Welcome to Balad

There's nothing like a conversation with a soldier to put things in perspective.

This is a break in the continuity of my story, so if it pleases y'all, just imagine one a hazy fade out from the memories of the trip into the present.

It would be an understatement to say that we Air Force types are spoiled. What's sad about it is that so much of our posh living is wasted on us. We we rarely have a basis for comparison, so we start whining as soon as our beds aren't soft enough or (egads!) someone puts us somewhere without internet connectivity. (As you can see, I don't have it so rough at this moment.)

Yesterday, Jeff (my boss--more on him later) and I went to lunch together and found ourselves seated with a soldier out of Las Vegas, Specialist Martinez. He was chatting amiably about the things that have befallen him since he arrived here six months ago.

First reality check (and it pays to remember this from time to time, daily if necessary): these guys are here for one year....and we AF folk think four months is murder on our lives, homes and families.

Martinez chatted with us through the whole meal. Not once did he complain. He'd been called up from IRR (Individual Ready Reserve), even. If anybody has a right to complain, it's the people who were activated to fight this war--not those of us on active duty.

When his unit first arrived, they were homeless. There were no tents erected for them yet, so they bunked in a barn with faulty wiring where munitions were stored about eight miles outside of Fallujah. One night while Martinez was on patrol with the Marines, the wiring set the place on fire. The heat launched much of the ordnance. Thankfully, no one was injured. However, several members of his unit were not only homeless, but left with only a PT (physical training) tshirt, shorts and flipflops for a few days until they could get more gear.

When I got to Balad, they put me in an air conditioned tent with beds and wall lockers arranged to separate bunks and provide some privacy. I was issued sheets and a blanket and pillow. I'm living high.

Martinez's job is to drive in convoys. When his unit first arrived, they brought all new equipment. They have since logged more convoys than any other unit and have driven many of their trucks into the ground. Oh...and they didn't have air conditioning. You try riding in an armored vehicle with tiny windows (basically, so you can fire back) here with no A/C. They get mortar and small arms fire fairly regularly. So far, all of them are intact.

I complain about the food here (it's bland and the vegetables are mushy), but he said it's a five-star restaurant compared to what he's used to. Then he said something about how fried Spam sandwiches with barbeque sauce make a nice meal.

I should thank Specialist Martinez for putting it all back in perspective for me. It's easy to get sucked into thinking about what you don't have, but it's counter-productive. Look at the donut and not the hole.

In Tent City (or "T-Town," the AF compound) we have a gym to die for. It's better than our gym at my home base, considering the layout and condition of the equipment and cleanliness. We have a rec center with pool tables and ping pong tables and giant screen TVs and computer games. A library. An internet cafe. A telephone (morale call) tent. A movie theater (with soundproofed walls, no less). And that's just in the tents in our own little AF compound.

On the army side, there's a BX, a large swimming pool (I'm told), and a proper movie theater. The chow halls dish up heaping helpings of everything (I'll have to get a picture, because you simply won't believe this). And we have air conditioning everywhere.

It could always be worse. I could have joined the Army.

d