Posts
I need a tune. Best submittal gets a piece of shrapnel.
Night of the Big Voice
Big ol’ Voice says “a bomb’s a comin’”
Hooch starts a shakin’ and I know he’s right
If one hits close I’m gonna soon meet my maker
Fuckers launch that crap most days and nights
Tryin’ to sleep when the static went at it
Follows the boom and I hear him each time
Stay under cover says the big guy, like last time
Gonna be a long night
Big ol’ Voice comes a squawkin’
I-Z will be rockin’ – Lockdown!
Big ol’ Voice comes a squawkin’
I-Z, man, it will be rockin’
Pulled the sheets way up under my chin then
Use my armor to strengthen the cause
Try to make myself awfully small now
Shrapnel? Flesh? Not good. Makes me squeamish.
Where are my homies I thought to myself then
They don’t care if I live or I die now
We was in lockdown and nobody checked on me
Gonna be a long night
(I say the)
Big ol’ Voice comes a squawkin’
I-Z will be rockin’ – Lockdown!
Big ol’ Voice comes a squawkin’
I-Z, man, it will be rockin’
[Attention in the compound. This is the Big Voice. We are in lockdown. I say again – lockdown, lockdown, lockdown. If you are outside, seek shelter and follow the instruction of the guard. If you are inside a hardened shelter, stand fast. I say again – lockdown, lockdown, lockdown.]
Read More......
2007-05-25
Finito
This is a dangerous place. Since setting wheels down 26 days ago, there have been 28 lockdowns, more often than not associated with mortar and/or rocket attacks on the I-Zed. More often than not, they hit us in the late afternoon and evening, although there are exceptions. More often than not, they hit us once on any day, although there are exceptions. More often than not, they launch three or less projectiles at us. Again, there are exceptions.
If Coalition forces get to the launch site fast enough, we kill them. If not, they try again in a day or two. Maybe they’ll get lucky. There are exceptions.
Enshallah.
Recently, the capability for the insurgents to target strategic locations with relative precision point to the use of Iranian gunners imported for the task. We have no way to stop this.
As predicted from the start, Operation Iraqi Freedom is a total failure. Throughout greater Baghdad, the violence and chaos worsens. If I had to state a reason (and I do, if only to keep this diatribe moving), I’d say that it’s in large part because the Iraqis don’t care to do anything about it. This (I’d say), is (in part) because there’s no national identity. The people feel that the violence isn’t against Iraqis, it’s against the Shias (or against the Suni (or against the Kurds)), and until such time as there’s a change in attitude on this level, there will be no peace in Iraq. Should the civil war run its course, it will result in three Iraqs, one for each sect. This is my preferred solution.
As a nation, we can do nothing about this. Nor should we. Our best course is to pack up our weapons and DFAC’s and embassy complex and go home. This place is chaos already. To stay or go will make little difference, except perhaps the Iraqi’s may then feel the necessity to solve their own problems.
A colonel told me a (seemingly true) story that goes something like this –
The Iraqi date business is a multi-billion dollar industry and a very large chunk of the country’s exports, potentially 20% or so. Pesticides need to be applied to the date palms at the appropriate time, or fruit production will be jeopardized. This is something the Iraqis knew, because Saddam forced them to know it, but something that they have not done in recent years, because they know that eventually, the Coalition will spray their dates for them. If they just wait long enough, we will spray their dates,… or build them a power plant,… or police their streets.
I believe that the only long term solution to the local date situation is to give this country back as soon as physically possible. Let the Arab League figure it out. Let the Iranis figure it out. Let the Israelis figure it out. Most of all, let the Iraqis figure it out. We have no place here.
If it’s 25 million threatened people we want to help, why not direct a trillion dollars at our own poor? If it’s our energy security we want, why not direct a trillion dollars at geothermal research. If it’s a global war on terror we want to win, why not stop being such global asshats?
I came over here for a wealth of reasons. I made some cash. I had me some adventure. I checked up on a failed program with no hope of success, and further realized that our only purpose here is to transfer your tax dollars to the corporations that supply weapons and materiel to the war machine. It’s entirely a selfish act on the part of the Administration and a huge example of false patriotism. And try not to believe the Democrats stand on higher moral ground. They own the same companies.
As homework, watch “V for Vendetta”. It’s inspiring.
Convoy to BIAP this afternoon. Wheels up tomorrow. Read More......
If Coalition forces get to the launch site fast enough, we kill them. If not, they try again in a day or two. Maybe they’ll get lucky. There are exceptions.
Enshallah.
Recently, the capability for the insurgents to target strategic locations with relative precision point to the use of Iranian gunners imported for the task. We have no way to stop this.
As predicted from the start, Operation Iraqi Freedom is a total failure. Throughout greater Baghdad, the violence and chaos worsens. If I had to state a reason (and I do, if only to keep this diatribe moving), I’d say that it’s in large part because the Iraqis don’t care to do anything about it. This (I’d say), is (in part) because there’s no national identity. The people feel that the violence isn’t against Iraqis, it’s against the Shias (or against the Suni (or against the Kurds)), and until such time as there’s a change in attitude on this level, there will be no peace in Iraq. Should the civil war run its course, it will result in three Iraqs, one for each sect. This is my preferred solution.
As a nation, we can do nothing about this. Nor should we. Our best course is to pack up our weapons and DFAC’s and embassy complex and go home. This place is chaos already. To stay or go will make little difference, except perhaps the Iraqi’s may then feel the necessity to solve their own problems.
A colonel told me a (seemingly true) story that goes something like this –
The Iraqi date business is a multi-billion dollar industry and a very large chunk of the country’s exports, potentially 20% or so. Pesticides need to be applied to the date palms at the appropriate time, or fruit production will be jeopardized. This is something the Iraqis knew, because Saddam forced them to know it, but something that they have not done in recent years, because they know that eventually, the Coalition will spray their dates for them. If they just wait long enough, we will spray their dates,… or build them a power plant,… or police their streets.
I believe that the only long term solution to the local date situation is to give this country back as soon as physically possible. Let the Arab League figure it out. Let the Iranis figure it out. Let the Israelis figure it out. Most of all, let the Iraqis figure it out. We have no place here.
If it’s 25 million threatened people we want to help, why not direct a trillion dollars at our own poor? If it’s our energy security we want, why not direct a trillion dollars at geothermal research. If it’s a global war on terror we want to win, why not stop being such global asshats?
I came over here for a wealth of reasons. I made some cash. I had me some adventure. I checked up on a failed program with no hope of success, and further realized that our only purpose here is to transfer your tax dollars to the corporations that supply weapons and materiel to the war machine. It’s entirely a selfish act on the part of the Administration and a huge example of false patriotism. And try not to believe the Democrats stand on higher moral ground. They own the same companies.
As homework, watch “V for Vendetta”. It’s inspiring.
Convoy to BIAP this afternoon. Wheels up tomorrow. Read More......
2007-05-24
Coffee
You'd think if we can put a man on the moon, I could get a decent cup of coffee in Iraq. Well, we can and I can, but that's not the point. The point is that I can't get a good cup of coffee from any of the six Braun coffee makers that populate the Company space.
In the DFAC we have a choice between "Coffee Strong" and "Coffee Light". Since I like my beans with a little bite, I had been getting my caffeine from the strong side. However, one morning there was a crowd in the way of the tap, so I tried the Light. There was no difference. Both were sort of crappy cups of coffee - neither stronger nor lighter – but tolerable.
So my pattern now is to get a cup after breakfast on my way to the office, then return to the DFAC for another cup just before they close at 0800. We have to go in the back door for this supplemental dose since, if we used the front door, the Army Specialist who counts people entering the DFAC would count us again (that's her specialty), and KBR would charge the taxpayers another $35. No way is their coffee worth that.
At 1000 or so, it's time for more, so I often walk to the back of the building to the back side of the building franchise location of Green Beans Coffee Worldcafe, an odd little café that sells three dollar lattes. I could get a muffin or a smoothie, I suppose, but I usually just get a three dollar latte. Primarily, because (as alluded to above), to local coffee is crap.
Imagine if you will, filling the coffee basket all the way to the top, then adding half a pot of water, then letting it cook all day long. That's what it tastes like on a good day. Oh, did I mention not cleaning the pot first? That's the special ingredient. What worse, is that the keepers of each individual pot believe that theirs is superior to all others (some even grind their own beans prior to sacrificing them to the gods of awful strained bean water). For me, the best bad coffee is still bad coffee, so I'm stuck drinking three dollar lattes.
Doing without is an option, of course, but a nice cuppa is one small reminder of the pleasures of home.
Like milk is a small reminder of home, of which there's been none of for the past four or five days. No fresh eggs, either. No peanut butter. No carrots. No Gatorade. No orange juice. No white bread for the grill cheeses. The sign outside the DFAC say it's "due to convoy". What the sign doesn't say is due to what. "Due to convoy", of course. Due to convoy being hijacked, perhaps?
That's the current trouble. The story goes that there were forty tractor trailer rigs headed up from the ports at Basra full of milk and eggs and Gatorade. Each vehicle had a driver and a shooter. Then, at some quiet location south of here, an oil tanker pulled across the road, stopping the first vehicle. Next, a second oil tanker pulled behind the last vehicle, cutting off any escape. As per plan, some 300 armed men appeared from the ditches and vegetation. The coalition surrendered. The trucks were stolen.
No one was injured, but some jihadist is now eating my carrots.
The talk is that lunch will be replaced with MREs until we can reestablish supply lines. Other talk is that I leave the IZ tomorrow. Read More......
In the DFAC we have a choice between "Coffee Strong" and "Coffee Light". Since I like my beans with a little bite, I had been getting my caffeine from the strong side. However, one morning there was a crowd in the way of the tap, so I tried the Light. There was no difference. Both were sort of crappy cups of coffee - neither stronger nor lighter – but tolerable.
So my pattern now is to get a cup after breakfast on my way to the office, then return to the DFAC for another cup just before they close at 0800. We have to go in the back door for this supplemental dose since, if we used the front door, the Army Specialist who counts people entering the DFAC would count us again (that's her specialty), and KBR would charge the taxpayers another $35. No way is their coffee worth that.
At 1000 or so, it's time for more, so I often walk to the back of the building to the back side of the building franchise location of Green Beans Coffee Worldcafe, an odd little café that sells three dollar lattes. I could get a muffin or a smoothie, I suppose, but I usually just get a three dollar latte. Primarily, because (as alluded to above), to local coffee is crap.
Imagine if you will, filling the coffee basket all the way to the top, then adding half a pot of water, then letting it cook all day long. That's what it tastes like on a good day. Oh, did I mention not cleaning the pot first? That's the special ingredient. What worse, is that the keepers of each individual pot believe that theirs is superior to all others (some even grind their own beans prior to sacrificing them to the gods of awful strained bean water). For me, the best bad coffee is still bad coffee, so I'm stuck drinking three dollar lattes.
Doing without is an option, of course, but a nice cuppa is one small reminder of the pleasures of home.
Like milk is a small reminder of home, of which there's been none of for the past four or five days. No fresh eggs, either. No peanut butter. No carrots. No Gatorade. No orange juice. No white bread for the grill cheeses. The sign outside the DFAC say it's "due to convoy". What the sign doesn't say is due to what. "Due to convoy", of course. Due to convoy being hijacked, perhaps?
That's the current trouble. The story goes that there were forty tractor trailer rigs headed up from the ports at Basra full of milk and eggs and Gatorade. Each vehicle had a driver and a shooter. Then, at some quiet location south of here, an oil tanker pulled across the road, stopping the first vehicle. Next, a second oil tanker pulled behind the last vehicle, cutting off any escape. As per plan, some 300 armed men appeared from the ditches and vegetation. The coalition surrendered. The trucks were stolen.
No one was injured, but some jihadist is now eating my carrots.
The talk is that lunch will be replaced with MREs until we can reestablish supply lines. Other talk is that I leave the IZ tomorrow. Read More......
2007-05-23
Mercenary
“Flea on de magadog?” Okay, maybe I’m not actually a parasite. Why mince words, though, when profiteer is such a nice one? The fact is, there’s a huge pile of money to be made here and if the Company don’t rake it, some other outfit will.
In all honesty, this reconstruction operation is little different than any other government program, more designed to benefit the contractors and bureaucrats than the people. Using Iraq as a specific example, by the time These United States gets out of here, assuming we can get out of here within the next few years, we will have spent over one trillion dollars on the effort. Our constructed benefit to Iraq over that time? Perhaps fifty billion dollars (plus seventeen thousand miles of T-walls and enough concertina wire to encircle the earth).
Mix that trillion Dollars around a bit, and it seems that each and every American is on the hook for about $3000. That’s a hefty tax to pay just to send our boys and girls out to kill and be killed by some extremist Arabs. And the kicker. Each Iraqi has “benefited” $40,000. How much peace could we have bought just by giving each and every one of them an envelop full of Benjamins?
There was an entirely different attitude here at the start of this program. There was hope, for one, and the Americans who came here did so because they were hopeful that we could affect a peaceful solution. Rebuilding a country was the most interesting piece of engineering work in the world four years ago. It was exciting work in an exciting environment and, although we were well compensated, I don’t think the people were here for the money nearly so much as they were here for the experience.
Now, there are a scant few idealists remaining. The bulk of the expatriates are mercenaries. Not that we’ve joined some private army, per se. No. It’s just that large numbers of the people are here solely for the money. As it became clear that the Iraq experience would not be one of success, the idealist folks who volunteered for this duty at the start have stopped coming. For this elite group, the potential for great project success brought them here. The money was just a nice bonus.
Now that the war winds well into its fifth losing year, the caliber of expatriates has slipped markedly. It’s no longer the A Team, but some other letter far down the scale.
And they’re mercenaries. Technically good enough at their jobs, but devoid of the passion that could raise the program up a level or two. Even with further uplifts to pay as enticement, they’re the best we can muster. Even with hardened facilities, private rooms, and cable TV, there isn’t enough to draw back those that might have made a real difference here.
This situation is mimicked in the field, where the best and the brightest tradesmen are having a better time in some other corner of the world. What’re left are those who do it for the money, skills be damned. Success be damned. The government side’s the same. The volunteers with the vision have been replaced by those who just need their ticket stamped.
The other side of our local mercenary population (and perhaps the most honest about it) are the contractors who provide security for us. Despite hundreds of soldiers living in Camp Freedom, none of them ever pull guard duty. The gunmen who man the checkpoints, issue badges, and patrol the Motel 6 are Third Country Nationals, typically AK-47 armed Third Worlders supervised by a couple of British companies. The PSD’s who escort the lucky few over the wire are the same – simply guns for hire. Slightly more venomous than the Pakistanis, Napalese, and Iraqis compound guards (in fact, a huge amount more venomous), they’ve mostly usurped the force protection role of the Army here.
Good or bad, I think mercenary armies are the war of the future. The domestic backlash for our failure here will be felt for decades. How much easier will it be for the Congress to issue a multi-billion Dollar Indefinite Deliverable / Indefinite Quantity contract to Halliburton or Bechtel then instruct them to invade Sudan? This keeps the soldiers at home where they belong, but still allows us to pursue our imperialistic dreams.
Iraq is tiring. Read More......
In all honesty, this reconstruction operation is little different than any other government program, more designed to benefit the contractors and bureaucrats than the people. Using Iraq as a specific example, by the time These United States gets out of here, assuming we can get out of here within the next few years, we will have spent over one trillion dollars on the effort. Our constructed benefit to Iraq over that time? Perhaps fifty billion dollars (plus seventeen thousand miles of T-walls and enough concertina wire to encircle the earth).
Mix that trillion Dollars around a bit, and it seems that each and every American is on the hook for about $3000. That’s a hefty tax to pay just to send our boys and girls out to kill and be killed by some extremist Arabs. And the kicker. Each Iraqi has “benefited” $40,000. How much peace could we have bought just by giving each and every one of them an envelop full of Benjamins?
There was an entirely different attitude here at the start of this program. There was hope, for one, and the Americans who came here did so because they were hopeful that we could affect a peaceful solution. Rebuilding a country was the most interesting piece of engineering work in the world four years ago. It was exciting work in an exciting environment and, although we were well compensated, I don’t think the people were here for the money nearly so much as they were here for the experience.
Now, there are a scant few idealists remaining. The bulk of the expatriates are mercenaries. Not that we’ve joined some private army, per se. No. It’s just that large numbers of the people are here solely for the money. As it became clear that the Iraq experience would not be one of success, the idealist folks who volunteered for this duty at the start have stopped coming. For this elite group, the potential for great project success brought them here. The money was just a nice bonus.
Now that the war winds well into its fifth losing year, the caliber of expatriates has slipped markedly. It’s no longer the A Team, but some other letter far down the scale.
And they’re mercenaries. Technically good enough at their jobs, but devoid of the passion that could raise the program up a level or two. Even with further uplifts to pay as enticement, they’re the best we can muster. Even with hardened facilities, private rooms, and cable TV, there isn’t enough to draw back those that might have made a real difference here.
This situation is mimicked in the field, where the best and the brightest tradesmen are having a better time in some other corner of the world. What’re left are those who do it for the money, skills be damned. Success be damned. The government side’s the same. The volunteers with the vision have been replaced by those who just need their ticket stamped.
The other side of our local mercenary population (and perhaps the most honest about it) are the contractors who provide security for us. Despite hundreds of soldiers living in Camp Freedom, none of them ever pull guard duty. The gunmen who man the checkpoints, issue badges, and patrol the Motel 6 are Third Country Nationals, typically AK-47 armed Third Worlders supervised by a couple of British companies. The PSD’s who escort the lucky few over the wire are the same – simply guns for hire. Slightly more venomous than the Pakistanis, Napalese, and Iraqis compound guards (in fact, a huge amount more venomous), they’ve mostly usurped the force protection role of the Army here.
Good or bad, I think mercenary armies are the war of the future. The domestic backlash for our failure here will be felt for decades. How much easier will it be for the Congress to issue a multi-billion Dollar Indefinite Deliverable / Indefinite Quantity contract to Halliburton or Bechtel then instruct them to invade Sudan? This keeps the soldiers at home where they belong, but still allows us to pursue our imperialistic dreams.
Iraq is tiring. Read More......
2007-05-21
Right in Two
Now, here’s a little musical/lyrical interlude: “Right in Two”, by Tool.
=====
Angels on the sideline,
Puzzled and amused.
Why did Father give these humans free will?
Now they're all confused.
Don't these talking monkeys know that
Eden has enough to go around?
Plenty in this holy garden, silly monkeys,
where there's one you're bound to divide it
Right in two
Angels on the sideline,
Baffled and confused.
Father blessed them all with reason.
And this is what they choose.
Monkey killing monkey killing monkey
Over pieces of the ground.
Silly monkeys give them thumbs,
They forge a blade,
And where there's one they're bound to divide it,
Right in two.
Monkey killing monkey killing monkey
Over pieces of the ground.
Silly monkeys give them thumbs, they make a club
And beat their brother down.
How they survive so misguided is a mystery.
Repugnant is a creature who would squander the ability
to lift an eye to heaven conscious of his fleeting time here.
cut it, divide it all right in two
They fight, till they die
Over earth, over sky
They fight
Over lies, over blood, over air
And light, over love, over son
Over blood
They fight, till they die, over what? for our lies!
Angels on the sideline again
Benched along with patience and reason
Angels on the sideline again
Wondering when this tug of war will end
cut it, divide it all right in two
Right in two...
=====
Used without permission. Read More......
=====
Angels on the sideline,
Puzzled and amused.
Why did Father give these humans free will?
Now they're all confused.
Don't these talking monkeys know that
Eden has enough to go around?
Plenty in this holy garden, silly monkeys,
where there's one you're bound to divide it
Right in two
Angels on the sideline,
Baffled and confused.
Father blessed them all with reason.
And this is what they choose.
Monkey killing monkey killing monkey
Over pieces of the ground.
Silly monkeys give them thumbs,
They forge a blade,
And where there's one they're bound to divide it,
Right in two.
Monkey killing monkey killing monkey
Over pieces of the ground.
Silly monkeys give them thumbs, they make a club
And beat their brother down.
How they survive so misguided is a mystery.
Repugnant is a creature who would squander the ability
to lift an eye to heaven conscious of his fleeting time here.
cut it, divide it all right in two
They fight, till they die
Over earth, over sky
They fight
Over lies, over blood, over air
And light, over love, over son
Over blood
They fight, till they die, over what? for our lies!
Angels on the sideline again
Benched along with patience and reason
Angels on the sideline again
Wondering when this tug of war will end
cut it, divide it all right in two
Right in two...
=====
Used without permission. Read More......
2007-05-19
Mailbaggage
For this installment, let's open the old mailbag, shall we?
"John" of "Minnesota" asks, "Are you out of your freaking mind?"
This has been covered before, "John", but yes, I probably am. Thanks for asking.
Next up, "Joel" from "Washington" writes to say "The Left complain that the completed work is largely shoddy and often unusable, while the Right complain that the real story of Iraq reconstruction has not been told. When you say a project is completed, what is known about its condition, and whether it is providing the designed benefit? Finally, any idea how many of these projects are to fix stuff the U.S. military broke in the first place?"
Good questions, all. And for lack of another topic today, I'll regurgitate what I wrote to "Joel" and "other people" last night. For a project to be complete requires that USACE sign off. They are the contracting entity in most cases, so it makes sense that they verify that the work is complete. This could mean little more than the project was constructed as per the plans and specifications. Knowing the situation here, I imagine that they are doing as little as possible. However, what follows construction here oftentimes is the necessary training and equipment installation that turns a building into a school, for instance, or turns a pole shed into a firehouse. This final step can lag behind physical construction for months or longer, in which time the building can be ignored, damaged, bombed, or completely vandalized and stripped of anything of value.
Those who are pro-reconstruction program cite the first part (complete physical construction means complete, dammit), those opposed, the second (until blackboards and fire trucks have been delivered, the project is worthless, jerk). I have no idea as to how many projects get pushed successfully (i.e. in a timely manner) through both components. I don't know if anybody does. What I do know is that the second component, what we call, simply, CD/OMS/NONC (Capacity Development / Operations, Maintenance, and Sustainment / Non-Construction), will be most of the new money dumped down this rathole over the next three or four years. Likely another billion dollars in total.
What's the "designed benefit" of a clinic, anyway? Is it a healthy child? Is it a working facility? A jobs program? A way to keep idle hands off of weapons? A way to jump start the local economy? A way to win the peace?
Maybe some. Maybe all.
As for fixing what we broke? We didn't break that much, physically. It was precision bombing for the greater part, destroying bridge decks (not suspension components), runways (easily patched), and the Iraqi Army (boom). What held most of this country together for the past thirty years has been birds' nests, baling wire, and the threat of death if your power plant fails to generate. Once we eliminated that threat, the smart folks who kept the infrastructure in tact packed their camels, got the hell out of Karbala, and immigrated to Jordan with their money and smart kids. This flight of the worker bees will take a generation to fix, if and once things stabilize.
And if this answer wasn't enough, this selfsame "Joel" asks, "It is also reported that Iraqis now have less electricity and potable water and health care and oil production than under Saddam: how are these matters squared with the reconstruction program claims of such high rates of completion?
Geez. Questions, questions, questions! Who's got time to answer all of these danged questions? You know, I'd guess that if a hundred million more citizens like "Joel" were busy asking these pesky "questions" five years ago instead of watching the final rounds of American Idol, we never would have been in this "war" at all.
_Then_ where would the reconstruction effort be? Hmmm?
Write your Congressman. I'm sure he knows. Read More......
"John" of "Minnesota" asks, "Are you out of your freaking mind?"
This has been covered before, "John", but yes, I probably am. Thanks for asking.
Next up, "Joel" from "Washington" writes to say "The Left complain that the completed work is largely shoddy and often unusable, while the Right complain that the real story of Iraq reconstruction has not been told. When you say a project is completed, what is known about its condition, and whether it is providing the designed benefit? Finally, any idea how many of these projects are to fix stuff the U.S. military broke in the first place?"
Good questions, all. And for lack of another topic today, I'll regurgitate what I wrote to "Joel" and "other people" last night. For a project to be complete requires that USACE sign off. They are the contracting entity in most cases, so it makes sense that they verify that the work is complete. This could mean little more than the project was constructed as per the plans and specifications. Knowing the situation here, I imagine that they are doing as little as possible. However, what follows construction here oftentimes is the necessary training and equipment installation that turns a building into a school, for instance, or turns a pole shed into a firehouse. This final step can lag behind physical construction for months or longer, in which time the building can be ignored, damaged, bombed, or completely vandalized and stripped of anything of value.
Those who are pro-reconstruction program cite the first part (complete physical construction means complete, dammit), those opposed, the second (until blackboards and fire trucks have been delivered, the project is worthless, jerk). I have no idea as to how many projects get pushed successfully (i.e. in a timely manner) through both components. I don't know if anybody does. What I do know is that the second component, what we call, simply, CD/OMS/NONC (Capacity Development / Operations, Maintenance, and Sustainment / Non-Construction), will be most of the new money dumped down this rathole over the next three or four years. Likely another billion dollars in total.
What's the "designed benefit" of a clinic, anyway? Is it a healthy child? Is it a working facility? A jobs program? A way to keep idle hands off of weapons? A way to jump start the local economy? A way to win the peace?
Maybe some. Maybe all.
As for fixing what we broke? We didn't break that much, physically. It was precision bombing for the greater part, destroying bridge decks (not suspension components), runways (easily patched), and the Iraqi Army (boom). What held most of this country together for the past thirty years has been birds' nests, baling wire, and the threat of death if your power plant fails to generate. Once we eliminated that threat, the smart folks who kept the infrastructure in tact packed their camels, got the hell out of Karbala, and immigrated to Jordan with their money and smart kids. This flight of the worker bees will take a generation to fix, if and once things stabilize.
And if this answer wasn't enough, this selfsame "Joel" asks, "It is also reported that Iraqis now have less electricity and potable water and health care and oil production than under Saddam: how are these matters squared with the reconstruction program claims of such high rates of completion?
Geez. Questions, questions, questions! Who's got time to answer all of these danged questions? You know, I'd guess that if a hundred million more citizens like "Joel" were busy asking these pesky "questions" five years ago instead of watching the final rounds of American Idol, we never would have been in this "war" at all.
_Then_ where would the reconstruction effort be? Hmmm?
Write your Congressman. I'm sure he knows. Read More......
2007-05-18
Boom
Some days in Baghdad are atypical.
For instance, a couple of days ago I met a General. Granted he was merely a Brigadier, and not really that atypical for a general, but a general, nonetheless, and bumping into one is atypical. As it turns out, he’s the commander of the GRD – the USACE Region that manages the reconstruction program (among others duties). He was working the dinner crowd at the DFAC, meeting the troops and boosting morale.
It rained that day as well, which is nice for the cooling effect it brings, but sloppy in that it raises the dirt all around and slimes walls, windows, and vehicles. As we moved around outside, we didn’t bother hiding from the shower, in part for the novelty of rain, but also in that there was nothing we could do about it. Enshallah. The rain didn’t amount to much so late in the season, barely putting a dent in the annual numbers. Fleur, who manages the compound, will still have to water the foliage this week and next and through the impending summer.
The next morning, it was still cool, but the front that brought in the prior days rain had stirred the landscape and riled up the fine and choking dust. The morning sun was obscured, appearing for the first few hours only as a white disk in the desert sky, almost moonlike in its radiance. All was still, and calm, and peaceful.
Unlike the brief period the day before when the mortars rained down.
With the weekend approaching, I thought it might be a good idea to obtain the Army’s permission to borrow one of their vehicles. I’d like to take Wes to see some of the accessible sights and monuments, and just take the opportunity to experience the freedom of driving, in stark comparison to the controlled movement that we’re subjected to at Camp Essayons, a French word meaning “fubar”. Across the street, the compound that contains our hooches and the DFAC is Camp Freedom, an English word for “luxury accommodations (mind the guards, thank you)”.
As you know, I’m a very good driver, but only if “good” means “sort of aggressive and prone to excessive speeds.” If this designation was on my license, I’m sure I could get a few hours use of a government vehicle with little issues. After all, in the Middle East, aggressive speeding is key to survival. Oddly, this is not the case with the new and improved Department of Defense. They want calm, slow, and downright certified boring drivers behind the wheel.
That afternoon was looking slow, so I jumped into the process with as much vigor as I could muster. The first step towards boring certification is the briefing which was expectedly boring but, thankfully, quite brief. In it, a Master Sergeant presented an awful PowerPoint presentation, wherein she stressed that speeding, aggressive drivers aren’t cool, and that they’re more likely to get into accidents. As if!
Next was to take an on-line course in boring. It was interesting in its design, though, as there was no way to accelerate the learning process. I couldn’t advance from slide to slide until a set time had passed to read it. Worse, if I activated another window to use a different application, the boring class would stop, happy to sit idle until it received my full attention once more.
Bottom line, I wanted to drive around the Zone formerly known as Green, so I agreed to jump through whatever hoops they had for me. So,… midafternoon,… boring course certificate finally printed,… I was just getting back on task when the first round detonated in the compound. No warning, of course, just a deep boom and a shudder, like when a heavy door gets slammed shut a few rooms away.
Ten seconds later, another boom. This one seemed closer.
Ten seconds,… boom. Closer?
Five seconds,… boom. Further?
Boom. Closer?
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
A dozen rounds in all in no more than two minutes – although it’s easy to lose count of both time and numbers. Big rounds, too. Likely 120 mm projectiles, launched from up to 8 kilometers away. Zeroed in on us. Trying to blow us up. Fuckers.
Sometime during this barrage comes the Big Voice, by now a little shaken, to announce the lockdown. Later during the barrage, it was obvious that he had been hit, as his voice turned all staticky, and then fell silent. Further announcements would come in person, as the PSD’s would provide status and instructions as they yelled their way through the spacious halls of the former art gallery where we work. The timing was on the fortunate end, as two or three hours on either side would have caught hundreds of people outside heading to chow. Three hit in the parking lot between the office and the DFAC, one fifty meters north of the office, one hit the Freedom Tower, one hit the security building, one topped a palm tree, and the rest hit just beyond the GRD compound wall.
The lockdown would last over three hours. There were two fatalities and ten other casualties. There was property damage. There were fuel spills and detritus that needed to be controlled and cleaned up. Typically, the All Clear comes ten or fifteen minutes after an attack. Typically, only one in four projectiles actually explodes. Typically, they land further away. This wasn’t a typical event.
We spent the first hour after All Clear status moving about the compound, surveying the damage and collecting bits of shrapnel, both near the blast sites and in some cases, over 100 meters distant. Of course, it could have been much worse, but it did turn out to be a somewhat effective attack on the Coalition – besides the personnel losses, the power supply to our server was damaged by the hit on the Tower and the batteries flagged after just a couple hours. It finally went on line after about 28 hours, forcing 600-800 people out of work for more than a day. Likewise the phone system, which is VOIP, was out of commission. Conservatively, the value of the time lost for these folks was in the low seven figures.
Add the cost of reduced morale to this (although the General was doing his best to assuage this condition) and it’s even more expensive. In the long term, the best and the brightest will be more hesitant to extend their tours here, or come to this shithole to begin with.
In the short term, the fuckers blew up the motor pool, so now I won’t be driving at all. Read More......
For instance, a couple of days ago I met a General. Granted he was merely a Brigadier, and not really that atypical for a general, but a general, nonetheless, and bumping into one is atypical. As it turns out, he’s the commander of the GRD – the USACE Region that manages the reconstruction program (among others duties). He was working the dinner crowd at the DFAC, meeting the troops and boosting morale.
It rained that day as well, which is nice for the cooling effect it brings, but sloppy in that it raises the dirt all around and slimes walls, windows, and vehicles. As we moved around outside, we didn’t bother hiding from the shower, in part for the novelty of rain, but also in that there was nothing we could do about it. Enshallah. The rain didn’t amount to much so late in the season, barely putting a dent in the annual numbers. Fleur, who manages the compound, will still have to water the foliage this week and next and through the impending summer.
The next morning, it was still cool, but the front that brought in the prior days rain had stirred the landscape and riled up the fine and choking dust. The morning sun was obscured, appearing for the first few hours only as a white disk in the desert sky, almost moonlike in its radiance. All was still, and calm, and peaceful.
Unlike the brief period the day before when the mortars rained down.
With the weekend approaching, I thought it might be a good idea to obtain the Army’s permission to borrow one of their vehicles. I’d like to take Wes to see some of the accessible sights and monuments, and just take the opportunity to experience the freedom of driving, in stark comparison to the controlled movement that we’re subjected to at Camp Essayons, a French word meaning “fubar”. Across the street, the compound that contains our hooches and the DFAC is Camp Freedom, an English word for “luxury accommodations (mind the guards, thank you)”.
As you know, I’m a very good driver, but only if “good” means “sort of aggressive and prone to excessive speeds.” If this designation was on my license, I’m sure I could get a few hours use of a government vehicle with little issues. After all, in the Middle East, aggressive speeding is key to survival. Oddly, this is not the case with the new and improved Department of Defense. They want calm, slow, and downright certified boring drivers behind the wheel.
That afternoon was looking slow, so I jumped into the process with as much vigor as I could muster. The first step towards boring certification is the briefing which was expectedly boring but, thankfully, quite brief. In it, a Master Sergeant presented an awful PowerPoint presentation, wherein she stressed that speeding, aggressive drivers aren’t cool, and that they’re more likely to get into accidents. As if!
Next was to take an on-line course in boring. It was interesting in its design, though, as there was no way to accelerate the learning process. I couldn’t advance from slide to slide until a set time had passed to read it. Worse, if I activated another window to use a different application, the boring class would stop, happy to sit idle until it received my full attention once more.
Bottom line, I wanted to drive around the Zone formerly known as Green, so I agreed to jump through whatever hoops they had for me. So,… midafternoon,… boring course certificate finally printed,… I was just getting back on task when the first round detonated in the compound. No warning, of course, just a deep boom and a shudder, like when a heavy door gets slammed shut a few rooms away.
Ten seconds later, another boom. This one seemed closer.
Ten seconds,… boom. Closer?
Five seconds,… boom. Further?
Boom. Closer?
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
A dozen rounds in all in no more than two minutes – although it’s easy to lose count of both time and numbers. Big rounds, too. Likely 120 mm projectiles, launched from up to 8 kilometers away. Zeroed in on us. Trying to blow us up. Fuckers.
Sometime during this barrage comes the Big Voice, by now a little shaken, to announce the lockdown. Later during the barrage, it was obvious that he had been hit, as his voice turned all staticky, and then fell silent. Further announcements would come in person, as the PSD’s would provide status and instructions as they yelled their way through the spacious halls of the former art gallery where we work. The timing was on the fortunate end, as two or three hours on either side would have caught hundreds of people outside heading to chow. Three hit in the parking lot between the office and the DFAC, one fifty meters north of the office, one hit the Freedom Tower, one hit the security building, one topped a palm tree, and the rest hit just beyond the GRD compound wall.
The lockdown would last over three hours. There were two fatalities and ten other casualties. There was property damage. There were fuel spills and detritus that needed to be controlled and cleaned up. Typically, the All Clear comes ten or fifteen minutes after an attack. Typically, only one in four projectiles actually explodes. Typically, they land further away. This wasn’t a typical event.
We spent the first hour after All Clear status moving about the compound, surveying the damage and collecting bits of shrapnel, both near the blast sites and in some cases, over 100 meters distant. Of course, it could have been much worse, but it did turn out to be a somewhat effective attack on the Coalition – besides the personnel losses, the power supply to our server was damaged by the hit on the Tower and the batteries flagged after just a couple hours. It finally went on line after about 28 hours, forcing 600-800 people out of work for more than a day. Likewise the phone system, which is VOIP, was out of commission. Conservatively, the value of the time lost for these folks was in the low seven figures.
Add the cost of reduced morale to this (although the General was doing his best to assuage this condition) and it’s even more expensive. In the long term, the best and the brightest will be more hesitant to extend their tours here, or come to this shithole to begin with.
In the short term, the fuckers blew up the motor pool, so now I won’t be driving at all. Read More......
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