We left from that last pause, Uday‘s house, after about two weeks of being there. I guess Echo Company didn’t need us as bad as Fox Company, which is who we’re with now. Since we’ve been back at Mech, we’ve been rehearsing with them to do another “proof of concept” convoy through the city again, which will take place today.

Finally, it’s 0815. We’ll roll out at 0900 and stage at the cloverleaf until 1500. Gulf Company will go to the mayor’s office, and if they take fire, we’ll roll in to save them. We’re operating during the late day and there’s not a whole lot of anxiety. If it were night or early morning…the darkness adds to the anxiety. It might not even happen still.

When we got back to Mech, we relaxed a little, only working half days. Mike and I are going to the gym religiously now. The PX was selling some NO2, so we nabbed a bunch of that. COC also finally gave us rooms. Of course, they are shoving four of us into a ten by ten foot room! I’ve been writing Liz, trying to express my feelings for her without over doing it. Yeah, that didn’t go like I planned, but I don’t plan on giving up either. She has a new boyfriend—she always does.

We returned this morning from an operation that began nearly yesterday morning. Four tracks—3rd Section and 107—did a Mechanized patrol with a platoon of grunts to the south of our FOB, setting up three blocking positions along a canal, searching vehicles, and ultimately trying to locate and destroy the enemy launching mortars into our FOB. We found nothing and gained no intelligence.

We interacted with the locals, bought sodas, played with kids, etc. I observed many beautiful females going about there daily chores. Some played hide and seek with us in a flirting way until their father came home. I’ve come to the conclusion I’m attracted to Arabic women with their dark hair, skin, and eyes. Eyes are the best. I’m already an eye man, but Arabic women have very seductive eyes. Very sexy.

But it would be impossible here because their culture is different in the wooing rituals. I still believe women are chosen, which is obviously really traditional. That’s probably why the men here don’t like it when I stare at their daughters, wives, etc. I met an Iraqi man who had two wives and ten kids. Lucky man. Over here, women are for reproduction and men are for pleasure, so I’m told. I believe it when the guys hold hands and kiss on the street.

We found out today we might be here for, well, another two more months. I’m going to go insane. I can’t stop thinking about going back to California and partying like a mad man, hitting on every hottie and just having a good time—especially if they are going to send us home for four months and then back out here like the rumor being passed around says. Hopefully we’ll go back to Japan instead. I’m going to party hard for four months.

We are attached to 2/2 Echo, and Echo is the only one not at the Mech Camp. The rest of the battalion is there. The CO for Echo volunteered and requested us. We don’t even have to be here, but no, I work for crazy motherfuckers! I love it!

The sixteenth was a fun day. We had that day off. Mike and I filled it with movie watching and eating chow. Just what we needed. But the following day was hell.

We didn’t leave the FOB until about noon with about ten Humvees as an escort. Before we were one quarter of the way there, 3A106, Delfin’s track, died and is fried. It took about 20 minutes to hook up for towing. Alright, then 3A108, Crespin’s track, my old one, wouldn’t start. Five minutes to trouble shoot and we were off—and yet the worst is still to come.

Just before we pass our old pause, 3A104, Buckley and the Lt.’s track gets driven into a curb, shearing the bolts off the final, which was quite a feat—its hard to do. Buckley was waving at children and drove right into the bridge he was crossing—we dubbed it Buckley Bridge. Since my track was the “lucky one” chosen to carry the tow bar, I had to take my track to the front of the column to tow his ass.

In this situation, a vehicle must be short tracked to remove the final. Instead, we decided to remove the track in segments because it’s heavy as hell, remove the final, and tow it on the road wheels. Since I’m the second strongest guy there next to SSgt. Jason, he and I did all the hard work. It took us about 45 minutes, inside the town, taking up the whole road. Talk about being vulnerable. Luckily, nothing happened, but the stress level was up. My ass was dead tired, and once we were on the move, I felt sick to my stomach. Sweaty, hot, tired, and still trying to stay vigilant.

Once we got to the 2/2 location, which was one of the supposed homes of Saddam’s oldest son, we set in to our position. So, yeah, it was a shitty day for all of us, but the salt on the wound was when the fucking Iraqis decide to launch mortar rounds ten meters in front of my track, throwing shrapnel at it. My dumb ass didn’t have the flak or helmet on yet. Again, I thought, “we’re going to get hit.” I was shaken up and immediately began to pray for God’s mercy.

When we finally got back on base, Mike and I were looking forward to just chilling. We decided to unwind from such a stressful couple of days and just chill in Davis’ room and watch a movie. We were just going to turn off the lights and fall asleep to a movie.

We looked through some of the guy’s movies and realized that we had seen all of them except The Notebook, which I heard was pretty good but didn’t know what it was about. We started watching it, but we didn’t fall asleep. It was a good movie, too good.

Towards the end, I looked over to see if the guys were sleeping because I had tears in my eyes, and I hoped they didn’t notice. They, too, had tears in their eyes—what wusses!

We thought we were hiding it from each other, but then, all of a sudden, the door flew open and flooded the room with light. “What are you pussies doing?” That’s all I heard. I told them it was dust in my eye, I don’t think they bought it.

It’s almost the end of the month. I’ll have been here three months by June, and my only motivation is the thought of going home to California—the same place I wanted to leave for a while—to go somewhere and be challenged, to discover something in myself and to gain a greater character. I’m doubting this will happen now. I just want to leave now, but not before our mission is complete. Maybe I have gained something, and it won’t be evident until I get back to the States.

Right now my priorities and focus need to be:

• God
• My Crew
• My track
• My platoon
• My mission

When I get back I want

It was rest time before we moved out. A bunch of us congregated on top of my track to bullshit, drink non-alcoholic Becks beer, and smoke. It was a great feeling to be together before an important operation. With the sun going down and a cool breeze, we were happy for a moment. We slept until 0200, moved out by 0230, and staged near the cloverleaf.

At 1000, the General rolled into the city, but decided to only take five Humvees, five LAVs (Light Armored Vehicles), and some ICDC. The man’s got balls of steel. So we were QRF (Quick React Force) instead. Standing by to save his ass if he got shot at.

Well, guess what—nothing happened! We were so pissed off! After all the hype and rehearsals, nothing happened. The mission was accomplished, sure, but we wanted some action. I did, however, get on CNN. My track anyway, 111, was rolling by and the U.S. saw it.

We just went back to base and had a couple more days of R & R. I hope we’re not getting spoiled. Right now we’re out at an old position with 2/2 Gulf where that Gunny died. We’re only here for a night. We’ll be bringing 2/2 back to the FOB tomorrow.

I’ll talk about our time at Mech Camp the last couple days. As the last entry stated, I had called Jenni, the one that got away. I had an amazing and fun conversation with her. I wish I could say the same for last night’s conversation with her. I plainly told her that I still care for her. I do. She asked why I act different on the phone as opposed to in person. Because the phone is safer, I trust myself. When we’re together, it just all comes back, and it’s like we are in high school again, in love.

I also implied that it might be a good idea to discontinue our friendship because of how I feel. She might be able to control herself but at the same time tease me. I love her, but I know now I can’t have her again. I’m not supposed to have her.

I want to make her happy, though. She wants to stay friends forever. I know in the back of my mind that’s impossible, but she instills confidence in me, and I don’t want to give that up yet.

What I would give to go back to high school! Lord knows, I miss it. I miss her. I don’t know if I’ll call her again. Well, at least not soon. Maybe I won’t visit her. So long, Jenni—like I haven’t said that before!

Mike keeps encouraging me to sweep his sister Franci off her feet. She is beautiful. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve fantasized about her many times, but she is way to classy for me. Mike doesn’t think so. I appreciate that. She’s 34, which isn’t a problem because I always enjoy dating older women, but again, she’s in a higher class than me, I think. I’m going to ask her to the Marine Corps. Ball, I think. I need to call her first. What am I going to say? I’m such a retard.

I talked to Jason. That was therapy. La Favre has been my boy since fifth grade. He was excited to hear from me. The feeling was mutual. I love that kid. I guess he’s planning on joining me out here, or so his command is saying. He’s on leave right now. I can’t wait to see him again. I hope it’s sooner than later.

We talked about going to school together when we get out in a little over a year. I can’t believe it’s been that long already. The future looks exciting! Oh shit, he also heard Tristen got arrested for crashing his car and hurting some people—he had been drinking. It hasn’t been confirmed yet, but losing his leg has finally gotten to him post-war!

A couple of days after my last entry, things seemed the same as usual: boring. I believe it was the third of May, the day before we left for Mech Camp for maintenance, that we were on stand down. I had gotten a package from Mom with a bunch of good food and some tequila or margarita flasks. Technically, we’re not suppose to have them, but damn, it tastes good. Like I said, this last pause was quite boring until we began taking mortar rounds.

Alright, so the enemy knows where we are. Mortars are nothing new, and they weren’t hitting anything like usual. They are usually inaccurate—until today.

Rivera was on watch. I was ready to relieve him when the mortars began to impact. I stood up in the driver station to watch with Rivera. Then the slow motion kicked on inside our heads. A mortar round dropped directly inside the turret of a Humvee—a Humvee that some Marines had started to board.

Our mouths dropped as we saw the Humvee leap from the ground, shrapnel spraying from its doors and windows. Everyone around hit the ground.

Then we saw it.

The head of a Gunnery Sergeant ten meters from my vehicle. It wasn’t only shrapnel spraying from the vehicle, but also flesh, blood, and bone.

For the next two hours the Corpsmen were picking pieces of this man out of the Humvee, off the ground, off the wall, and so on. It was heartbreaking. I could do nothing but bow my head and pray for his family, friends, and Marines.

This was the first time I could remember being scared, feeling my heart pounding out of my chest and in my ears. My skin turned red and felt hot. “The next one might be in my turret or driver’s station,” I thought.

We left the next day. We’re back at Mech for some more R & R and some maintenance.

The General Mattis, who set the deadline for Fallujah to be controlled by ICDC by the tenth, wants us to do a convoy through the city, stop in the middle so he can meet with the mayor for half an hour, and then keep going all the way through. The purpose: to see is it’s safe and to get an idea of the effect we’ve made on the people. Plus, Bush said he won’t pull us out of Fallujah until we can take a convoy through the city without being attacked. Right now we’re doing rehearsals, getting ready for tomorrow, or so they say.

I thoroughly enjoyed your recent package and letter. I got it about a week ago, just before we pulled out of our position NW of Fallujah.

We went back to base for a couple more days. We were in transition between two different battalions. 2/1 didn’t need us anymore so we attached to 2/2, and we are sitting about 20 miles south of Fallujah doing nothing.

We’re giving Iraqi Civil Defense Corps a chance to secure the south part of the city. We’re only giving them like ten days, but it gives them a chance to spill their own blood for their country—something they wanted. Plus it gives us a break and takes a little pressure off from the media. We are quite bored, though.

I love the patch. It was quite motivating. I know the guys liked it. I don’t believe my unit has any patches. Our battalion might, but not our company. I might look into that when I get back.

It seems like old news when I get it out here, but let Oz know I’m praying for the family and thinking of him. It seemed all too sudden to me. Did I ever tell you about when Andy called me about six months ago? I’m sure you’re the one who gave him the number, huh? We had a good conversation, though. I forget where he lives. I was going to go visit him.

Anyway, enough with the facts—I’ll start with the thoughts. During certain times in my life, I’ve felt numb, like, “What am I doing here? Who are these people I see?” I get that sometimes out here. I feel kind of alone. I realized it’s when I don’t speak with God for a couple days—I mean really talk, not just bullet prayers, because that’s constant. He brings me a great peace and confidence.

That’s all I have, too, because I stopped reading the Bible. I know he’s upset with that, but I think, “What’s the point?” I don’t ever understand what I’m reading. It’s all the same stories. Devotionals don’t help, either. I’m going to pray for a better understanding.

The military finally gave me my own vehicle, my own million dollar amtrack. I got LCpl. Koonce and LCpl. Rivera as my crewman—real good guys. This is a great responsibility I’ve been praying for. I’m pretty excited. It’s going by kind of fast. Our flight date as of now is early October, but that could always change, of course.

If you get this before I have another chance to talk to you, I like the Arkansas lots you were talking about. They seem cheap with a lot of potential. I could afford about three or four lots. What do you think?

I guess the government wants to pay us more since we’re in a hot spot. Thanks for depositing my tax returns. I appreciate it. Can you cut a check for those people that keep calling for their money and tack it onto what I owe you for the car? Thanks.

I guess that’s it. Thanks again for the package. I can’t wait to come home and see you. I just wish I knew when it would be. I’ll talk to you soon.

Love,

Seth

I can finally use it myself because I finally have my own track. Sgt. Hardin left to go to 3rd Platoon. because they lost some Sgts. They lost one to electrocution. Anyway, I got his track with Koonce “Malibu” and Rivera “Enchilada” as crewmen. I finally got responsibility of a million dollar vehicle and all the personnel that might be aboard. It’s a little scary, but I feel confident in it.

The day after my last entry, we went back to the Mech Camp for some R & R. I got to talk to Mom and Tristen. I got to work out my chest and biceps—I’m way happy about that. I got to shower, eat some good chow, and buy tobacco from the PX.

Delfin got detached to headquarters platoon for a little while. I don’t know what they are doing yet. Two days after we left the Mech Camp, we were again attached to 2/2 Gulf Company. We’re way south of Fallujah. I don’t know exactly why we’re here, but it’s more fire watch without the excitement.

We were going to go to the southwest of Fallujah by the Euphrates. However, they decided that if 3/4 from the NE, 2/1 from the NNW, 1/5 from the SE, and 2/2 from the SW all came into the city and met in the middle, we would take the city in two days but it would make us look like murderers. I think they would deserve it.

They also want the ICDC (Iraqi Civil Defense Corps) to get some shit, to show that they want a better city. If they shed some blood, then it would make their purpose known and hopefully give them credibility. The ICDC want it, too. So we’re here.

Gunny Keller rode with me because his vehicle is in the rear with Loucks getting it worked on. He just left to go take Cruz back to the rear for his NJP (Non-Judicial Punishment) and hopefully get the other vehicles. We do less fire watch with him here, but it’s less lax with him here. I guess we shouldn’t be that lax, though. I initiated a good conversation with him, though. I learned some about him, and now we have a common ground we can both stand on. I think he likes me!

I’m going to watch now.

Not one second later, thinking this flying creature dropped something on your vehicle, you look down from the turret to see a dinar sucked into the intake grille. Another passes your head, and you look to the direction they came. You gaze as you look to the sky and see what could be hundreds of bats or, as I thought, hundreds of dinar bills.

I started grabbing at the flying bills that possibly came from a bank that blew up or something. I thought I was rich, but in actuality they were fliers with Arabic writing and “wanted” pictures that were dropped from a plane, covering the city. This way the locals can see we’re there to help them and if they have any info about the person on the flier, they can tell us. I was scared, then really excited, and then disappointed. Oh, well.

The other night we got hot chow—chicken, scalloped potatoes, green beans, pie, fruit, etc. It was a nice change. I almost got put on SSgt. Kulak’s vehicle as a crew chief, but I would rather be on Crespin’s vehicle as a crewman. We got rid of Sgt. Herbert, as you know, but we put Sgt. Ohearon

in 3rd Section. He’s a cool cat, but just as slow when it comes to amtracking.

Now the tracks have the following crews:

105: Still SSgt. Jason or “Scorpion,” Davis or “Reverend,” and Armadariz or “Big A!”

106: Sgt. Perez or “Sandman” as the A/Slash, and Hokanson and Cruz, who might be getting busted down for popping on the piss test.

107: Delfin, “Pretty Boy,” finally got his own track and has Barrios and Valdez, “The Mech,” who’s cool.

108: Us, which includes Crespin or “Tiny,” myself or “Doc Holiday,” and Dooley or “The Lance” or “Tags,” which is what Tiny and I call him because he has meat tags.

We might be going back to the Mech Camp today. That’s the plan.

Yesterday, we saw the mosque that sat in front of us the last month fall. We had a unit get surrounded and pinned down. 108, us, pulled up to get a better view of the city. There was a lot of movement and ammunition way laying the city in front of us. We waited for a chance to shoot, but there was nothing we could get our eyes on. It was a crazy day yesterday with rounds flying a few feet above our head again.

Oh, last night on watch, they played the Arabic translation of our “warning and ultimatums” over loud speakers in the city and afterwards played “Let the Bodies Hit the Floor,” some Pantera, Aerosmith, CCR, Jimi Hendrix, Disturbed, etc. It was kind of funny and motivating. If blowing up their mosque doesn’t piss them off, playing some American rock n’ roll while they try to sleep would!

I plan on taking a plenum shower, but the engine’s on right now. It would draw air to the engine causing me to freeze. I was going to read out loud to Dooley and myself, but then the engine is on.

We stopped doing turret watch during the day because it’s pointless, which frees up more time to do…nothing. The only thing slightly motivating us right now is the fact we have mail possibly coming to us today, which was supposed to be here yesterday, and that we might have an operation order coming in the next couple days. I even wrote a poem about boredom yesterday!

The big thing that happened this week has to do with Sgt. Herbert, who will probably be a Cpl. the next time I see him. For starters, no one likes or respects him, and he gets upset and starts yelling at everyone for it like a little girl. But this mother fucker has a reputation for not having anyone in his vehicle, at least anyone who’s awake, on watch at night. How could I respect that anyway?

He also has a pregnant wife at home who’s really worried about him—it’s their first. Plus, his father-in-law is on his death bed, and he’s really close to him. So, yeah, I pity that man. I knew it was only a matter of time before he lost it.

Well, SSgt. Kulak was trying to call him on the net but got nothing. They were all outside the vehicle helping SSgt. Jason’s vehicle. SSgt. Kulak got fed up and yelled at Sgt. Herbert when he finally did get on the net. Sgt. Herbert back talked SSgt., and SSgt. wasn’t having that.

He got out of his track and ran up to Sgt. Herbert and put a finger in his face as he was yelling at him. Sgt. Herbert lost it and punched SSgt. Kulak in the face. SSgt. finally tackled him, but Sgt. Herbert got his.

Two days later top Vargas and the contact team came out to refuel us and took him back to the Mech Camp. So he is either going home or getting charged and busted down—or both. So now Delfin has his own vehicle. He deserves it, but I don’t think he wants it. Lord knows I do!

The Cobra and Huey started circling the area, trying to find the threat. I needed a cigarette, and I had no matches. I wasn’t willing to get out of the turret because I’d probably get shot. All of a sudden, the cobra flies by me making a b-line for the mosque. I thought he was going to shoot his machine gun again like he had a couple times earlier. But instead, I see a bright white and a blue flare fall from the cobra and accelerate past me, breaking the sound barrier with an extremely loud “crack” and colliding with the top of the mosque—a hellfire missile followed by four or five more rockets.

It was sick as shit, the coolest thing I’ve seen yet. He did it again just now. Afterwards, the mosque, which is a huge tower, looked like it wanted to fall. The Cobra and Huey left, but then artillery began to bombard the area. That was cool, too. Even now, there is still sporadic small arms being shot at us indirectly. It’s a day to keep the head down.

Two days ago track 3, track 12, and track 8, our track, went back to the Mech Camp to shower, eat chow hall chow, buy PX necessities, and talk on the phone with loved ones. I only got to talk to Dad and Shannon briefly, and I had to leave a message for Mom.

Our vehicle broke on our way there so we had to get towed, but it was fixed at the FOB. I had a chance to see the track Kolm was in. I couldn’t believe the devastation. It was amazing and heartbreaking. I saw PJ, which was nice.

I actually got leg cramps and spasms later that night because of all the walking I did that day. It was the most exercise I’ve had in two months; and it wasn’t even that much. I finished the letter I wrote for Shannon yesterday. I sounded pretty good when read out loud. Dooley liked it. He liked the celebrity and hippie bashing the best!