Psych

Welcome to FOB Sykes. Just one more stop in our “World Tour of Baghdad”. In case you are keeping track at home, this will be my third airbase in five days. I’ve traveled on three different helicopters; a Marine Sea Knight, an Army Blackhawk, and last night’s flight was on a very old and hot Chinook. I’ve slept in three different bases on a mix of cots and dusty mattresses and I’ve eaten at three separate chow halls. In order to get something out of this endless travel, I’m thinking of moonlighting as a food critic for the various military DFACs. I could travel from base to base and critique their culinary skills and get fat in the process. Experience from these past few days of travel has led me to believe that despite the changes in buildings, decorations, styles of plastic serving trays and nationality of the food servers, the food is pretty much the same across Iraq. My travel should also afford me the title of official restroom/porta potty inspector, but I think I had a family member who earned that title already from her own travels across the US. Maybe she would afford me the title of “international restroom inspector” if I asked nicely.

FOB Sykes is an Army airbase, just like Spiecher. Al Asad was a Marine airbase, which is why they tried to trap us Army guys there and suck out our will to live by cancelling all of our flights. Note to self: bring the Marine Gunny in our section with us next time we travel to Al Asad to run interference and speak “Marine-eez”. Either that or buy a set of Marine fatigues and learn how to say “Hoo-rah” instead of “Huah”. One odd thing about this airbase is the presence of so many soldiers. It’s not like I don’t see soldiers in Baghdad. In the mess hall I frequent in B-town, captains and below represent the minority while here, I am probably the second highest ranking individual in the entire DFAC. It’s odd. I miss soldiers. I know I’ve said it before but I still miss their eagerness and dedication. They are the “doers” for the Army and its good to see that are so many “doers” here executing the plans and conducting the missions that the higher churns out. A general somewhere just might concoct some hair brain idea to get us out of this country, but it’s going to be a lowly soldier who will actually do the work. Props out to them all.

In a total twist to norm of our epic journey, for the first time in five days we are not waiting on a helicopter. That’s right, no airlift from here to our final destination on the border. Instead we are waiting on a convoy to depart from the COB (combat operating base) and come pick me and the LTC up. After growing disenchanted with whole air-lift procedures here, I’m looking forward to a mode of transportation that is slightly more reliable. Barring any unforeseen problems, that should happen prior to supper time.

It's a little fuzzy, but the temp is 120. And I thought it was suppose to be cooler up north!