Back with the Boys in the Field

  It was with some trepidation when I journeyed to Iraq that first time a few years ago.   I wasn’t worried about getting shot.  It was that placing myself in the hands of the ‘Green Machine’, as the US Army was know when it tried to rule the roost in Viet Nam; was frightening, terribly frightening.  I mean I still have dreams…bad dreams...along with some very good ones.

  As an embedded journalist in Iraq, one comes under the control of the unit one is assigned to and I ended up spending half of my time ‘in country’ with the 10^th Mountain Division at Camp Striker, near the Baghdad Int’l Airport.  I liked them, and I liked their AO (area of operations).  Known as the ‘triangle of death’, this 350 sq. mile corner of Iraq is located from the SW boundary of Baghdad to the Euphrates River, then west for some distance.  It was initially among the most dangerous spots in Iraq, the corridor for foreign fighters from Syria, Jordon and Saudi Arabia; as they made their entry into Baghdad. It also looked and seemed suspiciously like Viet Nam.  Canals, palm trees, reeds, rice paddy dikes, small farms …you could blink your eyes and know you were back.

Kim, from Tam Hiep in 1966

  A subtle something bothers me about today’s no draft, don’t ask-don’t tell, don’t screw, don’t drink, don’t smoke, don’t whatever, modern army.  This must be considered before we enter into an analysis of what has come to be known as the rather inept, renegade Green Machine, which was the army of the Americans in Viet Nam, and the present day campaign in Iraq.    

  Granted, right off Iraq is a tough place to fight a war.  It’s hotter than hell, literally.  There is no beer, wine or whiskey.  No finer greeting could be heard as one entered a bar, bistro, restaurant, in any of the Villes of Viet Nam than, “you want whikky coke man?”  .  Upon entering the door of a short time house, or a car wash for that matter; one first heard “you want short time? 300P …ten dollar all night.  You want rub, you pay 30P.”  And that’s the way the sing song went, all day and all night.  In my own case this outside world of “bars, bistros and bordellos’ the three Bs of French Colonialism, is what made living in Viet Nam during that war bearable.  Lobster tails in a KBR mess hall just doesn’t hack it.  That’s the best they have to offer in Iraq.

  Now mind you today’s army has in it’s midst some very lovely young women; very lovely.  The young lads don’t seem to pay them much attention, or perhaps they’ve been overly instructed on political correctness.  At any rate no one mentions sex. This new army is an asexual society.   I’ve asked why and been told that sex isn’t approved of; not even between married people.  Of course to be married you have to be hetero; no homosexuals permitted in that sacrament, not in this man's Army.  Fuck is used with great frequency, but it doesn’t mean fucking.  Very sad indeed.  I think it could affect the fighting spirit.  Something has to stir up testosterone, and as mentioned, the KBR food does nothing but make KBR richer

Hitching a ride to Saigon, late 1966

  In Viet Nam it was possible for an AWOL private to hitch to Saigon for a pipe, maybe a steam and cream, certainly a long stroll down Tu Do Street for visiting bar girls with ‘class’; then hitch back on a chopper from Tan Son Nhut to most any where you needed to go.  It’s a trip here in Iraq.  First written authority is required to board any aircraft.  Be sure you’ve on body armour and a helmet.  Long sleeves required.  A firearm if you’re military.  No one in the military goes anywhere without their assigned firearm.  Nowhere.  Not even the bathroom.   It’s the newest policy. 

 

  Actually every move by a trooper here in Iraq, is planned on a laptop, printed out and circulated around the company compound.  That’s what they all do.  How did things work in VN with only typewriters?  It’s impossible to remember now, but somehow things happened.  The war was fought.... and hell, we came in second.

  But enough negativity.  It felt good.  It felt so good.  In the beginning.  They were all so friendly…maybe polite is a better word.  Not real friendly, just a little bit.  Aiming to please…especially towards a Viet Nam vet.  Going on patrols and aerial assaults brought a rush.  The troopers were all young enough to be my grandsons.  They looked out for me…somewhat.  I sensed a little greenness …there’s not often a firefight.   Mostly mines and snipers. 

  The most unusual situation in this whole operation is that there is no opposing army.  Generally, the enemy is personnel mines, vehicle mines and snipers.  No army.  In Viet Nam the women and kids laid the mines.  The men were in the army of the National Liberation Front, the Viet Cong, the dreaded VC.  These were for the most part farm boys fighting for the home guard.  But they did have well organized army units, the Dong Nai Batallion for instance, which had been organized by the Viet Minh during the colonial war against the French.  Probably a couple hundred thousand at least.  Not to mention the NVA, the North Vietnamese Army that came down the trail.  Hundreds of thousands of them.  That’s the biggest difference of all militarily between Viet Nam and Iraq. 

  Maybe Androgynous would be a better word for the body of military persons.  Something doesn’t click.  It seems like people that age would be chasing each other around a great deal.  Like they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.  Something like that....which in the long run probably would not effect the outcome of this conflict one iota.

  Perhaps in the end it’s all the same.    Maybe more later…maybe not.