IDF

I try not to write much about the indirect fire (IDF) we get here.  I think I’ve said that before, but after a few hits these past few days, I had the intention of sitting down and outlining the details of them (some humorous, some scary).  After much deliberation, I’ve decided not to.  The main reason is that it just worries my folks (and freaking your parents out is a guaranteed way for the local congressperson to get some hate mail).  The other reason is that it happens pretty regularly with no real consequences to the folks in the IZ... well, mostly, and the experience of late has produced no injuries.  It is dangerous, so please don’t take my casualness about it and think I fail to heed the warnings of the alarms.  We have had some folks hurt by IDF because the rockets and mortars are designed to hurt you in a bad way.  More times than not, it just puts holes in buildings and streets and makes movement around the area a pain, and in the past 7 weeks, most of us have developed an acceptance of this risk.  That’s a little dangerous because it teeters on the edge of complacency, and complacency is not a good thing in a war zone. 
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For the most part, we have succumbed to the fact that if it’s your time, it’s your time, and no matter how much you protect yourself, it won’t help due to the complete randomness of the attacks.  This is a strange way to look at getting maimed, or worse, but it is almost a necessity to deal with the day to day explosions.  Now, this is no reason to go running around outside the FOB in t-shirts and flip flops, but it also means that wearing your armor 24/7 in the Iraqi heat is completely ludicrous.  Whenever we can, we address our concerns by resorting to the black humor that is pretty common amongst individuals who are stuck in a hard or dangerous environment.  To the unknown observer, it would appear to be a wee bit twisted or morbid, but most of us here would call it a coping mechanism.  A majority of the chuckles stem from discussions of inopportune places to be when the rocket with your name comes tumbling in.  Places like the Pizza Inn or Burger King trailers are on that list (I got a purple heart because I wanted a Whopper), so is the swimming pool (I didn’t know that the Marines issued flowered Bermuda shorts?), and anything that has to do with the bathroom or shower trailer trumps all others.  I guess you could just say that the blast blew your pants off if you happened to be found that way.  I guess the semi naked mortar victim is much like the good officer in that neither wants to take a trip to the CSH (combat support hospital) to see their privates full of shrapnel.  Ouch!
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Once I get my computer up and running, I'll see if I can’t post some pictures of the creative ways the locals and the contractors use to cover up mortar damage.  Let's just say words don't do them justice.