This morning was another arduous wake up that left Murphy hanging heavy on my eye lids. Last night after a grueling mission we were informed on a few pieces of news that could be considered bad. First news was, despite being nearly 11 at night already, that we had another patrol at a very early hour of the morning. The other news that was told to us, which even if it doesn't turn out bad will inevitably be a nuisance to us, is that our platoon, our company, is moving out of our sector and into a smaller base, with less amenities then here at our bigger base.
After our early operation of attempting to fly an unman ed aircraft, which had it's wings clipped even before taken due to the regular SNAFU's that our Company/Battalion/Brigade usually have, we ventured out of our area of operation and up to check out our new, 'home.'
When we arrived finally at our future home, it was still early enough in the morning to be craving 10 million milligram of caffeine, demon sugar and carbohydrated Rip Its. The small postage stamp sized base is nothing but an eye sore. Right outside the gate is piles of trash and sewage that let off a lovely smell only a honey dipper could enjoy. There is limited parking, and little kids poke their heads over the wall and beg for candy. The building itself is some kind of all parking structure. After ascending a ramp way that almost brought on the nostalgia of going to a sporting event, we found ourselves on the second floor where we are to live. Whoever has had to stay here before has done a decent job with the place.
Despite the charred cement of the twenty foot ceiling, along with the sauna type conditions from hot air being circulated from hard working air condition units, the living quarters seem rather nice. There is a small dining area, and an MWR complete with phones and plenty of computers hooked up to internet. The rooms are more private than the ones we stay at now. The dark, smelly conditions are almost to perfect for an infantryman. So despite the fears of the platoon, we should be better than ok. Sure we won't have internet to our laptops, but I don't think we'll complain.
We tried to make new friends there, as I put on E6 rank and ask a 1st Cavalry guy where the stables for their horses were. He didn't think I was very funny.
As mid-morning approached and we were headed back to our current living situation, and gym, showers, chow, and sleep, we found ourselves caught up in the usual AT4 debacle. Right before we get back from mission, when are hopes are the highest and we are all in good spirits, we always seem to get frago'd. This time battalion needs us to check out a possible IED that the National Police have called up. Hold on, let me throw on my bomb suit. At first we don't really believe the grid because it is right across the street from our very own base. We roll up on the scene and find it blocked off by the National Police.
After being on scene and figuring out what was going on, we finally got the real EOD (explosive ordnance disposal), out to take a look at it. I mean this thing is literally right where we turn around to get into the ECP (entry control point), everyday. They get there Robot out and roll up to drop an explosive charge on this thing to make it inert. Of course we have to wait to get a 'blast window' opened up, which on prior missions has taken hours. As we are sitting there waiting, watching the gaggle of higher ups walk around in the vicinity of this thing, the Robot crosses in front of where this thing is aimed, and it goes off.
The explosion caught me off guard, but did not startle me. It wouldn't be the first time EOD just blew something up without telling anyone they were going to do it. As the explosion occurred, and the fireball went up in the air, and black smoke plagued the sky. And even as the shock wave was felt through the truck, smacking the bottom of my feet pushing past my body, I could only concentrate on one thing. A black object spinning and bouncing across the street into a ditch and out of sight. It was the Robot.
I watched EOD clear the site for secondary devices and then finally recover the tracks, which sat near the explosion site, of the now two pieced Robot. Everyone but the Robot was fine, thanks to some handy work by the local Iraqi Police. So, occasionally, thanks.
"You're going to have to call the Robot's family."
"Roger, the Robot didn't make it."
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