Later that night we stopped a car full of hadjis with a flat of beer in the back seat. Foster and Burnett started giving them a hard time, so the men offered us some. Burnett took the cans and passed them around, plus one for Staff Sergeant Smith and one for the LT, then let the car go. We drank and watched the traffic go by under the bridge and decided to start a shakedown.
“You give me beer,” Burnett would say, leaning in the window.
“No beer,” the hadji might say, and we’d let them go, or “Beer, yes,” and they’d hand us some cans.
After four or five successful contraband seizures, we broke down the TCP and just drove around, our buzz brushing the night to a smooth gleam.
Walking back to the barracks one day from visiting Villaguerrero at Battalion, I saw Qasim sitting outside the terp shack, smoking and drinking tea.
“Sabah al-khayr,” I said.
“Sabah al-noor,” he replied. “You speak very good Arabic.”
“Not really, but thanks. You off today?”
“Yes. I was going to go see my uncle, but he says to me… is very dangerous, Qasim, and better you not come.”
“Dangerous how?”
“My, how you say, the husband of my uncle’s daughter?”
“Shit, I don’t know. Cousin-in-law?”
“So, my cousin-law… is very religious and… he does not like the Americans. He wants you to go home, because you are not Muslim. So sometime he stays with my uncle, because… because. Other times he goes to family. When he stays with my uncle, I do not go. Because I work for you.”
“That must be hard.”
“Is better than Baqubah. After the invasion I go to Baqubah because my wife and mother… My wife… My mother, she is dead now.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Many are dead now. Hers was quiet. Hers was at peace. She’s with God now. But in Baqubah, it is very difficult. Too many religious, Sunni, Shia, same-same. They fight. Baghdad is not so difficult. Things are bad—but bad all over, so maybe Baghdad is more good. Better.”
“Is it better now? I mean now that we got rid of Saddam?”
“Some ways better. Other ways more bad. Instead of one Saddam, now too many Saddam. You see? You need to stay, you need to be… on the street. You need to be very strong. It is very difficult for Iraq; we have no parliament, no Magna Carta. We have tribes, families. We have the sheikh, we have the ayatollah, we have the imam. You see? No Saddam, no sheikh, then we fight, and is why we need you to stay. Yes? You will be here a long time, I think.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Probably.”
“A long time, I think,” he said. “Many things are very bad now. Water is very bad. You see… how do you say, sewer? Yes? The sewer when we patrol? Very bad. Electricity very bad. Economy bad. Shops are open but there is much… Some things very expensive. Small things. Also security very bad, very dangerous, especially for woman. A woman cannot go out from the house. My uncle, his daughters make him crazy. For why? Because they cannot go out. Two men to go out of the house, and the woman have to wear very much hijab, and the man have a gun. Very dangerous. Very bad. In Baqubah is worse. I work with the American there, like here, but Baqubah very small. Everybody… how you say… everybody all up in each other’s shit. So I cannot work in Baqubah, because they say they kill my wife and family. But in Baghdad is okay. Sometimes they try to shoot or kidnap. But they know my face only. They don’t know who is my family, where I live, and when I go to my uncle, I am very careful. My… cousin-law, he does not know, but if he did, is safe. Not okay, but safe. Because family is number one, yes?”
“Are you glad we came? Are you glad we got rid of Saddam?”
“It is no good to be glad or sad of God’s will. We live. We die. God’s will. What do I say to you, Specialist Wilson? Are you glad you came?”
“I’m glad we made it this far.”
“Yes. This far.”
“Yeah… Well, I should go hit the gym. It was nice to talk with you, Qasim.”
“Okay, yes. Very nice to talk with you, Specialist Wilson. You see, we can all speak together, Iraqi and American. Friends, yes? But soon I must go from Baghdad and return to Baqubah. My wife is sick. I think you will not see me for many weeks. But someday we meet again, insha’Allah.”
He gently shook my hand, then touched his heart.
“Stay safe, Qasim. Salaam a-leykum.”
“Leykum a-salaam, Specialist Wilson.”
arabs, much more so than westerners,
express emotion
in a forceful, animated and exaggerated fashion
We woke up Porkchop and Geraldo. “Get up, fuckers. You’re relieved.”
“Where’s Sergeant Gooley?” Porkchop asked, blinking.
“Sergeant Reynolds is SOG.”
Reading took off his Kevlar and set it on the Jersey barrier. His buzz-cut hair glowed a sickly brass in the fluorescent light, a field of bruised pennies.
“Where Sergeant Reynolds at?” Geraldo asked.
“He’s right behind us,” I said.
“Aight. We out.” Geraldo took his rifle and stepped off down the road. Porkchop followed and they met Staff Sergeant Reynolds at the clearing barrel, where he watched them clear their weapons.
When there was a pause in the radio traffic, I picked up the walkie-talkie: “Red Steel Main, this is Red Steel India. Radio check, over.”
“RED STEEL INDIA, THIS IS RED STEEL MAIN, ROGER OUT.”
Staff Sergeant Reynolds came up, glowering at us with his bug-eyes. “Reading, I want you to have your Kevlar on at all times,” he said.
Reading turned his face away as if he hadn’t heard.
“Now listen up, men, you need to make sure you police this AO. There’s cigarette butts in the dirt back there. This is a high-visibility area and the sergeant major’s gonna come through. And get inside the guard shack, too.”
“Hooah, Sergeant,” I said.
“Now what do you do when you open the gate?”
“One of us goes up and the other one covers him.”
“Right. Now, if you’re gonna open the gate, I want both of you up there, one to handle the door and one to watch outside. Somebody could shoot an RPG right through there. That’s what I’d do, if I was them. I’d come by in one of those pickups and send somebody to knock on the door, and when you opened the gate, I’d shoot an RPG right through. Bam! Then what? Huh? You gotta think tactically. Now, what do you do if somebody comes over the wall?”
“Shoot ’em!” Reading barked.
“Right! Then call it up.”
“Nobody’s coming over the wall, Sergeant. It’s like fifty feet high.”
“That’s what you think. That kind of complacency is what gets soldiers killed.”
“Roger, Sergeant.”
“And when the ICDC come through, I want you to check each one. Don’t let the other hadjis do it. They could have bombs hidden anywhere.”
“No way,” Reading said. “Hadjis fucking stink.”
“Roger, Sergeant,” I said. “We’ll take care of it.”
“You know these ICDC,” he said. “They’ve taken an oath, but they could still be Fedayeen or al-Qaeda or who knows what. Just because they’re on our side doesn’t mean you can trust ’em. One ICDC with a hand grenade would jack up your whole day. What would happen if they got into the chow hall? Check, and double check.”
“Shit, I wish they’d blow up the chow hall,” Reading said.
“Roger, Sergeant Reynolds. We’ll search each one ourselves.”
“Okay. You guys already set for breakfast and everything?”
“Roger, Sergeant.”