Well our time here in Iraq is winding down, thus we’re facing the last of our missions. Last night we finished up our last long run up to Balaad, our farthest trip of all missions we do. I would say that it was bittersweet, but who am I kidding, it was mostly just frickin’ sweet. The way up was the standard trip (see blog entry #3 “Hollywood Ruined It”) featuring vast hours of nothing, plenty of rip-it energy drinks, and the occasional inside joke made by one of our crew members. There was talk of a legendary swimming pool on the base at Balaad where we were going, but I merely shrugged it off as a rumor, or at best, a crummy plastic and PVC pipe bowl with water in it.
After arriving at Balaad with no incidents, I showered, and passed out. We all awoke at around 4 pm local time and everyone started getting ready to go to this pool that I have heard so much about. I figure that since I had nothing else better to do, and everyone seemed so excited about it how bad could it be? So we all pile into an MRAP and drive off to go swimming in a pool in Iraq. On our way there, we ran over about 2 dozen traffic cones, 2 median strips, and nearly got pulled over by the base police. Yes folks, there are people whose sole purpose in Iraq is to give other soldiers speeding and traffic tickets while they drive on a base, and you think your local cops can be annoying. After evading the police we park the MRAP and climb out as if we were a bunch of Shriner clowns at a Christmas parade. We begin walking and then I suddenly see actual diving boards, and I don’t mean like the Salem Racquet and swim club diving boards. This is an 8, 16, and 24 foot diving platform for like, Olympic divers. I knew right then all my pre-concieved notions would be wrong.
A friendly neighborhood Ugandan security guard with a plastic AK-47 checked my ID, gave me a towel and ushered me into a locker room. I took off my running shoes and then ventured through a door. I’m still convinced it was a wormhole to America. On the other side was a huge, and I mean HUGE in ground legit swimming pool with volleyball nets down the middle, and basketball hoops on the sides. A massive 14 foot deep diving well with 8, 16, and 24 foot diving platforms. Beach music was playing, people were grilling, tanning, playing water volleyball, making fools out of themselves on the diving platforms, and I was suddenly at home. We played volleyball and basketball in the pool, me being me I lost at both, but who cares. I was at a pool in Iraq for pete’s sake, what more could I ask for? We dove, we swam, we acted like human beings, and all was well…until some jerk-bag helicopter pilot decide to buzz the pool, and remind all of us we were still in a warzone. Like all good things it had to come to an end, and we dried off, got dressed, and went on to dinner and prepping the trucks for the trip home.
Once in the staging lanes waiting to leave the base I pulled out my bagpipes to play a little bit like I always did. This time though I drew a different audience. A driver for Kellogg, Brown, and Root, the civilian company that owns and operates the supply trucks we escort, approached me and struck up a conversation, from the first word from his mouth I knew this would be good. His name was “Jim” from Dunvegan, Scotland, and used to be in a fairly famous pipe band 15 years ago. He hadn’t touched a set of pipes in years so we decided to jam a little bit, I’d play then he’d play and so on and so forth. Even though he hadn’t picked up a set of pipes in15 years I could tell that in his prime he was incredible. After he was tired out we talked shop for a bit, how we started playing, who taught us, what bands and gigs we had played in. He never dreamed he’d find a fellow piper, especially an American soldier in Iraq, and I can’t say I don’t blame him. I could tell giving him the first opportunity in years to be able to play again totally made his night, and by the end he was already talking about buying a new set and picking it up again. I can only hope that we’ll meet again under more peaceful and relaxing circumstances. After our evening swim, and bagpipe concert we said our prayer, got dressed to kill (quite literally in fact) and loaded up the trucks. Little did I know I was about to experience one of the most fascinating nights of my tour in Iraq.
Before we even had left Tallil, our intelligence section had told us about a Muslim holiday called “Death of the 7th Imam” to quote Juan Diaz (see Blog Entry#2 “The Cosmic Power of Rain Turtles”) this 7th Imam was apparently “one big dick bastard” Intel had warned that during the day there would be crowds int eh thousands around our routes celebrating this martyred 7th Imam. For those of you who aren’t familiar with Islam, this 7th Imam guy was a buddy with the Umayyad dynasty, which had apparently pissed off the Abbasid Dynasty so the Abbasid Dynasty whacked him in the vicinity of the now modern day Alternate Supply Route Vernon. I tried to find if there was any other thing that would make this a big deal…but that’s it. Once group killed some guy from another, s the Iraqis have a party about it. We had been told that there should be minor civilian pedestrian and vehicular traffic through the night, but nothing major. The intel shop had once again failed.("military intelligence" is agreed upon to be one of the world's largest oxymorons)
So we’re driving down ASR Vernon at around 1:30 am (keep this time in mind through the rest of the story, 1:30 AM!!)till we get to this line of ricks blocking the street with some people milling about, we decide to cross to the other lane and keep going. I looked to my right at a group of 5 or so people walking, then I turned my head back to see thousands of people in front of me. There were people sitting by the road, walking in the road, on bikes, 25 people on top of and inside mini vans, there were Christmas lights, paintings of the 7th Imam, a bunch of Jundi music, and even, I swear to you, a karaoke machine with Iraqis singing. No bacon, no drinking, but when it comes to martyred Imams, these guys know how to party. As the crowns got thicker it started to get more interesting, the Iraqi Police helped with crowd control as I tried to not run anyone over. The gunners were yelling at people, throwing chem-lights to kids and adults who wanted to rave (unfortunately Ke$ha was not to make an appearance this time, see last blog entry). I felt like I was on national geographic, the lights, the music, the women in burquas, it was insane. Suddenly Juan Diaz hurled a chem.-light at a group of women and kids, time slowed down as the poor old woman turned to face the warm, inviting chemical orange glow, screamed, and got hit in the face with a chem.-light. She then screamed out some sort of heathen jundi curse on poor Juan as the men around her got really, really angry. It was time to go. We finally pushed through the throng of people and everyone made it out ok. I was so enthralled by the exotic display of Middle Eastern culture I didn’t realize how bad that could have gotten till after the mission was over. If Juan had hit the wrong woman, or we ran over a kid, or someone shot off a round it could have been a riot in less than 10 seconds, with thousands of Iraqis vs. 18 American soldiers, and 40 American, British, and Canadian truck drivers. Luckily we just drove through, oppressed some locals as usual, and made it home without anymore incident. My last trip through Baghdad was one I surely will never forget.
