...The Commas of History...

17 MAY 2010

To break it down Barney style—third-grade reading level, No Child Left Behind, Windows 95 version, and so on—the CET is given big guns and told to baby-sit convoys of transportation units and civilian contractors as they drive load ‘A’ into country and then load ‘B’ out of country. We deter bad guys from doing bad things, and in the event of bad things we shoot at the bad guys. This, I’m told, is our piece of the pie in America’s withdraw, er, exit strategy from Iraq. So let it be told and recorded in the commas of history as such.

The question posed by so many loved ones and fence-line voters back home, is something to the sort of measurable change. A society of must see it to believe it—which is fine; I prefer it that way, helps to dilute the ignorance. “Do you see any difference, Mac,” they’ll ask me. Sure I do, and not merely the drastic change from 2003’s gunfights to 2010’s espressos under the desert sky—though that is mostly what I notice. It is measurable, by the naked eye of this Joe, who is so far down the information hierarchy, that we are moving tons (both literally and figuratively, my father would have me clarify) of equipment out of country; our presence in the cities is limited, that FOBs are closing, that Iraqi police and army are on every corner (to the last some might argue of corruption but I’m not privileged to those studies and if I was I doubt it’d compare to Chicago flat-foots of the 1930s) and so on. And that would, by and by, cover loads falling into ‘B’ group—clearly without giving specifics or adding jail-time to the end of my enlistment.

This of course leaves to debate all the loads of ‘A’ or ‘into country’ loads. These are far fewer in number and their manifest is purely left to imagination and daydream. At this speculation, our line-medic has had the most recent break-through. “Chips and Dip,” he calls it. I’ve heard the concept before as “Burgers and Beers”. The last was used by a fine dining manager, who was trying to over-simplify our duties as servers, that when it all boiled down, we were just passing out burgers and beers. Here, Jackson, the medic, uses it as a reference to our role in the support/stability operations for U.S. and Iraqi forces.

As we have Starbucks on Resort Buerhing, each FOB up north has a Burger King or Pizza Hut or Subway and so on. Jackson’s assumption is that what we escort northbound are supplies for these happy international chains. His meal at the time of illumination happened to be Taco Bell—hence, Chips and Dip. I think of the Golden Arches Theory—or the Dell Theory, whichever—and that maybe we’ll get this country too dependent on nachos to have the want to cross swords again. And yes, I know I just used a well-known script out of context but for all those who never read up on it, who judge a book by its cover, perhaps they’ll like that last passage.

And these loads of ‘happy meals’ again offer a note of measurable change. Everyone back home knows all about Red Bulls, even if some—as is in my case—only experience this cranked up beverage with heavy portions of vodka or in the collegian concoction known as a Jager Bomb. And then of course you have the numerous knock off brands, which leads me to the point at hand: Rip-its. A Rip-it is the Army supplied ‘holy goodness I have to stay awake’ solution. They are the answer to what I think is in box ‘A’.

At each transit stop our supplies for the road are re-fit, including this sugary, caffeinated treat. What I’ve noticed, on each mission south to north and back again, we are afforded fewer and fewer of these pick-me-uppers. On just this last drive, there were none. If my fantasy is correct—which it surely isn’t—and these transportation hauls had been stacked with Rip-its, that they’re coming up short in our FOB re-fit is a clear sign of a shortening of supplies into country.

So, to whichever side of the fence this might push you; or to whatever level of comfort this brings my family and friends: yes, there is a measurable change. I notice everyday that they give me less Rip-its.

- The Exodus