- Lead out in cuffs
- Sep 18, 2012
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"That's right. We've evolved."
"I can see that. Cool mutations."
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Just adding to the chorus of support here. Please, please, keep writing!
Also, here are some of your better short vignettes from the idiots thread:
Let me tell you guys about the Iraqi EOD officer who assisted with a suspected IED in a tree. We cordon off the area, and Iraqi Police patrol happens by, and astoundingly, offer to help.
"Possible Bomb in that tree."
"Ah! Habibi, we have out bomb engineer here."
Homedude walks over to their truck, and out steps a tubby dude in a Saddam mustache, obviously 2 divorces into "Too Old For This poo poo". Pops opens an 80s vintage briefcase. He pulls each item out, laying them on the hood.
1× long shanked flat head screwdriver with obvious signs of using it as a pry bar.
1× Phillips head normal household sized. screwdrive
1× knockoff Leatherman
1× Ball Peen hammer
He proceeds to shove each item into a place or pocket. Pry bar screwdriver stuck in the belt. Phillips head in a back pocket. Leatherman in the front. Hammer in hand. Aviator style glasses on the entire time, he then walks towards the bomb.
"Guys, get down a bit. I think it's gonna get messy."
"Roger."
All of us duck down for approximately .4 seconds before resuming our voyeur snuff film. Most IEDs in that hood at that time were command dets, so we really expect this to go badly, but ballsy.
He squints at the round thing with wires in the tree from about 3 meters, before slowly creeping closer, and smashing the living gently caress out of with that loving hammer.
Thing goes skittering down the road. It was debris from a previous IED a block over that landed in a tree, and from the angle we saw it, looked suspiciously like a Russian mine we were trained to look for.
Then, he picks it up, carries it back; after returning each item of his kit to it's place in his briefcase, drops in the NotBomb, latches it, and lights up a smoke. Like a loving gangster.
Nearly every Iraqi I met, I wish no ill on. They were regular people in a lovely, nearly impossible situation. Most were kinder to me than I deserved given the situation. Living in the city we became quasi-residents. Our "camp" which wasn't named, didn't even have a full company, and most days we spent 12 hours driving around the community, talking with people. It was great. I lived in the most IED sector of Baghdad at that time. We hit a handful, but were warned by the locals of at least a half dozen others, because we did everything we could to treat them the way we wanted to be treated. And we knew that every time we pulled a trigger, we were creating two more bad guys in OUR neighborhood.
We could have easily been over run, or sniped like E Types in our little place. We were able to have some normalcy because we acted like loving human beings. I get sick when I read about how other dudes acted. I remember feeling no sympathy when an MP unit passing through hit an IED, because they had come through a bit earlier, and hosed up our neighborhood, driving like it was GTA and popping warning shots into parked cars and Taxis for no reason other than to shoot.
I miss those people. I miss that city, that country, the bit of culture I got to experience. I loved it. I hope that one day I can go back, and the place can know peace and stability.
I remember a woman chastising me- "We hated Saddam! He was a monster. But we had power! We had water! Now we have bombs! Why?"
"Ma'am, I'm a Jundi. I go where they send me."
"And George Bush sent you here. Not any different than us under Saddam."
I still hear her voice, and how she pronounced Saddam. More than an accent- there was an inflection that created a lasting memory.
At least nearly everyone who I spoke with understood that I was a Jundi, and I do what I can to help who I can, but I was a very small cog in a very large, complicated machine.
I would war crime the gently caress out of some people for Baghdad Street food
I agree with you 100%. When we lived in the city, it was community based, and their was a direct line.
"The Americans ruined my door!"
"Our bad bro, here's 20$."
They knew us, better or worse. And by living in the same area, they understood we had shared hardships. We got what they got from the city. We shared the same dangers. I cannot tell you how many times we were kept safe because we treated the locals like people. We loved them the way we knew how. I still love them.
A hushed whisper before they slap the truck and start yelling "bomb ahead."
I lived in a neighborhood that had an average of 96 detonations a week. Nearly 100 IEDs a week.
We only hit a handful, outside of our stomping grounds, because we worked hard. We drive Airport Road daily- normally a few times a day- no one ever hosed with us.
We also had a bit of a reputation. We were running some delinquent to the IP station, and dude noticeably relaxes- like whole body exhale- as soon as we turn him over. He immediately starts jabbering, and wide eyed glances at us. Once we are alone with the Captain.
"He is afraid of you."
"Yeah."
"No, he is afraid of the men in that patch," motioning towards the AA. "He thinks they are monsters."
"Wait, like monsters?"
"He is afraid you would cut off his head for a reward. Ali Baba thinks that you have to bring in a family head to get your patch. He said you are Lions of Baghdad, hunting for sport. That you take heads. I tell him he switch (crazy), but he said all Ali Baba think this."
That is how I found out I was the Boogie Man to the criminal element.
Also, shout out to all the kids with massive balls who helped us when no one else would. We had an unofficial translator kid, Khalid, who had giant brass balls, and never dicked us around. He didn't want anything but to hang out and talk movies with us. 😊
Dude also bumped 50 Cent for us one day so we could have music.
Real talk- I will never be so lucky or safe again. The constant threat, the daily sniper rounds zipping past, or a hail Mary shot drops a round through the hood all meant things were normal, ok, and safe.
This.
I went 03/04, 04/05, and 06/07.
It broke my loving heart. You could feel a difference in the air. The locals noticed. Things got bad, then worse. The shift from 'community policing' to set patrol mindset.
While many abused it, the autonomy and low level control allowed individuals to make up for the institution's failures, oversights, and mistakes.
I still miss OIF1. Not just the drug rush of contact, but I got to do the right thing in the wrong situation. I got to be the moral being in the immoral machine. Besides that, those people were much kinder than I would be to an invader who is the same flavor of boot with a new coat of polish as the regime they 'saved' us from.
A bit I want to share- a gentleman once came up to our hasty ECP. He wanted in. Sorry, bro. No can do. He was understandably upset, wildly gesturing and sprawling syllables in a soup of Arabic and English.
"Dude. DUDE. DUDE! Jundi! I'm a loving Jundi Awaal!"
He stopped, looked sympathetic for a second, then broke a crooked smile and pointed to himself. "Long ago, Jundi!"
We looked at each other in silence for a couple seconds, and then both shrugged out shoulders, like "Bro. Been there. We cool." And he wondered off to chain smoke and complain with most of the neighborhood. I would run into him in passing a few times after. I only know this, because home boy loved pointing at me, and yelling "Jundi!" with a big grin.
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May 21, 2022 12:08
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- Lead out in cuffs
- Sep 18, 2012
-
"That's right. We've evolved."
"I can see that. Cool mutations."
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Was that line about abuse being the "fallout from the decay of the nuclear family" yours? Cause that's some beautiful phrasing.
Oh yeah, also "swarthy" is an interesting word. Tolkien loving loved it, and I don't think I've really read another author who made much use of it. And having only encountered it in Tolkien, when I was younger I kinda figured it meant something like hairy or stocky or dwarf-like. The word sounds thick and heavy on the tongue.
But yeah, it actually just means "dark-skinned" (literally from the germanic for "black"), and it was Tolkien's way of telegraphing who the villian was. ( It was inevitably the black guy. Tolkien was pretty racist.)
You probably know this, and were probably intending to convey that your squad leader was short, black, and ripped. But I thought I'd mention it just in case.
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