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Tales from the sandbox

Military Times staff writer Christian Lowe and photographer Rob Curtis have just returned from Iraq, after covering Marine operations there since the first week of December. This is Christian’s blog.

Not so charming

Jubbah, Iraq — Jan. 21, 2006

When you’re out in the desert, you sure as heck don’t want to take any chances.

A rainstorm during the night, huddled deep in your bivy sack, pretty much stinks. And it makes for an awful morning. The thought of staying in the cold outdoors for days — damp and miserable — was on everybody’s mind during this long hump dubbed “Operation Koa Canyon.”

So ditch the “Charms” whenever they appear. No exceptions.

The sweet candies come with several of the MRE packs. They’re a pretty yummy addition to the dull tasting food packs. Pop in a fruit-flavored Charm and suck on your CamelBak … it’s almost as good as a deep drag of a smoke. But don’t be tempted.

See, the superstition goes that eating Charms causes it to rain. Every time a Marine opened an MRE that contained Charms, he’d chuck them over his shoulder without a second thought.

But someone must have strayed because it rained on the fifth night out. The culprit was never found, but vigilance was raised for any more malefactors. The next day, 1st Platoon, Bravo Company’s interpreter, Ahmed, was unwrapping a packet of Charms when Marines grabbed them from him and tossed them into the Euphrates. I had to explain to him the evil aura that surrounds Charms. He didn’t seem to understand, but we couldn’t take any more chances.

That same day, however, a huge sandstorm blew in, covering everything in a deep brown fog. The wind was strong and cold and sapped the Marines’ energy even more. I walked up to Capt. Moni Laube, Bravo’s commander, and asked him what someone must have eaten to cause the sandstorm, or shamal, as the locals call it.

Laube thought for a second, and then said: “The spiced cider pack; that’s what it must have been.”

I almost choked.

“Umm, I had one of those last night,” I said, thinking to myself that if this got out I’d be hazed relentlessly by the sand-whipped leathernecks.

“No, I wouldn’t worry about it,” he said, his face brightening with laughter. Why had I done that, I thought. I’d never had the spicy cider before — which, mixed with hot water, makes for a pleasant bedtime body-warming beverage. It had really hit the spot. Never again, I pledged to myself.

Then I left the next day, thank goodness. But I still hope no on else found me out.

PX marks the spot

Camp Mustang, Hit, Iraq — Jan. 11, 2006

It was a good day at Bravo Company’s command post. The skies parted, the pools of water from yesterday’s downpours were starting to dry up. Even the cement-thick mud surrounding this dusty outpost on the east bank of the Euphrates River was beginning to harden.

As if delivered by the good Lord himself, the mobile PX arrived. Morale was high.

The money changers at the disbursing table ramped up early, as Marines clambered for their monthly allotment of mad-money.

Then the lines formed shortly before the heavy steel doors of the variety store on wheels opened. It was the first time these Marines, part of the Camp Lejeune, N.C.-based 1st Battalion, 2nd Marines, had seen a little taste of home. Junk food, men’s magazines, protein bars, energy drinks, Ramen noodle packs and, of course, cartons of cigarettes and rolls of smokeless tobacco — aaah, like a little taste of 7-11 heaven.

Logistics Marines based at nearby Al Asad Air Base customized a standard shipping container, getting help from a few Army Joes back at the base who had some carpentry skills. Built-in wooden shelves house the tuna packs, potato chips, cookies and beef jerky bags, while a couple wire racks held magazines, DVDs and video games. The soldiers even helped wire in some overhead lighting, which is powered by a portable generator churning just outside the container-housed store.

The logisticians say they pick through all the supply shipments bound for Al Asad to pull out the best goodies for the grunts in the field. Despite its modest size and expeditionary accoutrements, the mobile PX left few Marines here wanting.

Loping down the steep wooden stairs that provide access to the 7-ton-truck-mounted store, his arms burdened with bags of Doritos, chocolate chip cookies, a 12-pack of Coke, a handful of Twix candy bars, a couple boxes of Pop-Tarts — and, of course, a carton of Marlboros and a roll of Copenhagen tobacco — it looked like 19-year-old Annapolis, Md.-native Pfc. Joshua Martin was loading up to open his own little PX racket in the squad bay.

But after a little bit of ribbing from his fellow Marines waiting patiently in line with their flak jackets and Kevlar helmets on to ward off the sniper threat that’s been rumored around here, he admitted the junk food binge wasn’t his alone.

“I’m buying all this for my whole squad,” Martin said.

Lucky guys on a lucky day.

And then the gray skies returned and the mobile PX rolled out of the muddy combat base as the junk food-fed cholesterol levels of these snack-deprived Marines began to climb.

New Year’s resolutions

Hit, Iraq — Jan. 2, 2006

It may be the New Year, but it sure doesn’t feel like it for the Marines here in western Iraq.

For many, it’s just another holiday away from home — champagne-drowned parties are merely a distant memory from a time when America wasn’t at war. And while some merely scoff at the idea of a “New Year’s resolution,” others see a flip of the calendar as a chance to turn over a new leaf.

Well, sort of.

For Lance Cpl. Tom Stoner, a 19-year-old machine gunner with Bravo Company, 1st Battalion, 2nd Marines, his New Year’s pledge is simple.

“I want to smoke more,” said the Livonia, Mich., native as he holds up a pack of Kools, flips the top and throws another one on his lips. It’s early enough for most people to be eating breakfast on this New Year’s morning, but this must be Stoner’s fifth butt.

Down by the fire pit, where the Marines with Bravo’s 1st Platoon burn their trash at a small combat outpost here, the resolutions turn more practical.

“I just want to make it home alive,” said Staff Sgt. Darin Wink, 1st Platoon’s top noncommissioned officer. Another Marine warming his hands over the burning MRE wrappers and melting mineral water bottles agrees.

“I just want to go home with all limbs attached,” he said with a gallows humor chuckle.

Not all the New Year’s resolutions are so macabre.

Out by the sand and concertina wire barriers that serve as the first line of defense for this Alamo-like camp, Lance Cpl. Talmadge Rainey of Clifton, Tenn., turned away from his M249 Squad Automatic Weapon balanced atop the “Hesco” barrier — a wire and burlap basket filled with dirt and rock — to gave us his one simple wish.

“Gain weight,” the 22-year-old infantryman decreed. See, these Marines, part of the 22nd Marine Expeditionary Unit’s battalion landing team, have been roughing it since they came ashore in mid-December. Life here is made up of MREs, foot patrols and chilly nights in their outpost; the calories are burning, the food’s not cutting it and there’s no weight room.

“When I get back on ship, that’s all I’m going to do … lift weights,” the wiry Rainey exclaimed.

Later in the day, just before sunset, Stoner reappeared on the rooftop.

“See, I made good on my New Year’s resolution,” he said with a deadpan more akin to Napoleon Dynamite than a lead-slingin’ devil dog, his box of smokes now empty.

“So, can I bum one maybe?”

Humvees take a licking

Ramadi, Iraq — Dec. 23, 2006

Back in the rear, watching all the military brass and politicians on Capitol Hill argue, harangue and cajole the powers-that-be to supply armored vehicles to troops in Iraq, you tend to get a little jaded.

I mean, the Marines are a “light” force. They exchange defensive barricades for aggression. They don’t fly through an ambush, they attack the ambushers. Do they really want to hunker behind thick metal plating? The answer is an unequivocal “yes.”

After spending nearly three weeks patrolling the roadside bomb-laden streets of Ramadi in the back of a Humvee, I know I’m grateful for the armor. The Marine Corps moved quickly to bolster its Humvee fleet — first with a makeshift armor kit, then with a more permanent solution of factory-built “up-armor” Humvees. These things have saved many, many lives.

The Marines tell us that all the time. The new armored Humvees will survive all but the most massive bombs, and these guys have the pictures to prove it. Top commanders have discouraged publication of these photos, and we’ll respect that, though many can be found on various Web sites e-mailed by soldiers and Marines over here. But trust me, I’ve seen some of the evidence. I’ve seen the pictures and have seen other Humvees after they’ve been hit. They are really tough.

Sure you could get your bell rung if one goes off. You could pick up some shrapnel in the gunner’s hatch. And Marines and soldiers are still dying when some bombs target their vehicles. But the vast majority of hits against these Humvees end up with no casualties or only minor ones. It’s a testament to the toughness of the Humvee and the armor that’s on it. Almost everyone here has a story of how a bomb went off next to their vehicle. Some picked up a couple nicks, but all are alive to tell the tale.

The only problem is that these trucks are getting the crap beaten out of them. The Marines drive them hard. The vehicles have the bolstered suspension and engine to drive the extra weight of the armor. But when Marines are done with their seven-month deployments, they turn the same vehicles over to the next unit that comes in.

After almost every patrol, at least one vehicle needs to go through some sort of heavy maintenance. This can be a real danger during a patrol, when a downed Humvee can mean the difference between keeping Marines protected or forcing them to leave their vehicles and rig the busted Humvee for towing.

The maintainers keep the vehicles going, but after a few more tours with this much hard driving, it’s not hard to see that the Marines will need a new infusion of these life-saving vehicles.