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?