thedrifter
12-21-06, 09:08 PM
A Marine's Christmas in Ramadi
What are the holidays like when you have to wear 60 pounds of body armor to dinner? A Marine describes Christmas in Iraq.
WEB-EXCLUSIVE COMMENTARY
By Gary Bourland
Special to Newsweek
Updated: 10:32 a.m. CT Dec 21, 2006
Dec. 21, 2006 - Gary Bourland, 37, spent much of last year as a Marine captain in Iraq. His mission: heading up a platoon of Marines assigned to protect his unit's commanding officer from assassination attempts and the constant shelling and sniper attacks that plagued their base in the volatile city of Ramadi. He and his platoon ran about 200 high-risk convoys in and out of the area. Bourland, now a major, returned to his wife and two young daughters in Mount Vernon, Va., last March. But as the New Year approaches, there are more than 140,000 deployed servicemen and -women who will be spending their holidays in Iraq. And while it may be impossible for civilians to fully understand what life is like in a combat zone, we asked Major Bourland to write about his Christmas in Ramadi last year.
Christmas Eve, 2005: We were sitting outside our bunkers enjoying a stoagie and trying to watch a movie. There were about 45 of us. The excitement began just as the movie started. A guard post called out to say that they had aggressors moving toward our perimeter wall. I heard a single pop out to the Northeast, then the shooting began. AK-47s and M-16 machine guns rang out close by as our guys exchanged fire with the enemy. Illumes shot into the sky. (Illume is a slang term used for illumination mortar rounds that are used by both sides to turn the night into daytime.) It was quiet again until another illume went up and there was more shooting. But this time, we could hear one of our M-240G medium machine guns open up and begin to mow down the would-be attackers. Our M-16s continued to pick off dark shadows in the distance as the 240s released hell—easily going through 100 rounds. More illumes went up and the shadows stopped moving. At last, nothing moved any more and the night was quiet.
Later, we looked back and thought how surreal it was that we were so used to such attacks and the constant deadly threat, that we continued to watch the movie despite it all. A young kid once wrote to me asking: "Aren't you afraid of getting hurt or killed in Iraq?" Yes, I am. But you accept that it could happen and if it's going to happen it's going to happen. Why worry about it? I figure the explosives are so big, you won't know what hit you and it will be over in a flash. You dodge bullets, cheat death, spared by modern technology and reinforced steel. You take a shot in the Kevlar vest trauma plate, get knocked down and then get up and scratch off one of our nine lives from the list. You can have your entire Hummer engulfed from multiple-shelled IEDs and gasoline detonating on you, but somehow you make it because wasn't your time—not yet.
The weather in Ramadi last Christmas was like it is in our home base in North Carolina—a nip of cold with light rain. The burning trash just off the base made you think of fireplaces, except it was rubber and other nasty crap. We were still a bit wound up and decided it would help to watch some more TV, but when we turned the TV on, it blew out. Not so good. Being the Marines we are, we figured, we'd adapt and adjust and hell, we could fix this thing no problem. So, out came the screwdriver, out came the screws. Pieces fell out of the TV and I sent a Marine for duct tape. As we worked, a couple of IEDs detonated off base. It was 22:00 hours [10 p.m.] and football was starting up in the States, so Operation TV patch-up was urgent. The TV was a Panasonic 24-inch set and it had a couple of fuses in it. We replaced them, put on our ballistic [protective] glasses and then stood back. As soon as we plugged the TV back in, fire shot out of the back, small animals scurried away and a mattress caught on fire. But we got the situation under control. The lieutenant and I tried to figure out what to tear out of the wrecked TV—what wasn't needed. We began with the burnt pieces.
After working a while, we took a time-out to have some Whoppers [candies] that had been sent to us. Man, they were good. The lieutenant was feeding his pie hole and I told him: "I'll give you $50 to eat all of those Whoppers and the box they came in. " Told him he could use all the grapefruit juice he wanted to wash it down. He did pretty good at first, and then realized the cardboard box wasn't going to go down as easily as he thought, so we bailed on the idea. The TV didn't make it either. We pronounced it dead at 23:00 hours. Luckily, we still had our small backup compact DVD player to watch movies.
Christmas morning began with me sleeping in. Quiet, peaceful. It was a bit nippy out, but all in all, good. We took care of some morning tasks and then lit up a nice stoagie for breakfast. We hit some golf balls into the Euphrates River. It was great. The sentries even took cover from our slices! I went and delivered presents to some younger Marines. They enjoyed the gifts sent from folks in the States who didn't know them—mostly practical things. They simply said thank you. Those words were meant for all of you back home who send us packages. Nothing can replace the smile on a young Marine's face when you give him a gift that he wasn't expecting. Thanks to all of you for giving me the opportunity to receive that gratitude.
On Christmas and every other day, we ate in a bunker with about 60 to 70 marines. It had a six-foot ceiling and I'm 6 feet 3 inches tall, so I had to duck a lot. The building was reinforced so we could take a direct mortar hit and be OK. There was about eight feet of dirt on top of it, and five- to seven-foot dirt walls all around it. The insurgents aren't dumb. They broadcast prayers over speakers on huge poles five times a day. Their prayer times correspond with our meal times, and they weren't just praying all the time, sometimes they were passing attack times in Arabic. They knew when we would go to meals and what a better time to kill a bunch of marines when we were sitting all together?
You could relax a bit in the bunker, but you'd wear full combat gear going to eat and going through the line to get your chow. Most of us carried two weapons. You have a 9mm weapon strapped to your leg and a rifle slung over your back. And of course you're carrying 200 or 250 rounds for the rifle and maybe another 200 for your other weapon. Then there's the helmet, the neck protector, the body armor. Just the flack, the upper body protection, weighs 60 to 65 pounds. Some guys had full sleeve and leg protection, too. They looked like the Michelin man, but they were probably going to live if they got hit with shrapnel. Running was a joke, my knees were screaming. I'm not like those young guys.
At Christmas dinner, you knew when you were sitting around the table, and it was real quiet, that everyone was thinking about what their family was doing and eating back home. You can't feel sorry for yourself though. Mostly you really wanted to hurry and get it over with and say OK Christmas is done, now we've only got so many months left.
We had some pretty good food. It wasn't home cooked but at least it wasn't MREs [prepackaged food known as Meals Ready to Eat.] I took my place behind the serving line to dish out chow to the younger Marines. Officers and senior Marines customarily let the younger Marines eat first. I wore some "Elvis" glasses and fake sideburns with my Santa hat—the men loved it. Afterward, I decided to watch that "Madagascar" movie because a couple of my own little warriors back home thought I would like it. I figured if I watched it, it would somehow connect us and we would be together for the holiday.
This year I'll have Christmas in Virginia with my wife, Dana, and my children, Kelsey, 6, and Regan, 5. But a part of my heart is still with the men and women fighting in Iraq. I would drop what I'm doing and go help them in a second. I know that the Marines still out there in Iraq and Afghanistan would wish everyone here the very happiest of holidays. We are honored to be on the front lines for you. Sleep well tonight. The Marines are on watch. Merry Christmas and Semper Fi.
The gifts that Major Bourland distributed at Christmas were coordinated via www.AnySoldier.com, a nonprofit troop support organization. You can contact them to find out how to send care packages to deployed servicemen and -women.
Ellie
What are the holidays like when you have to wear 60 pounds of body armor to dinner? A Marine describes Christmas in Iraq.
WEB-EXCLUSIVE COMMENTARY
By Gary Bourland
Special to Newsweek
Updated: 10:32 a.m. CT Dec 21, 2006
Dec. 21, 2006 - Gary Bourland, 37, spent much of last year as a Marine captain in Iraq. His mission: heading up a platoon of Marines assigned to protect his unit's commanding officer from assassination attempts and the constant shelling and sniper attacks that plagued their base in the volatile city of Ramadi. He and his platoon ran about 200 high-risk convoys in and out of the area. Bourland, now a major, returned to his wife and two young daughters in Mount Vernon, Va., last March. But as the New Year approaches, there are more than 140,000 deployed servicemen and -women who will be spending their holidays in Iraq. And while it may be impossible for civilians to fully understand what life is like in a combat zone, we asked Major Bourland to write about his Christmas in Ramadi last year.
Christmas Eve, 2005: We were sitting outside our bunkers enjoying a stoagie and trying to watch a movie. There were about 45 of us. The excitement began just as the movie started. A guard post called out to say that they had aggressors moving toward our perimeter wall. I heard a single pop out to the Northeast, then the shooting began. AK-47s and M-16 machine guns rang out close by as our guys exchanged fire with the enemy. Illumes shot into the sky. (Illume is a slang term used for illumination mortar rounds that are used by both sides to turn the night into daytime.) It was quiet again until another illume went up and there was more shooting. But this time, we could hear one of our M-240G medium machine guns open up and begin to mow down the would-be attackers. Our M-16s continued to pick off dark shadows in the distance as the 240s released hell—easily going through 100 rounds. More illumes went up and the shadows stopped moving. At last, nothing moved any more and the night was quiet.
Later, we looked back and thought how surreal it was that we were so used to such attacks and the constant deadly threat, that we continued to watch the movie despite it all. A young kid once wrote to me asking: "Aren't you afraid of getting hurt or killed in Iraq?" Yes, I am. But you accept that it could happen and if it's going to happen it's going to happen. Why worry about it? I figure the explosives are so big, you won't know what hit you and it will be over in a flash. You dodge bullets, cheat death, spared by modern technology and reinforced steel. You take a shot in the Kevlar vest trauma plate, get knocked down and then get up and scratch off one of our nine lives from the list. You can have your entire Hummer engulfed from multiple-shelled IEDs and gasoline detonating on you, but somehow you make it because wasn't your time—not yet.
The weather in Ramadi last Christmas was like it is in our home base in North Carolina—a nip of cold with light rain. The burning trash just off the base made you think of fireplaces, except it was rubber and other nasty crap. We were still a bit wound up and decided it would help to watch some more TV, but when we turned the TV on, it blew out. Not so good. Being the Marines we are, we figured, we'd adapt and adjust and hell, we could fix this thing no problem. So, out came the screwdriver, out came the screws. Pieces fell out of the TV and I sent a Marine for duct tape. As we worked, a couple of IEDs detonated off base. It was 22:00 hours [10 p.m.] and football was starting up in the States, so Operation TV patch-up was urgent. The TV was a Panasonic 24-inch set and it had a couple of fuses in it. We replaced them, put on our ballistic [protective] glasses and then stood back. As soon as we plugged the TV back in, fire shot out of the back, small animals scurried away and a mattress caught on fire. But we got the situation under control. The lieutenant and I tried to figure out what to tear out of the wrecked TV—what wasn't needed. We began with the burnt pieces.
After working a while, we took a time-out to have some Whoppers [candies] that had been sent to us. Man, they were good. The lieutenant was feeding his pie hole and I told him: "I'll give you $50 to eat all of those Whoppers and the box they came in. " Told him he could use all the grapefruit juice he wanted to wash it down. He did pretty good at first, and then realized the cardboard box wasn't going to go down as easily as he thought, so we bailed on the idea. The TV didn't make it either. We pronounced it dead at 23:00 hours. Luckily, we still had our small backup compact DVD player to watch movies.
Christmas morning began with me sleeping in. Quiet, peaceful. It was a bit nippy out, but all in all, good. We took care of some morning tasks and then lit up a nice stoagie for breakfast. We hit some golf balls into the Euphrates River. It was great. The sentries even took cover from our slices! I went and delivered presents to some younger Marines. They enjoyed the gifts sent from folks in the States who didn't know them—mostly practical things. They simply said thank you. Those words were meant for all of you back home who send us packages. Nothing can replace the smile on a young Marine's face when you give him a gift that he wasn't expecting. Thanks to all of you for giving me the opportunity to receive that gratitude.
On Christmas and every other day, we ate in a bunker with about 60 to 70 marines. It had a six-foot ceiling and I'm 6 feet 3 inches tall, so I had to duck a lot. The building was reinforced so we could take a direct mortar hit and be OK. There was about eight feet of dirt on top of it, and five- to seven-foot dirt walls all around it. The insurgents aren't dumb. They broadcast prayers over speakers on huge poles five times a day. Their prayer times correspond with our meal times, and they weren't just praying all the time, sometimes they were passing attack times in Arabic. They knew when we would go to meals and what a better time to kill a bunch of marines when we were sitting all together?
You could relax a bit in the bunker, but you'd wear full combat gear going to eat and going through the line to get your chow. Most of us carried two weapons. You have a 9mm weapon strapped to your leg and a rifle slung over your back. And of course you're carrying 200 or 250 rounds for the rifle and maybe another 200 for your other weapon. Then there's the helmet, the neck protector, the body armor. Just the flack, the upper body protection, weighs 60 to 65 pounds. Some guys had full sleeve and leg protection, too. They looked like the Michelin man, but they were probably going to live if they got hit with shrapnel. Running was a joke, my knees were screaming. I'm not like those young guys.
At Christmas dinner, you knew when you were sitting around the table, and it was real quiet, that everyone was thinking about what their family was doing and eating back home. You can't feel sorry for yourself though. Mostly you really wanted to hurry and get it over with and say OK Christmas is done, now we've only got so many months left.
We had some pretty good food. It wasn't home cooked but at least it wasn't MREs [prepackaged food known as Meals Ready to Eat.] I took my place behind the serving line to dish out chow to the younger Marines. Officers and senior Marines customarily let the younger Marines eat first. I wore some "Elvis" glasses and fake sideburns with my Santa hat—the men loved it. Afterward, I decided to watch that "Madagascar" movie because a couple of my own little warriors back home thought I would like it. I figured if I watched it, it would somehow connect us and we would be together for the holiday.
This year I'll have Christmas in Virginia with my wife, Dana, and my children, Kelsey, 6, and Regan, 5. But a part of my heart is still with the men and women fighting in Iraq. I would drop what I'm doing and go help them in a second. I know that the Marines still out there in Iraq and Afghanistan would wish everyone here the very happiest of holidays. We are honored to be on the front lines for you. Sleep well tonight. The Marines are on watch. Merry Christmas and Semper Fi.
The gifts that Major Bourland distributed at Christmas were coordinated via www.AnySoldier.com, a nonprofit troop support organization. You can contact them to find out how to send care packages to deployed servicemen and -women.
Ellie