddam’s palace, we’re on most of the third floor of Saddam’s Mother-in-law’s palace. Not all of us, but enough for my needs. The last office was getting to me, anyway. The USACE guys I shared it with had a damaged culture. Individually, some of the guys were swell, but as a group I wanted nothing more to do with them. Actually, some were even worse by themselves, as the backstabbing was continuous. Perhaps this was the inevitable result of six months of close quartered engineering. More likely, the cause was lack of effective leadership in their group, poorly represented by a soft-spoken enabler.
One entertaining facet of that old space was the 20:00 meetings. I was never invited, but if and when I worked that late, I attended by default. Nightly, eight to ten majors and colonels would participate in a video conference call with commands across the country, as well as with their counterparts in the States. This conference discussed the status of the war, collecting daily reports from all quarters. Not a cool as the one giving the orders I’d imagine, but interesting, nonetheless, as various commanders gave their reports as to the status of the war, the peace, and the reconstruction.
The new place is locally known as the IPC (Iraq Provisional Command). At one point, this was the HQ (headquarters (just in case)) to the front line Army engineers. Their mission is substantially complete, as the PMO is mobilizing to finish the job the Army started.
There’s not as much marble as in the palace, but this place is well marbled anyway. Saddam must have liked his wife’s ma at least a little bit.
The two storied columned entrance and a couple sets of grand doors lead to a reception area on the first floor. Spiraled marble steps take us upstairs to a long windowed room overlooking the Tigris. I have selected the only desk away from the windows. For one, it’s closer to the couch and two, it’s not as close to the windows. We have access to the veranda, which affords a panoramic view of the river and the City center beyond. If only Baghdad wasn’t such a shithole. There is water in sight, which is some comfort to me. I get edgy if I can’t see a river, stream, lake, pond, or sea on occasion
The IPC was constructed right on the right bank of the Tigris, about a twenty minute walk upstream of the Palace and, unlike at the palace, there is no setback or battlements between us and the river. The current residents say you can spot the missiles overhead as they head into the Green Zone at night. The humor’s a bit morbid here at times, but it is a war zone after all.
However, this not a very important building, especially when compared to the palace so, despite the clear shot to the veranda from the left bank, we’re probably safer here than in the old place.
At least we’re safe from the Iraqis. I went up to the roof to take some pictures shortly after moving in, including an image of one of the other spectacular mansions that festoon the neighborhood. Not ten minutes after I left the roof for the office space a Bird Colonel appeared inquiring if anyone had been taking pictures of the aforementioned mansion.
As it turned out, that is where some of the Special Ops gang is headquartered, and they do NOT like their picture taken (I looked hard at the image and could not see who saw me). The accompanying threat was that their 7.62mm’s were more effective than my 35mm.
Neanderthal jerks. I was using a digital camera.
There was almost a second move today. An All Hands electromail was sent informing residents of the north ballroom that they would be relocated within two hours to the Gurka tent to the north of the building. They claimed that this was for our safety. Huh? How is a tent safer than marble walls when subjected to mortar fire?
I suppose all the residents of the north ballroom asked this question, some louder than others, and a retraction electromail was released less than an hour later. The real reason I surmise, was that KBR needs to convert the dormitory space into offices for the increasing staff of the CPA. They made a few promises without thinking through the consequences. Perhaps like our involvement here from the start. Well, let history decide.
It’s Bob’s 50th birthday today, so we’re off to buy him a beer or three at the bowling alley bar at the Al Rashid (the upstairs bars have yet to reopen). Read More......
So we moved. Now, instead of a 350 square foot office in Saddam’s palace, we’re on most of the third floor of Saddam’s Mother-in-law’s palace. Not all of us, but enough for my needs. The last office was getting to me, anyway. The USACE guys I shared it with had a damaged culture. Individually, some of the guys were swell, but as a group I wanted nothing more to do with them. Actually, some were even worse by themselves, as the backstabbing was continuous. Perhaps this was the inevitable result of six months of close quartered engineering. More likely, the cause was lack of effective leadership in their group, poorly represented by a soft-spoken enabler.
One entertaining facet of that old space was the 20:00 meetings. I was never invited, but if and when I worked that late, I attended by default. Nightly, eight to ten majors and colonels would participate in a video conference call with commands across the country, as well as with their counterparts in the States. This conference discussed the status of the war, collecting daily reports from all quarters. Not a cool as the one giving the orders I’d imagine, but interesting, nonetheless, as various commanders gave their reports as to the status of the war, the peace, and the reconstruction.
The new place is locally known as the IPC (Iraq Provisional Command). At one point, this was the HQ (headquarters (just in case)) to the front line Army engineers. Their mission is substantially complete, as the PMO is mobilizing to finish the job the Army started.
There’s not as much marble as in the palace, but this place is well marbled anyway. Saddam must have liked his wife’s ma at least a little bit.
The two storied columned entrance and a couple sets of grand doors lead to a reception area on the first floor. Spiraled marble steps take us upstairs to a long windowed room overlooking the Tigris. I have selected the only desk away from the windows. For one, it’s closer to the couch and two, it’s not as close to the windows. We have access to the veranda, which affords a panoramic view of the river and the City center beyond. If only Baghdad wasn’t such a shithole. There is water in sight, which is some comfort to me. I get edgy if I can’t see a river, stream, lake, pond, or sea on occasion
The IPC was constructed right on the right bank of the Tigris, about a twenty minute walk upstream of the Palace and, unlike at the palace, there is no setback or battlements between us and the river. The current residents say you can spot the missiles overhead as they head into the Green Zone at night. The humor’s a bit morbid here at times, but it is a war zone after all.
However, this not a very important building, especially when compared to the palace so, despite the clear shot to the veranda from the left bank, we’re probably safer here than in the old place.
At least we’re safe from the Iraqis. I went up to the roof to take some pictures shortly after moving in, including an image of one of the other spectacular mansions that festoon the neighborhood. Not ten minutes after I left the roof for the office space a Bird Colonel appeared inquiring if anyone had been taking pictures of the aforementioned mansion.
As it turned out, that is where some of the Special Ops gang is headquartered, and they do NOT like their picture taken (I looked hard at the image and could not see who saw me). The accompanying threat was that their 7.62mm’s were more effective than my 35mm.
Neanderthal jerks. I was using a digital camera.
There was almost a second move today. An All Hands electromail was sent informing residents of the north ballroom that they would be relocated within two hours to the Gurka tent to the north of the building. They claimed that this was for our safety. Huh? How is a tent safer than marble walls when subjected to mortar fire?
I suppose all the residents of the north ballroom asked this question, some louder than others, and a retraction electromail was released less than an hour later. The real reason I surmise, was that KBR needs to convert the dormitory space into offices for the increasing staff of the CPA. They made a few promises without thinking through the consequences. Perhaps like our involvement here from the start. Well, let history decide.
It’s Bob’s 50th birthday today, so we’re off to buy him a beer or three at the bowling alley bar at the Al Rashid (the upstairs bars have yet to reopen). Read More......
2003-11-01
Saturday, November 01, 2003
07:00 – Baghdad. I fully expected the palace to be attacked in some way last night. My shattered expectations are a great comfort to me now, but caused a fair amount of consternation through the night.
I could practically hear the beating of my heart. Rapidly thump-a-tumping to such an extent that I felt it would bust out of my chest. Can this level of adrenaline kill you (to die of fright), or does it prevent the aging process, like it did to Chekov in that Star Trek episode where everyone ages rapidly but him, the hundred year old children ran the show, and we got to see Yeoman Rand’s legs.
What would I hear just prior? The whoosh of an incoming rocket? Gunfire? Distant yelling? Would any of these be preceded by the planned two blasts of the Gurka’s air horns? How could I possibly hear any of these over the 120 dB snores of the guy three cots to the right? Underneath were the softer snores, each to their own cadence. Beneath those were the quiet steps, soft voices, and creaking bed frames. So many internal noises, I could never ascertain if there was something going on outside. Each footfall was a rifle shot. Each closing door a mortar.
This drove me nuts, and I was fully awake at four, staring at the ceiling and listening. Maybe the attack would be at dawn. Might as well, I wasn’t going to sleep anymore.
Baghdad Central got more crowded last night as I “slept”, our numbers swelled by more Al Rashid refugees and some trailer people, whose more permanent billets are closer to the wall. I watched as one of these newbies tried to open a door leading outside (although always locked after lights out) and dislocated the chair that had been placed in front of it, producing a sharp and abrasive scrape. Immediately, I saw the full and open whites of Bob’s eyes from the bunk next to me. I wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping.
One thing was certain, the comforting town hall meeting last night was much less than comforting. The more I think of it, the more it seems that Bremer and Kennedy and the General and his Colonel have no plan at all to protect the palace compound. Once the insurgents breech the wall, its only a couple of Gurkas and two small groups of Military Police (MP’s) for a four and a half hectare palace. At any one time, there can be a couple of thousand civilians in the palace, either sleeping or working. Would it not be a good thing to give the civilians an idea as to what their role would be in the defense of our quarters, besides “duck and cover”?
Now I’m pissed.
More so, that I ever bought the whole rumor and lost sleep because of it. Our enemy here is not five hundred crazed and suicidal fanatics. It’s time…. and a couple dozen crazed (but not particularly suicidal) fanatics that are against us. Any direct attack on the Green Zone would result in an eventual and total loss for the attackers. There is no way that any significant and/or effective force of suicide combatants could be organized.
No. What we’ll continue to get is a couple of mortar rounds lobbed at us a couple of times a week,… and the occasional rocket, and the car bombs and IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices, not to be confused with the VBIED’s (Very Big (or more often Vehicle Borne) IED’s)). It’s primarily the mortars. The shitheads with the them tend to drive a truck onto an adjacent street, then stop and quickly set up the mortar tube and launch two or three projectiles before speeding off into the Baghdad night. The problem with these guys is that they are thinking of escape before they complete the attack, so they never hit a prime target.
Much like a shortstop that starts to make his throw to First before he actually has fielded the ball. He’s bound to error. If this was a football analogy, the misguided receiver would fumble. If it was a cooking analogy, dinner would suck. Craig called these guys “puds” the other day. I haven’t heard that disparaging moniker for a long while.
Interesting Arab Trivia: The “thumbs up” symbol in the Middle East is traditionally shorthand for “up yours”. So, was that six-year-old Iraqi lad I saw the other day gesturing in support, or derision? Read More......
I could practically hear the beating of my heart. Rapidly thump-a-tumping to such an extent that I felt it would bust out of my chest. Can this level of adrenaline kill you (to die of fright), or does it prevent the aging process, like it did to Chekov in that Star Trek episode where everyone ages rapidly but him, the hundred year old children ran the show, and we got to see Yeoman Rand’s legs.
What would I hear just prior? The whoosh of an incoming rocket? Gunfire? Distant yelling? Would any of these be preceded by the planned two blasts of the Gurka’s air horns? How could I possibly hear any of these over the 120 dB snores of the guy three cots to the right? Underneath were the softer snores, each to their own cadence. Beneath those were the quiet steps, soft voices, and creaking bed frames. So many internal noises, I could never ascertain if there was something going on outside. Each footfall was a rifle shot. Each closing door a mortar.
This drove me nuts, and I was fully awake at four, staring at the ceiling and listening. Maybe the attack would be at dawn. Might as well, I wasn’t going to sleep anymore.
Baghdad Central got more crowded last night as I “slept”, our numbers swelled by more Al Rashid refugees and some trailer people, whose more permanent billets are closer to the wall. I watched as one of these newbies tried to open a door leading outside (although always locked after lights out) and dislocated the chair that had been placed in front of it, producing a sharp and abrasive scrape. Immediately, I saw the full and open whites of Bob’s eyes from the bunk next to me. I wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping.
One thing was certain, the comforting town hall meeting last night was much less than comforting. The more I think of it, the more it seems that Bremer and Kennedy and the General and his Colonel have no plan at all to protect the palace compound. Once the insurgents breech the wall, its only a couple of Gurkas and two small groups of Military Police (MP’s) for a four and a half hectare palace. At any one time, there can be a couple of thousand civilians in the palace, either sleeping or working. Would it not be a good thing to give the civilians an idea as to what their role would be in the defense of our quarters, besides “duck and cover”?
Now I’m pissed.
More so, that I ever bought the whole rumor and lost sleep because of it. Our enemy here is not five hundred crazed and suicidal fanatics. It’s time…. and a couple dozen crazed (but not particularly suicidal) fanatics that are against us. Any direct attack on the Green Zone would result in an eventual and total loss for the attackers. There is no way that any significant and/or effective force of suicide combatants could be organized.
No. What we’ll continue to get is a couple of mortar rounds lobbed at us a couple of times a week,… and the occasional rocket, and the car bombs and IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices, not to be confused with the VBIED’s (Very Big (or more often Vehicle Borne) IED’s)). It’s primarily the mortars. The shitheads with the them tend to drive a truck onto an adjacent street, then stop and quickly set up the mortar tube and launch two or three projectiles before speeding off into the Baghdad night. The problem with these guys is that they are thinking of escape before they complete the attack, so they never hit a prime target.
Much like a shortstop that starts to make his throw to First before he actually has fielded the ball. He’s bound to error. If this was a football analogy, the misguided receiver would fumble. If it was a cooking analogy, dinner would suck. Craig called these guys “puds” the other day. I haven’t heard that disparaging moniker for a long while.
Interesting Arab Trivia: The “thumbs up” symbol in the Middle East is traditionally shorthand for “up yours”. So, was that six-year-old Iraqi lad I saw the other day gesturing in support, or derision? Read More......
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