Remember this picture from the 2004 presidential campaign. The never-very-funny John Kerry stuck his foot way in his mouth and was rightly ridiculed by the soldiers who were serving in Iraq.

But this kind of joke can, in the lovely military metaphor, turn around and bite you in the ass.

That photo was shot in the building right next door to the motor pool where I work. My tool crib is 100 feet to the right of that memorable banner. I have written lately about volunteering at the education center. Except, it is not an education center in the sense that it has a staff or computers or anything like that. It is just a building. We have been hearing since we arrived there would be an education center.

I am one of the volunteers helping people study to retake their Army qualification test. A few medics run the program on their off time, but when two sergeants came in last night at different times asking for things a real education center could do, we had to send them to the Air Force education center to get contact info for an Army Center 200 miles away.

This base, Tallil Ali, which was mentioned in a feature in the current New York Times magazine on solider suicide, has been in American hands since the beginning of the war. As I have said in other posts, we have gyms, shopping, great food, great housing, but. . .

This is the only major base in Iraq with no education center. . .

Kerry supporters should get a smile out of that.

100 Laps of Tallil Ali Air Base

Sometime between now and Saturday, I will have ridden 100 laps of Tallil Ali Air Base. I rode the perimeter as soon as my bike got here in the beginning of May. Then I rode almost every day since, with a long break while I was home on leave in June. It's a little hard to count exactly from my mileage because I ride the perimeter road every day except when the worst sandstorms prevent me. I think I have missed three or four days at the most. Many days I ride two laps (including today) and some days I have ridden three laps.

The post is rectangular and has a well-guarded perimeter fence which I never get within 100 meters of and sometimes I am hundreds of yards away. I usually ride counter clockwise because the wind, as in Pennsylvania, is usually out of the west and riding counterclockwise gives me a tail wind on the long, deserted stretch on the southside.

I start out riding 1/3-mile on dirt and stones to get out of the housing area and then turn squarely into the wind. In about a mile I turn south and have the wind at my side for another mile and a half. The road then sweeps left and I start going fast. I have to slow down a half-mile later because the road disappears for a quarter mile in sand and rippled pavement: not too bad on the mountain bike but really rough on the road bike. Then I get more almost three miles of tail wind, another side wind then a final two miles of bad headwind.

That loop is 10.2 miles. I add an extra half mile sometimes and ride a little further south near the rifle range. I can also cut a mile off by taking a dirt shortcut--only on the dirt bike.

The short loop with extra dirt would have been the race course.

If I keep riding as I am now by the time we leave I may have circled Tallil Ali almost 300 times!! But I am quite happy riding the same route week after week, so it's almost like home knowing the road this well. At home, my main ride is the "daily ride" with Scott Haverstick and whoever else shows up. The route never changes. I can't wait to be back.

Who Fights This War: 4th Tour at 26 Years Old

Today I met a maintenance sergeant, a tall, very upbeat guy from the New York City area. He has "sleeve" tattoos: colorful ink all the way from his shoulders to his wrists. He recently turned 26 and is new to helicopter maintenance, but likes his work. He may try to get civilian work in this field after the deployment, but also hopes to get work as a National Guard technician. Or maybe he will find another unit that's deploying. That would make four deployments. This current deployment is his third. In 2004-5 he was in Iraq as a medic. Within 12 months he had a tour in Afghanistan as an infantryman, returning in 2007. He could not find steady work in 2008, so he volunteered to deploy again, which included retraining as an aviation mechanic. And you should not feel bad for him. By all indications I could get, he thinks this is a perfectly good way to make a living. I have talked to many soldiers in their 20s on this deployment who have no ambition to higher education and simply want honest work with their hands. One of the reasons this long war could be fought is the years and years of declining employment opportunities for blue-collar workers. If President Obama manages to end the two wars he inherited, he will add new pressure to the unemployment bubble. It seems pretty sure if the wars don't end and blue collar jobs with a living wage don't return to America, this young sergeant will turn 30 in Afghanistan on his fifth deployment.

Book Groups and the Education Center

A couple of weeks ago I was worried I was giving a Pollyanna impression of life in Iraq. During the last two weeks you could wonder if chicken shit and job confusion are the sum of my days. That would be just as wrong. Yesterday, after all the job drama was over, I finished my work in the motor pool, then spent a couple of hours before dinner transferring and shrinking photos for the company newsletter.

At dinner I saw a young woman in my squad eating dinner with two older female sergeants. This might be the third time I have seen them as a dinner group in the last week. The young sergeant-to-be is 23 and will be a lot better off with female mentors.

Next was the first meeting of "Beyond Narnia" as CS Lewis reading group I started. There were four soldiers at the first meeting and four more who should be coming next week. Three of the four people were from the Dante group, so the fourth, a chaplain with a unit that arrived recently, introduced himself, then I told the group about CS Lewis's life and work after which they asked questions for about 20 minutes. It was a lot of fun. One asked about Shadowlands (the CSL movie) and about his family. Another asked for more details about CSL's conversion.

We will be reading the book of essays titled The Weight of Glory and out first essay will be "Learning in War Time." Thanks go out again to the father of one of the lieutenants in our unit who sent us most of the books. Three more were sent by Brigitte Van Tiggelen, a historian who regularly visits the library/museum where I work.

Today I worked in the motor pool until 3pm then drove over to the repair hangards on the other side fo the base to shoot pictures of a CH-47 Chinook helicopter going through major maintenance. I got some good shots of a crew removing the rotor hubs from the top of the bird. Tomorrow I will get more shots of the overhaul work.

After the photos, I went to the education center. I helped a couple of soldiers with word problems then spoke to the woman who coordinates the tutoring sessions. Barring schedule changes, I should be able to volunteer an hour on Tuesday and two hours on Thursday.

At the Dante group tonight, the first order of business was voting on the next book. Aeneid won by one vote over Purgatorio. But everyone agreed we would go back to Purgatorio after Aeneid. We should be able to read Inferno, Aeneid, Purgatorio and start Paradiso before I rotate out, and maybe someone else can take over.

We got our first question for the translator tonight. Tony Esolen, who translated the version we are reading, agreed to take questions by email if I can't answer them. Tonight's question: Cleopatra and Dido are suicides, why are they in the higher part of Hell where Lust is punished (easier punishment) not five levels down with the suicides?

Life is mostly good.

My Job, or Jobs

With my squad leader getting knee surgery 6,000 miles away, I am in charge of the nine members of 4th squad. But with additional duties, leaves, and temporary assignments, my squad is usually three or four specialists, one of whom should make sergeant soon and maybe another before the tour is over.

So that is job one. Job two is being sergeant tool bitch which lately mostly means taking care of the operating system of the big tool box--the compressor, generator and such--and making up hand receipts to inventory all the special tools stuffed in Conex containers. But a big part of this job is actually being in the motor pool from 7am to 3pm every day except Thursday and every 4th Sunday.

Job three is where it gets messy. My company commander and first sergeant want me to do various extra duties within the company, first and foremost the next issue of the newsletter and also serve as Morale, Welfare and Recreation sergeant. The battalion commander wants me to do public affairs for the battalion. Although there are no official hours for the battalion job, it ends up conflicting with the motor pool.

I have a chain of command and for those of you who work in a modern multi-tasking office setting, I suppose you would assume I manage my own time and balance the needs of one job against the other and do the best I can at all of them.

I tried that.

The result was a rather loud discussion with the battalion motor officer last week about how much my presence was required in the motor pool.

My platoon sergeant regularly reminds me that my squad comes first.

The first sergeant is emphatic that the company comes first.

I spoke with the sergeant major at the battalion today about where I might be shooting photos for the battalion in the near future, taking for granted I would be working for the battalion.

My company commander told me how important it is for the team to stay together and he said my first priority is my duties as a leader in the motor pool and company welfare activities.

Today I walked into the DFAC at 1pm. The battalion commander was eating lunch with his assistant. The BC said, "Hey Goose, come over here." So he asked my about bicycling--he has a bike here also--then said "How come you don't want to work for me?" He had gotten the idea I did not want to work for the battalion. I told him otherwise but said I was expecting all of the "senior guys" (He's in his early 40s) to work out what I should be doing. I like my work for the battalion, but it is work. I can't do it as an et cetera that does not intrude on the motor pool schedule.

Sometimes it's fun to be popular.

Lately it's not.

Did I mention that everyone in my chain of command is expecting me to be doing all of my assigned work. This is not a civilian job where I try to get the best results with limited resources and get rated as such. I am really expected to obey all of those guys. They all have said what they want. I think they have all been around enough to know what they are telling me is in direct conflict with what five other people are telling me. But each assumes because he said it, I am doing it.

Jobs one and two are a full-time job for the other three squad leaders. The BC asked me today if I was politicking. I could honestly answer I was not. I want someone to decide what I am supposed to be doing and what I am not supposed to be doing. And then I will do whatever they decide for just five and half more months.

Then we go home.

I'll let you know how things turn out.

Eviction Notice

Today my roommate and I returned to the CHU just a few minutes apart around 130pm. I was shooting pictures at the Softball Tournament, he was coming back from being in the motor pool since 7am. I was the first to see an all capital letters paper taped to our door that began:

IT HAS COME TO OUR ATTENTION THAT ONLY ONE SOLDIER IS LIVING IN THIS ROOM. THIS ROOM HAS BEEN DESIGNATED FOR IMMEDIATE OCCUPANCY BY A SECOND AUTHORIZED SOLDIER. IF AN UNAUTHORIZED SOLDIER OR CIVILIAN IS LIVING IN THIS ROOM HIS OR HER BELONGINGS WILL BE REMOVED. . .YOU HAVE 48 HOURS TO REPORT TO THE BILLETING OFFICE AND RESOLVE THIS MATTER.

"IT HAS COME TO OUR ATTENTION. . ." are they kidding? How? Do they have spies? "They" is, of course, the garrison, who you will remember from all my other posts about Chicken Shit are responsible for health and welfare issues and for security.

My roommate and I are each either side of six feet tall, either side of 200 pounds and come in two distinctly different colors. Any idiot who could tape a sign to a door on a Sunday morning could have visited us in the evening, knocked on the door and determined that there are, in fact, two armed maintenance sergeants from Echo Company living in this CHU and have been since May 3.



Why the accusation followed by threats? Well certainly our garrison is to effective communications as Richard Simmons is to masculinity. But the accusation that followed does have a practical advantage. While my roommate and I are clearly right, we both know that even if the garrison won't bother to contact us personally they will have no hesitation to fulfill the vague threat on the door.

Since I have a bike, I rode the half mile to the billeting office as instructed and let my roommate chill out. As it turns out, my roommates hand receipt (the piece of paper which says you are occupying the room) is missing, s he also needs to walk over to billeting within 48 hours or find himself evicted for no reason except that paperwork which is not his responsibility to maintain is missing.

When I asked billeting about the threats on the door, a civilian employee rolled her eyes and said, "Garrison" under her breath. I asked nothing else. She said my paperwork is in order and my roommate will have to walk over and straighten his paperwork out--within 48 hours.

If You Love Kitties, Don't Read. . .

My wife sent me a lovely email about my son Nigel. He loves animals. My wife found a mouse nest in the garage and let Nigel care for a baby mouse. He spent much of today with the mouse, watching it in its new clear-plastic-container home. Nigel is a sweet kid. Luckily for him, his eyesight and hearing will not allow him to join the military when he gets older. Because animal lovers have a tough time in this crowd.

Now we switch to tonight's dinner. In the usual random way that dinner groups form by whoever recognizes each other siting together, I was sitting with two senior female sergeants: by senior I mean in rank, they are both in their mid-30s. We were joined by our commander and executive officer: two Penn State grads who are 25 and 24 respectively. One of the sergeants brought up our commander's age. I thought I was twice as old as he is, but it turns out I am three years older than twice as old as he is. So then everybody played a game of "What was Sergeant Gussman doing when I was born?" The youngest guy added "What was sergeant Gussman doing when my mother was born? I was four at the time."

With everybody laughing the topic switched to animals in Iraq. The commander had not seen any cats here, only insects and reptiles. One of the sergeants had been assigned to a remote fueling site early in the deployment. The site had a mascot, a small kitten. Fuelers work 24 hours filling helicopters with JP-8 fuel. Their primary vehicle is an 8-wheel-drive, all-terrain HEMMT fuel truck. During one of the night fuel missions the kitten was hiding under one of the HEMMT's six-foot high tires when the truck rolled out.

The next day a very sad sergeant announced with tears "We have lost one of our team." Soldiers started looking around to see who was missing. Then the sergeant said, "Fluffy got run over by a HEMMT last night." According to my witness everyone was relieved at first then started yelling at the sergeant for scaring them and saying, "IT'S ONLY A F#$KING CAT. . ." and other variants on that theme, before they started making jokes about him.

Which led to stories about other fuelers who captured a camel spider (the local scorpion) and how cool it is to watch when these scorpions catch a lizard and how the exactly scorpion eats the lizard.

I am glad my son the animal lover will be a civilian.