1st Lt Prifogle’s Blog

Part I.

0500. My alarm goes off. I hit snooze even though I know it only gives me five minutes and it is more annoying to hear it go off again then the five minutes of laziness I gain. 0505 my alarm goes off again. I have to pee, but to go to the bathroom I have to cross the street in the dark to go to the other warehouse. It’s not that I am scared; I am a woman and therefore, I am vulnerable in a dark street whether it’s in Iraq or San Diego. I have a shower in my warehouse and my Staff Sergeant has a bathroom in hers. So we both live in a world where there is a constant threat to do the most common tasks – shower and use the restroom. I ignore the fact that I have to go to the bathroom and go through my morning routine. I turn my alarm off, lie in bed for a few more minutes and collect my thoughts. What do I have to do today? Am I really still in Iraq?

Next, I get up and turn the light on. I am completely enclosed in a room so there is no light when I sleep. It feels more like a dungeon or prison cell then a barracks room. I check the fire alarm at least weekly, but there is only one exit/entrance. In the case of an emergency I would be fucked. I keep a Surefire flashlight next to my knife and pistol on my bed stand and use it to make my way to turn on the light. Once I am used to the florescent lights I sit on my bed and pick up the current book I’m reading. I try to ignore the urge to watch an episode of Lost and force myself to read until 0700 before I check my emails. I try to pretend I’m back home – back in my treehouse with no worries except the traffic on the way to base. Just another sunny day in San Diego. This lasts until 0730.

It’s now time to wake myself out of my daydream. I force myself not to look at one of the over 150 pictures on my wall and get lost in the memory any longer. I can no longer pretend I’m at home on a Saturday morning with the whole day to do whatever – shopping, Balboa Park, the Beach, Jill’s couch. No, it is now time to neatly braid my hair, tuck the ends down, plaster the fly-aways down, put on an olive-drab green skivy shirt, desert camouflage trousers and then my dusty boots. I don’t like being on time. If I walk across the street and into the office even five minutes late it makes the first hour go by faster. It lets me feel like I cheated the system. A small rebellion of independence against the rigorous daily grind allows me to think I’m in control of my fate – which I have no control of here.

I sit on the end of my bed paralyzed for a few minutes – I can’t get up and go to work but I can’t do anything but sit there and stare at my watch trying to force my body to move against its will. Ten minutes after eight my Staff Sergeant knocks on my door to make sure I’m okay. I answer it and tell her, “I’m on my way.” She goes back to the office and my body is free to move again. I put on my blouse, clip my secret clearance badge on the front pocket and string my arms through my pistol holster. The last thing I pick up is my knife. I attach it to my grey MCMAP (Marine Corps Martial Arts) belt. I walk across the street into the other warehouse that is our office space.

“Good morning Ma’am!” three or four Marines greet me eagerly with the appropriate greeting. In boot camp they are trained to always greet an officer; so whether I know them or not, wherever I go I am greeted by Marines. My Marines are almost always bright and cheery. I wonder how they kept themselves motivated. I’m curious what they left behind that they don’t let themselves miss – at least not publicly. I suddenly feel guilty for being late and having a crappy attitude. I am their leader. I am responsible for their well being. I need to take care of myself, force myself to be motivated for them. I mumble ‘good morning’ back and go to make a pot of coffee.

After I get my coffee made and settle into my desk it is already 0830 – only eight and a half hours left in the work day. Eight and a half hours until I can go home and watch Lost guilt free.

First thing I do is check my email. Not because I think there is going to be some urgent supply request, but because I know before Jill left from her firm in downtown San Diego she emailed me. Jill always emails. I don’t know why, but it’s more comforting than any other correspondence back home. Everyone else has moved on with their life, doing the things they always do without much thought of me. Sure they probably think of me from time to time and wonder how I’m doing. Jill emails at least twice a day. She listens to me complain about my job, my boss, the crappy weather. She doesn’t say anything except, “I miss you. It’ll get better.” She reminds me that everything back there is the same and gives me the most current stats of her triathlon training. She is one of the few connections to that world I can keep. For whatever reason I don’t mind her emails about everyday life. I don’t get jealous that I can’t be there. I don’t get homesick because I’m not there. I don’t feel guilty because I left. I don’t know why, but I wake up to read her emails.

Shortly after we open the shop people start coming in. They come to put in request, complain about their gear not getting here yet, try to get a ‘hook up’ from us by bringing us boxes of cereal and Rip-It energy drinks. They come to meet the new Lt. It is a constant revolving door of “customers”.

Eventually, I’ll get a call or email that I need to go to our unit’s headquarters building for whatever reason. I drive a mile there past 4 stop signs and three sets of speed-bumps. I park and wander around talking to the few other officers I like after taking care of the business.

During lunchtime I run. At 1400 I make my daily trip to the gym with our Communications Officer, Captain Cook or Achilles. We bitch and complain about the Marine Corps, Iraq, our unit, our jobs and then we make fun other people in the gym. It’s one of the few times during the day I laugh. I laugh because there are some people in the gym doing ridiculous exercises. I laugh because there are older men wearing circa 1983 running shorts. I laugh because after about five minutes of bitching we realize how trite our bitching is and I laugh because I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere in the middle of war that isn’t anything like the movies. I laugh because I am at war – going to the gym everyday.

Finally, 1700 comes around and the Marines start to clean, about half an hour later they have to swab the deck so we all vacate the office. They mop three times to get the dust and grime up, but by mid-morning it is dirty again. It’s done diligently everyday because we’re Marines and we have certain standards to uphold. It’s easy to leave unfinished tasks for the day. It will all be there in the morning – waiting for us.

I usually go to the chow hall for dinner. My Staff Sergeant, Sergeant and I are the only ones who go immediately after work. We sit and talk and usually run into our current CO and sometimes our former CO. Sometimes one of us will run into an old friend from a school or previous duty station. Al Asad is now the ‘Crossroads of the Marine Corps’; no longer Quantico, VA. When I get back to Rock Ridge, our compound, I go straight to my room and watch “Lost”. I’m now on season 3 and it’s only taken me a month to watch the other two seasons. I wonder what I will do when this season is over. I usually make it through one maybe two episodes before falling asleep each night. I doze off and wake up a few hours later. I have to cross the street in the dark and cold alone just to use the bathroom and brush my teeth. I walk back and realize where I am again, only it feels like I’m just realizing it for the first time.

At night the sky is amazing. The base is in the middle of nowhere with no cities around. The base lights are minimal so we don’t silhouette our location making an easy target. Sometimes I walk out to our back lot and look up. You can see every star in the sky. Every tiny speck. It’s this beauty that people are usually too busy to appreciate. Too complacent to care about. I look at it, no longer afraid of what could be in the dark compound. I look up and see why the Egyptians believed in their gods. I look up and realize I do believe in a higher being. It’s this moment, in the middle of the night, when I appreciate being in Iraq. I forget all my fears – IDF (in direct fire), strangers, TCN (Third Country Nationals), contract workers – all the men who carry guns. The Ugandan guards who carry loaded weapons and love it when you say “Jambo” (a common Swahili greeting). I no longer feel threatened, but I don’t feel secure either. Simply, I am aware. I am aware of the possibilities of the situation. I am aware of the stars. I am aware of the land. I am aware of the war I am now a part of.

It is not silent – there are engines and generators running – but it is quiet. The construction trucks, convoys of armored HMMWVs, 7-ton trucks and white government vehicles are all resting now. No medivac helicopters flying in to the hospital. It’s as quiet as it gets here. As I stare at the sky and the distant horizon I realize this is someone’s home. Somebody has looked up to this sky every night and always known its beauty. Someone has listened to the silence of the desert and found hope and comfort. I take a breath of the cold night air and while I don’t understand the war, I am one step closer to understanding the people of this land. The people who refuse to leave their homes in the middle of war. The people who have never known anywhere else and don’t have the capability to get up and leave this war. I understand their hope and find it within myself. Hope that I am doing the right thing. Hope that I will make it home. Hope that this world can be a better place. Hope that I am in control of my fate out here.

I go back to my room. Lock myself in and place my pistol and knife back where it goes – beside my bed. I try to sleep again and wait for another day to start, just like the last and just like the next.

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