Inglorious Bastards

If you look at this title and expect the beauty of Brad Pitt to be involved with the excitement and romanticism of killing Nazi's to be in the post, you will be sorely disappointed. Our story, the last three days of hoop jumping we've endured, has been exactly that word. Inglorious. Perhaps worthless and moronic could fit suit as well, but with it not being our choice or decision, please don't label us as such. But to discredit all of the Army, or at least our chain of command for the title of ignoramus-arragonous-moronous would most certainly be ludicrous. Almost as crazy as those words I just made up. You get the picture.

As rare as it is for us to actually get a mission, it is even higher up in the rarefied air to be assigned a mission that makes any sense, and doesn't endanger our lives with great publicity and a no-sense time agenda. We are still in the cities of Iraq. We are most certainly in Baghdad, which is why I laugh when the media reports that we might be reinserted into the cities to quench the sectarian violence, but I digress. Our mission, the one that should have only taken maybe a maximum of four hours, started the night of the 18th, and we still haven't RTB'd. (Return to Base)

We left our wonderful home, the haunted, burned out noodle factory in our preparation for possibly the dumbest mission I have ever been on in Iraq. The purpose, to pick up Iraqi detainees held at the notorious Abu Ghraib. We would then escort a bus load full of them back up to an Iraqi JSS close to our sector, and release them. The terrorist rehabilitation program. That doesn't sound too hard though, because all of these things are less than 20 miles away. The process, three months ago would've taken less than four hours, and no more than eight. But with today's laws, on how we can operate in the cities of Iraq, since we aren't in them, have made things a nuisance, and certainly at the very least more dangerous.

First part of the mission, our very Tour de Baghdad because it was going to be done in stages, was to reach a base not very far from us in order to facilitate that we could be set up in a better position for later movement into the Green Zone, to pick up the terrorists for release. Two and a half years of military experience allowed me to write that last sentence. We arrived the early morning of 19th, team Discovery Channel now had to wait another 24 hours until we could move further towards the center of the city, the Green Zone. The day spent at a place like FOB Loyalty, the now ghost-town that's half the size it was when we were stationed there at the beginning of deployment, still offers a wide variety of luxuries that the platoon took advantage of. Mainly it was the soft and comfortable beds and cold A/C. But three meals, to include dessert were also among the small luxuries that we no longer get to enjoy.

Night time came around again. The only time the Vampires of AT-4 are usually awake. The only time we ever go anywhere. We had to wait for wonderful route clearance. These are the guys who drive around, utilizing all of the vehicles the Army has ever made, and all of the lights from Close Encounters of the Third Kind, in order to 'clear' the roads for safe travel around Iraq. We were sat around waiting on them to drive by and link up with us. Traveling in Iraq now you must have an Iraqi Security Force escort, which we did, but it still didn't allow us the freedom of movement it usually does. Hours, literally, rolled off the clock before route clearance hooked up with us. We followed them at a sloths pace down close to the IZ (international zone), before we split off from them, and made our way to the midway point of our mission. Prisoner pickup, over 24 hours after this catastrophuck started.

The prison wasn't the easiest to find, and when we did find it our mission was supposed to be nearly done. We walked into the holding facility, down hallways that looked strangely familiar, and to the internment holding, where our 38 prize A, American killing rehabilitated terrorists waited. We searched, blindfolded, and zip-cuffed their hands together. Although what's the point of blindfolds when you zip cuff the hands together in front? We then put them on the buses for transit to freedom.

We told them to hold tight, that it wouldn't be too long. I had thought of something while we searched them earlier. These people years ago, only knew what being arrested was like under the reign of Saddam. FOB Loyalty, the grounds of the Saddam, Ba'ath Party Governments Ministry of Intelligence, used to be the most feared place in Baghdad. Where you were taken if you were arrested. Then tortured, and killed. Our terps tell us that if you went inside the walls that surround the area we now occupy, you wouldn't come out. This is all going through my mind, blindfolding, fondling, and smelling the dirty Iraqi's who reek. They probably think we're going to execute them. But as we tell them that they will be free shortly, turned over to the National Police for their release, their biggest concern is that we leave them alone with them. That they will just be arrested again and held for ransom.

It must have been a blessing to be held by America. Especially after the incident at that very prison. They were well fed, and taken care of medically. Prosthetics given to those with amputations. Inhalers and insulin given to those with asthma and diabetes. Better treatment than they probably have ever gotten in this hell hole of a country. They probably didn't want to be released, especially with the fear of now being in the hands of corrupt police.

The whole mission was one uncoordinated, unplanned chain of events. It ended with us getting into JSS Beladiyat at around six this morning. Two hours later than our target time, but nearly on time for the prisoner release. 38 terrorists, with profiles from safe to high security threat, released back into the anarchists playground. We now have to be concerned with that. Not too mention, that we are stuck in Beladiyat today, before we can ascend back up to our home, a crappy one in comparison to our last two places of rest. COP 763, where the bastards of 2 Panther live ingloriously.


Always be wary of a man who owns a pig farm...