Thank you, Emily (Part 2)
By four in the morning, the soldiers in the cots around me began to put on their boots in the dark. I felt sorry for them because I knew they would rather sleep than get up and go out on a patrol. I decided to get up with them and get a cup of coffee. I wasn't sleeping anyway.
I wandered around most of the morning, checking on convoy plans at the TOC and checking my e-mail. Eventually, Sgt. Carpenter woke up and we put on our IBAs and kevlars to go up to the guard towers to start conversations with the guys on guard shift.
We climbed the stairs up to the roof of one of the structures and then went to the metal stairs up to the guard tower. Inside, two privates stood there looking unenthused. I introduced myself and Sgt. Carpenter as combat stress and asked how they were.
One of the privates spoke up quickly, "Oh, we're just great, sir. It's fantastic up here." The other soldier laughed modestly and shook his head, looking away from us embarrassed. "Just kidding, sir. We're just bored as hell."
"I can imagine," I said.
"I can honestly say that I know exactly where I will be in six months. I mean, not just at this patrol base. I mean I will be right here in this damn spot." He pointed to the floor of the bunker and looked back up to me. "I was standing here six months ago, and I'll be here six months from now." He gestured to the floor with his index finger again.
"But six months from now you'll be leaving, so you'll probably feel a little better about it, right?" I said calmly, but with a hint of sarcasm.
"Hallelujah!" he said sharply, and smiled.
The conversation fell off briefly and we all looked down out of the tower for a moment at the passing cars below and the fields and palm groves beyond.
"So you guys are doing all right, though?" I paused and added, "Other than being bored out of your fucking minds?" I was looking away from them when I said this, so I turned back toward them and gave a thin-lipped smile, raising my eyebrows slightly. Some officers don't swear. I do.
The one who hadn't been talking looked at the other one, smiled and sniffed out a laugh through his nose, throwing his head back slightly as he did. The private spoke up again, "Well, actually, sir, I'll just lay it out there. I hate my fuckin' squad leader."
Again, the other one shook his head and laughed, this time a little louder.
"I mean, I hate him. He's constantly on my ass, and he thinks he's better than me. He does."
The other guy stared out of the tower, unaffected, having heard this story a thousand times.
"He gives me shit for having mud on my boots! I mean, come on! Have you seen the mud around here?!"
I smiled and shook my head, implying shared disbelief.
He leaned forward and began to squint his eyes. "But the thing I really hate about him -- the thing I can trace everything I hate about him back to -- you wanna know what it is?" He looked up at me wide eyed.
"What?" I asked.
"It's that goddamn mustache of his!"
And with that, the other soldier let out a loud and boisterous laugh.
"No really," he went on, "I've seen him measuring it in a mirror with this tiny little ruler he has. He trims it every day with one of those goddamn nose-hair trimmers. God, I hate that goddamn mustache of his!" He paused just long enough to take in a breath and let out a forceful sigh. "I mean it's completely within regs, you know? Perfect. God I hate it. I hate that guy."
We all laughed.
We stayed with these guys for a while longer, until their shift ended and the next two guys came up. We talked with them for a while, too. The next two took us around the roof, showing us sites of past mortar and rocket impacts. Eventually, we made our way back down through the building and found other soldiers to talk to throughout the rest of the afternoon, on into the night.
After dark, Sgt. Carpenter and I were back in the Raven's Nest, gathered with some other soldiers waiting for their sergeant to return with details we would need for the convoy we would be on the next day. When he walked in, everyone turned their attention to him.
"You guys all know what happened, right?" he asked.
"No. What do you mean?" I asked.
"Five guys got killed just a couple of hours ago, just a little ways from here."
"Oh shit," I whispered, but loud enough to be heard.
"They are figuring it all out right now," the sergeant added.
The news struck us down silent, as it frequently does when you first hear of a death or deaths near you, or in a place where you go, or of someone you've met. The sergeant pushed past this and delivered the specifics of our convoy for the following day.
After the briefing, Sgt. Carpenter and I walked over to our cots. I took off my boots and reclined, beginning to feel the strain of not having slept the night before.
"Going to bed already?" Sgt. Carpenter asked.
"Mmm, I just wanna lay down. I'm beat," I replied.
As I crawled into my sleeping bag, Sgt. Carpenter sat down at the edge of his cot and stared straight ahead for a minute. I told him I was conflicted about writing about people being killed. He told me I should just remember my original reasons for writing and forget about everything else. He paused and sat for a moment longer, still staring across the room blankly, but looking as if he was lost in thought.
"What's up, man?" I asked, and gave a kick up with my chin to emphasize my question. He paused for a few more seconds. I could tell he wanted to say something, so I didn't speak, and instead turned more toward him.
"Last time I was up in Baghdad, Sgt. Grossman asked me if I still felt the same invincible feeling I had last tour."
Sgt. Grossman and Sgt. Carpenter had deployed together in the first year of the war. He paused again, and I didn't speak. I propped myself up on an elbow to look back at him more squarely.
"I don't," he added coldly.
I drew my chin back into my chest with a blink, reacting to his words. "Huh," I said, reflectively.
"I mean, I think I'll make it to my leave, but after that..." He frowned and shook his head as if trying to shake out the idea. "I don't know."
"Maybe you're just older now, don't you think?" I asked.
"Yeah, maybe," he answered, and we paused briefly together.
"That's one story I don't wanna write," I said, "I just don't."
He dimpled the corner of his mouth, passed a flat glance to me and stood up and walked out.
I awoke the next morning just after sunrise. Everyone in the room was still sleeping and tiny slivers of daylight were piercing through a few holes in one of the walls. I used my little flashlight to put on my boots, blouse and hat and then slung my weapon over my shoulder and slipped quietly outside.
There was no one else in sight as I stepped out into the morning quiet. The wind had risen through the night and was blowing around some tiny white seeds from the reeds nearby. They swirled and danced in the air like snow flurries, and, with the cold, I was fooled for a moment. I walked across the open ground and went into the chow hall for a cup of coffee. There was no one there either. I stepped back out and the wind whished through a tree above my head. I was thinking about the soldiers who were killed the day before and Sgt. Carpenter's foreboding words. I turned a corner outside the building and two doves launched from the ground, like ghosts, like spirits.
I stepped into one of the buildings. A memorial for four dead Marines was drawn on the walls. The wind blew in from behind me, ruffling and curling the hundred or so three-lined paper cards taped to the cracked and dirty walls. The messages were written in crayons of every color. I stopped to read one, and here is what it said:
"Dear Soldiar,
Thank you sooooo much for fiting in war. Good Luck.
Love,
Emily"
A little flower was drawn by her name in orange crayon. It made me smile, so here's to Emily. Thank you, sweetheart.
Comments
I just wanted to send a thank you out to any of you who may have read these last two entries. I know they were long so thanks for bearing with me, if you did. The next one will be short, I promise.
Posted by: Jeff Leonard | January 26, 2007 10:15 AM
Please don't apologize for the length of your entries. They are all very insightful, thoughtful, well written pieces that I enjoy reading very much. Thanks for keeping us informed here at home. You help us know what it's like for our loved ones in Iraq and we appreciate it greatly.
Posted by: Diane K | January 27, 2007 12:41 AM
Jeff-
Thank You Emily is a great post. Dont't worry about the length if you can write like this. Your mention of the seeds blowing around in the wind made me suddenly remember an afternoon I spent waiting on the bank of the Euphrates for a ride out of Blue Diamond in Ramadi last winter. I walked into a big thicket of reeds and just stood in there for a few minutes, the seeds drifting down from the wind going over the tops of the reeds above me, thinking how ancient the river was, and those reeds, and how it could have been any day in the last 5,000 years. Your post made me remember that, but I have moments like that al the time, little blinks where I am here, but I am still there too. What you are maybe are starting to realize after having been there for awhile yourself is how much of Iraq you will bring home with you, and how much of yourself you will leave there. Good luck. Be safe.
Toby
Posted by: Toby | January 27, 2007 8:44 AM
There is no reason for you to thank us. We should be thanking you. My boyfriend is in the military as well and there isn't a day that passes I don't thank every single one of you. So...Thank you, Capt. Leonard, Thank you.
Posted by: Ashley | January 28, 2007 5:07 AM
It sounds rough, especially with everyone balanced between boredom and fear and death.
When they talked about running up to the roof if attacked (back in part one), you assured them that you'd join them. As moral support? Were you just acknowledging that you knew that the base was in such bad shape that you'd be safer above ground, out from under a potential collapse? Did it mean something specific to him, something that we'd understand given context?
A stylistic question: you've written that you put on your blouse a couple of times. For me, the immediate image of a blouse is a woman's shirt... is there a technical reason that you call your top a blouse? Is it the phrase that you grew up with, or am I hopelessly provincial?
About the length: it's fine. A story takes as long as it takes to tell. It's a flick of the scroll wheel to read through the story-- making the time to write must be the harder half of the bargain.
Posted by: ScottM | January 28, 2007 10:24 AM
The function of language is to communicate our thoughts and ideas to others. Some of us write to teach, others to exorcise demons inside ourselves. Would it not make sense to write what you have to say, regardless of length, rather than to commit to specific length?
Writing about the mundane aspects of life has a specific healing effect in some cases. Many time the commonplace reassures us.
Posted by: Lurch | January 28, 2007 1:52 PM
Jeff, what you write is what you write, short or long. Write what is in your head and don't be concerned with length. You are doing a fine job and I thank you. My opinion. Jeff F
Posted by: jeff f | January 29, 2007 12:39 AM
Thanks for all of the comments on these last two entries. They were very encouraging. It appears that the length was not a problem, at least for many readers. Sometimes I struggle with trying to keep it less like a novel and more like a blog. And yes, the writing can be very time-consuming with entries like these.
I would like to answer a few of your questions. First of all, blouse is to shirt as cover is to hat, in the Army that is. I debated the use of that term but ultimately decided that blouse is what we call it, so there you have that. In regard to going up onto the roof -- inside the building would be far safer during an attack. However, we could best defend the patrol base from the roof. We are all trained as soldiers, and only chaplains are non-combatants. I refuse to hide while others risk their lives for me and Carpenter feels the same way. In short, I was offering my assurances that Sgt. Carpenter and I would fight with the rest of them and share the risk of harm. Lastly, the seeds from the reeds... I, too, spent a lot of time down on the banks of the Euphrates in my first three months. (I try not to name places, specifically to keep the Army happy, but it was not near Ramadi.) If things get too slow for me over here -- for example, if I get moved to Balad or Liberty -- I will probably start posting some of the earlier stuff from that area. We had a different doc back then and he was a real character. I will probably work those stories in eventually.
Thanks again for all of the comments. I was really encouraged by them all.
Posted by: Jeff Leonard | January 29, 2007 8:33 AM
Ditto on thank-you. So interesting to read Capt. Jeff-in-Iraq and merge with Jeff-the-OT-in-Kings. Couldn't help but wonder if the other Jeff's posting was a speechie and if you two were pals
Posted by: Clare Vettes | February 7, 2007 10:28 PM
Jeff, as I read it is difficult not to cry as I think about my friend, a husband and father. The men and women you come in contact with are truly blessed. I continue to pray for all mentioned above.
Posted by: Tim Bowers | February 10, 2007 7:47 PM
If one reads enough individual milbloggers, you come to realize a couple of things. One is that they are in other circumstances a neighbor just down the street who does basically the same thing I do every day with a few variations. You also see that many have jobs that are achingly dull a good part of the time even in a war torn country. What leaves me humble is that every single one of them is a volunteer. A person who has determined he or she wants to make a difference in this war, who wants to help protect our country. I hope they know there are millions of us at home who can look at a soldier who stands for six months in a guard tower, then another six months doing the same thing, being bored to pieces, and sees him as the hero he or she is. They give more in the simple task of standing watch day in and day out than many will give in a lifetime....with or without a "completely within regs" moustache!
Reference long entries.........it is imperative to some of us to "see" what our men and women see. Good or bad, boring or horrifying. Without their perceptions this or any war has no soul and our military is just a bunch of numbers.
Thank you for being our eyes.
Posted by: Andrea Welch | February 17, 2007 9:56 PM
I was looking up information on the progress on the Veterans Home in Fresno (it's going very slowly) and found your blog on McClatchy Washington Bureau site. My first husband was a Vietnam vet and I think about you guys every day and just hope that you stay safe. Thank you so much for all your words; you may never know how important they are to some of us. I am so glad I found your blog and as far as length of your material, I hated it when I came to the end of the post because I wanted to read more. You have great insight and thank you for aiding our young men and some of our older ones too (my cousin is 49 and also in Iraq). I am a neighbor of yours and live in Farmersville. Stay safe and keep writing.
Posted by: Frisson | February 22, 2007 1:06 AM