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).