After waking up and having some breakfast I took sometime to explore War Eagle, to poke my head around and get a sense of where I was. We were due to meet Colonel Hort, the Brigade Commander, later in the day; I figured that now was as good a time as any to be nosy.
War Eagle was a much different FOB (Forward Operating Base) than others I had been to. Taji and Falcon had seemed more like small cities than military bases, War Eagle lacked the size that made the other FOBs overwhelmingly large at times. Following the lead of other FOBs within Baghdad, War Eagle was based around existing structures, in this case a former training facility for the Iraqi Police. A large concrete building dominated the complex, a great grey finger that seemed like a skyscraper to me; it was only 4 stories high, but it was one of the tallest buildings I had seen since I had been in country.
The FOB was surrounded by high concrete walls the blocked outside noise from coming in. Baghdad was just on the other side of the walls, but in War Eagle it was easy to forget that, easy to slip into a tranquil state. There were trees, and picnic benches, and even a dog that soldiers had adopted; everything that could be done to make War Eagle cozy and comfortable had been done, and I certainly felt the effects.
But every so often a noise would reach your ears, a sound like someone punching a pillow, and you knew that somewhere not so far away an explosion had just occurred, and any sense of comfort shattered like thin glass. War Eagle held two faces: the walls protected the soldiers, gave them distance from the uneasy peace being waged outside the walls, but it isolated them too, and it was easy to imagine a siege mentality and subsequent mania festering over the 15 months these men and women spent here.
That was always a thought that drew me up short. I traveled from base to base, city to city, trying to get the whole picture, the whole story. Homeless I may be, but the gypsy lifestyle certainly holds its perks: I can go where I please, I meet new people, the standard perks of travel, except in my case it happens to be within the confines of a war zone. For the soldiers it is decidedly different. Where I find coziness they find confinement, where I see tranquility they see boredom; being tied to one place for 15 months, trapped on an island in a hostile land, it is amazing that they are able to hold it together as well as they do. Sadly though, some do not.
For me though, understanding why they keep going is just as important as why things fall apart. Much is made of soldiers being tested under fire, of the mortars and bullets that these men and women brave, the strength of will it takes to keep going in the face of danger. Not much is said of the peculiar strength it takes to weather intense boredom and isolation for such a long time, where each day repeats itself, a sand-colored Groundhog’s Day. Part of me wanted to know what it took, but at the same time, I knew I would never want to experience it for myself.
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You are doing all soldiers a service by telling the story of who they are and what they endure in their sacrifice away from friends and family. It is great to see such an important effort underway. Congratulations. I look forward to following your reports.