Episode 6: The First Siren
Jan. 15, 2005 11:00 p.m. (Baghdad Time)
Al Asad, Iraq
By LCpl Sincioco
Revised on March 29, 2008
Standard Operating Procedure (SOP)
The day started out like any other since I got here in Al Asad. I woke up because SSgt Ott was asking for some web page I did back when we were in the States. The web page serves as a main menu for all the various DSIDs SOPs (standard operating procedures).
I stuck my head out of my nice and comfy sleeping bag and saw SSgt Ott standing over me.
"Hey Sin, whenever you get up, just whenever, can you give me a copy of that web page you've been working on," he said.
I looked at my watch and saw that it was about 0800. My sleepy head somehow reminded me of how Serrato and I conversed back in the States.
"Like, right now, right now, Staff Sergeant?" I responded half-awake.
"No, whenever you get up," he said non-insistently.
The lack of urgency to his request worried me slightly. I can't recall a time a Staff Sergeant in my shop ever kindly requests something, and in no hurry too. I re-zipped my sleeping bag and attempted to go back to sleep.
I got up 30 seconds later. I figured, it was 0800 and I've been sleeping for about 7 hours. Plus, it was pretty important that I hand over those SOPs, since it seemed that I am the only one who had a copy of it. We wouldn't die without them, but it would just take many hours to re-create them from scratch.
Laundry
So I got up, went with Mummey and Eckert to pickup our laundry. It's a 24-hour laundry service, so we figured it should be ready. It took a while before Mummey got his laundry back, because they had things sorted out by Company. We wrote down, "8th Comm" on our laundry receipt. So when they came back, they did not know how to sort it because "8th Comm" is not known to them.
I explained to the laundry guy that we just got here a few days ago and that I'm not exactly sure which unit we will get attached to. He seemed to have perfectly understood my English, so I chatted with him some more.
"What language do you guys speak?" I asked innocently.
"I speak Turkish. I'm from Turkey," he said. He smiled, perhaps amused by my ignorance.
I can't tell between a Kuwaiti, Iraqi, Saudi or Turkish. I really hate to say this, but they all look the same to me, at this point.
"I mean, what do the locals, the Iraqis, speak?" I asked again.
"Arabic," he said.
"Oooh", I said.
"Where are you from?" he asked me.
"San Francisco, California. But I was originally from the Philippines," I said.
"Oh, so you are Filipino?" he asked.
"Yes, I am" I said.
"Salamat," he said extending his hand to give me a handshake.
The word "salamat" means "Thank You" in Tagalog (Philippines' national language). I was surprised by his cultural awareness and my lack of it. He said he has some Filipino friends.
Later that day when we were in the chow hall, I remarked to Mummey, "Isn't it amazing how much other cultures know about other cultures?" Mummey jokingly replied, "Yeah well, we're Americans. We only need the world to speak one language…ours." I knew he was just being sarcastic, so we laughed about it. The funny thing is, isn't that how some Americans feel?
Voice-Over-IP-Phone (VoIP)
After noon-chow, we headed straight for the Internet Café, which has both computers and phones. What was special about the phones is that they work over the Internet (Voice-Over-IP). The telephone was made by Cisco Systems. It's not every day you see a Cat-5 cable, as supposed to a standard telephone wire, connected to a phone.
I signed up to use a computer first since I needed to open a VoIP account, then I signed up to use the phone. I picked up the handset and it had a dial tone. I dial Vincent's number (my best friend), and it prompted for my PIN. I punched it in and the call went through.
The quality was about that of a cell phone. Considering that I was halfway around the world, and at 4 cents a minute, I'd say it's a good deal. AT&T charges 10 to 35 cents a minute, but with a crystal clear reception. So, for $5 bucks, I had 2 hour and 5 minutes of talk time in my own little room with a door that I can close. It was cheaper and I had more privacy, but it was not as clear as AT&T's. Next time you hear from me, by voice, it would most likely be via VoIP.
The Siren
As soon as Mummey, Eckert and I stepped out of the Internet Café, we heard a siren. It was faint, but it was definitely a siren. A corporal was around us and asked us if we knew what the siren meant? We explained to him that we just arrived a few days ago and that we were clueless. We had not been briefed on protocols in the event of an attack.
So, unaware of what exactly was going on, all three of us merrily strolled back to the transient tents. It was about a 10-minute walk from where the Internet Café was. We passed by Marines in their PT gear running. We passed by 2 Marines who seemed to be in a hurry. Nothing out of the ordinary struck the three of us. It looked like any other day to us.
When we got to the transient tent area, we saw that all the Marines have vacated the tents. They were all outside either in some sort of school-circle or some type of formation, getting accountability. Sgt Heilman approached us.
"Did you guys hear the Siren?" he asked.
"Barely, just the last 10 seconds of it or so," Mummey replied.
"Well, we've been hit by an indirect fire."
Eventually we got back in the tent once things settled down. An officer or a gunnery sergeant came by at some point, told us to "gear up" because we were all heading down to G2 for accountability. We gracefully showed ourselves to G2 and got dismissed. We all agreed that protocol could use refinement, so for accountability on future attacks only the Staff NCOs were to report to G2, everyone else should report to their Staff NCOs first.
Improvised Explosive Device (IED)
When I went to our Convoy Operations Training back when we were still in Camp Lejeune, I first heard of the acronym IED, or improvised explosive device. IEDs, as we have been told, are the number one killer in Iraq. Insurgents, those still sympathetic to Saddam Hussein's regime, or just those who hate Americans, or foreigners in general, would plant IEDs just about anywhere you can think of: roads, bridges, dead corpses of people or animals.
What I did not know until I got here in Al Asad is that there are non-Americans who work in this base. I would not call them the "locals" because I really don't know what country they are from. They could be from Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, or Iraq for all I know. They work in the chow hall, in the PX, in the theater, they clean our showers and heads; they do practically everything that is in a non-combative role.
We Ain't Planting No Weed
The story goes that in the same night we got attacked by that indirect fire, two base-workers were caught planting an IED on a road; thankfully, they were apprehended. I walk on the main road of this base all the time; it would be really unfortunate if I were the one to set off that IED.
Hmm, that reminds me. I'd best put my second dog tag on one of my boots, as I never know when I may need to be identified by my remaining leg! Ack!
A World of Shit
As I was told, that same evening, a truck driver who must have had a really shitty job because he drives one of those trucks that collects all the shit from our porta-johns (portable toilets), was caught with a map of our base. It would seem he was gathering more than just our shit, but the kind of shit that could be sold: intelligence. Suffice to say he was caught and now finds himself in world of shit.
Sanity Check Please
How do I feel about the whole situation, thus far? Nonchalant. I don't know what it is; maybe reality has not quite sunk in—yet. I have not been close to any of the incidents so far. Maybe when that first bullet comes flying deadly close to me, or when that first indirect fires leaves my ears ringing, maybe, just maybe, I'd wake up to a brand new realization that I am indeed at war. I go about my business as I have been taught and trained and don't run around in paranoia. This Marine's sanity is still perfectly intact, thank you very much.
Sound Check
When I was in Camp Lejeune, they would sometimes have field exercises where the artillery folks are firing artillery at night. They are in the distance, but it was loud enough that every time they fired a shot, it would vibrate our doors and windows. Sometimes, people would open their doors because they thought someone was knocking. By comparison, Al Asad is a far quieter base than Camp Lejeune compared to when the artillery folks are conducting their field exercises. The only constant noise I hear here are the sound of power generators humming around the clock.
Well that's all for now folks. This Data Marine is checking out of here.
—LCpl Sincioco
United States Marine Corps,
8th Comm BN, Support Co., Data Platoon