War Journal My Five Years in Iraq [Paperback]

War Journal

1

“Conceal thy travels, thy tenets, and thy treasures.”

ARAB PROVERB

AD-DUR, IRAQ

DECEMBER15, 2003

No one was to come in or out.

Dozens of American soldiers formed a defensive circle around the palm grove, silently keeping watch. Gunners in the turrets of Humvees parked next to the troops turned hand cranks at their waists to pan .50 caliber machine guns left and right, training the long gun barrels on the dense trees around the edges of the grove.

“Got to keep your eyes moving.

“Got to look out for snipers.

“Got to protect the circle.

“Nothing can go wrong today,

“Not in front of all these reporters.”

It was a big day, and we all knew it. I was at the center of this defensive ring of American muscle and machines along with about a dozen other journalists. We probably looked ridiculous to the troops. They had their uniforms: khaki combat boots, M4 rifles, Kevlar helmets, and Wiley X ballistic sunglasses. We had our uniforms:brightly colored flak jackets (mine was sky blue), cameras, tripods, notebooks, khakis, and quick-dry synthetic shirts. The army had choppered us into this clearing on two Black Hawks to see what didn’t look like much from the outside: a tiny cinder block farmhouse with a garden filled with sunflowers, oranges, and pomegranate trees. The fruit looked almost ripe on the cool bright December morning. But no one would be picking it. Not from this house. Not anymore.

“We have a cordon around the area, but it is still dangerous. Don’t wander off,” an army officer warned. My canvas hiking boots stuck in the soft black soil as I walked to the farmhouse and through its thatch gate.

But what I saw inside didn’t make any sensl30