
Snow is on the ground here in Fairbanks. The brigade's command officially changed hands earlier this week. Col. Burt Thompson and many others are soon jetting off to new assignments.
By Tom Hewitt
UAF Journalism
BAQUBAH, Iraq — Shortly after entering the police station, Staff Sgt. Daniel Blalock of the 1st Battalion, 5th Infantry Regiment found himself in the embrace of an Iraqi officer.
“I knew it was going to be a sad day when we told them we couldn’t come back,” Blalock said, after he returned the hug.
Sgt. Blalock and other members of 1-5’s Charlie Company had come to the station, just north of Baqubah in Diyala Province on a mission to help train the Iraqi Emergency Response Force. The ERF, a special branch of the Iraqi Police trained for security operations, had worked with the American soldiers for months, and it was their final session...
August 15th rockets struck just outside of FOB Warhorse, the headquarters of the 1st Stryker Brigade.
UAF Journalism’s Jessica Hoffman tagged along with the Iraqi Army and the U.S. soldiers from the 3-21 Infantry Regiment investigating the launch site.FOB NORMANDY, Iraq -- Capt. Chris Hassan and Second Platoon, Charlie Company had a different mission scheduled with their Iraqi Army partners. Plans changed in the wake of an unsuccessful rocket attack against American forces the previous night.
"Jesus, that's down by Warhorse," the 28-year-old Hassan spluttered as the headquarters of 3rd Battalion, 21st Infantry Regiment radioed the new instructions.
Each of the 1-25th Stryker Brigade Combat Team's sub-commands wields responsibility over designated portions of Dilaya Province. The rockets took off from a grove less than 10 miles from the brigade's headquarters at Forward Operating Base Warhorse, near Ba'qubah.
The platoon's home borders Muqdadiyah, roughly 90 minutes north. It might have made sense for soldiers from the closer base to respond. But Iraqis call the shots on U.S. involvement since June 30, and the IA command in Diyala Province wanted the assistance of Hassan's Strykers searching the date palm grove linked to the attack.
Local police met the combined force of Americans and Iraqis shortly after 8 a.m. in a village near the Shaki River. Hassan directed his soldiers down a narrow road, bordered with mud walls on either side, toward the grove targeted for searching. As the road emptied into a grassy field, the local sheik arrived with news.
"Guys were seen escaping when the rockets were launched," the sheik explained through a translator.
Last week, Sgt. Melvin Lamb of the 1-25th Stryker Brigade walked into his classroom with an unenviable task: He had to teach a group of Iraqi Army soldiers, many of whom had never picked up a wrench, how to maintain and repair their vehicles. It wasn’t the responsibility that was onerous, it was the time frame.
He had to do it in 14 days.
“Trying to teach them everything in two weeks – yeah, that’s a crash course,” Lamb said, standing in the oversized container unit that serves as his mechanic’s school. “Some of them do have experience, but the bulk of what I get are drivers.”
With such a short time to teach the Iraqis, the American instructors have to focus on the high points – the vehicles’ major systems and sources of the most common problems. Although Lamb wishes he could teach a longer class, he knows it’s not realistic. “It would be better if they could embed with us for a year,” he said, “But their government can’t afford it.”
In fact, the Iraqi government has difficulty letting its soldiers attend the class at all, even in its two-week form. For the men who enroll, the class is treated like leave, and though there is air conditioning in the classroom, it’s hardly a vacation. Lamb and his fellow instructors teach HMMV maintenance, and though the Iraqi Army soldiers are eager, they often have a lot to learn.
“The main focus is trying to get them to use manuals,” Lamb said, adding that the Americans had their hands full translating the English-language HMMV manuals, already difficult for many U.S. soldiers to understand, into Arabic.
Despite their reluctance to crack books for answers, the Iraqi soldiers showed initiative in other areas. “They’re very intuitive,” Lamb said. “When something goes wrong, they’ll look all over for obvious problems.”
Without at least some instruction, however, the Iraqis’ eagerness can go to waste. “The first day of class, something was wrong with the HMMV, and it wouldn’t start,” Lamb said. “It took them two hours to figure out that it was in drive.”
Outside the classroom, Lamb’s Iraqi Army pupils sat at a picnic table, chatting and wearing refitted U.S. Army uniforms from previous conflicts. Kosovo, Somalia, Desert Storm, and even Vietnam were represented.
The HMMV maintenance class was valuable, they said, and they had learned a great deal. They expressed some frustration with having to use the manuals, but said they trusted Lamb and took him at his word that doing things by the book was worth their while. They had been working on the vehicles all morning, but as the heat of the day approached, they were taking a break before going inside for the four-hour classroom portion of the day’s lesson.
The short time frame made the class seem more like triage than a full-fledged maintenance program, but Lamb remained optimistic. “99 percent of the guys that go through this class are greatly improved by the end.”
It's a fragile peace, however, and one feels that it's always just one incident away from being shattered. With that in mind, senior officers here at Warhorse and around Diyala are keeping a very close eye on the situation at Camp Ashraf.
More at Alaska Dispatch.
Our posts lately have been pretty narrowly focused on particular situations we've encountered in our travels, so I thought I'd briefly recount what we've been up to since we arrived in the Middle East.
We arrived in Kuwait early Saturday morning, and were taken to a transfer base for processing and to arrange a flight into Iraq. Our processing there took almost exactly 24 hours, whence we got aboard a C-17 and flew to Baghdad. We were met there by a public affairs officer from the 1-25th Strykers. He helped us obtain our press credentials and secure transport to Forward Operating Base Warhorse in Diyala province.
While on our way to get our credentials at the Combined Press Information Center in the Green Zone, our convoy came within a few minutes of being hit by an IED, which made the situation getting into the Green Zone a bit tricky due to fears of another attack. We eventually made it into the CPIC, however, and got credentialed. Late Sunday night we flew out of Baghdad by Blackhawk helicopter - an awesome experience - and landed at FOB Warhorse.
Since Monday morning, we’ve been getting our feet back under us, and we're getting to work on our real mission: getting some stories produced. I'll keep you updated.
-Tom Hewitt
Brian’s Luddite Manifesto earlier prompted a defensive reflex in me, so I’ve decided to offer a counterpoint.
I could pick Brian’s assertions apart piece-by-piece, or hold forth on the questionable wisdom of attacking the very same technology that allows you to post your content directly to anywhere in the world wirelessly from the floor of the Minneapolis airport, but I won’t. What I’ll do instead is tell a little story.
As we prepared to leave the airport in Amsterdam, a series of bizarre delays left us stuck on the tarmac for over two hours. Brian, looking worried, passed me an email (printed out, naturally – the man doesn’t use a computer unless he has to) from the military liaison who was scheduled to meet us upon our arrival in Kuwait.
My first thought was to contact her via email, but only secure wireless networks were available. I noticed, however, that the liaison had attached her international cell phone number, so I paused the music on my iPhone and selected a local cell provider’s network. Two text messages later, the liaison had all the information she needed. I turned the phone to airplane mode again and went back to listening to music.
Try doing that from inside a plane with a reporter’s notepad or a Selectric typewriter, and let me know how it works for you.
-Tom Hewitt
All you Facebook friends out there, Twitter devotees and the like, forgive Jessica, Tom and Jennifer for their relative silence during a passage that actually warranted status updates. Look for them to fill in the blanks as soon as they power up.
We crossed the globe, passed security checks on three continents and bunked in military tents as a rosy desert dawn lit this gateway camp outside Kuwait City. The name goes unmentioned in accordance with military rules governing our embedding.
All the way the professor squashed student passions for updating their every move. Call me paranoid, but it struck me that our group, being unusual in its Alaska student involvement, invited problems from those looking for ways to embarrass the U.S.
Or worse.
My nerves began fraying when a recent article by the Chronicle of Higher Education unleashed a wave of national publicity about our embedding project. I really worried after our commercial media partners announced our departure Thursday, ignoring or perhaps misinterpreting my request to fudge on the travel dates. “Leaving this weekend,” would have covered our tracks nicely. The reporter is a friend. I was likely unclear. And I’ll never fault journalists for printing the truth.
Jessica’s dad gets ultimate credit for Friday’s sleepless night en route from Europe. It was his suggestion I prepare for this venture by watching the movie “Taken.” I kept putting it off this summer. It seemed fortuitous when I came across the flick on the list of free videos offered on our final-leg KLM flight.
The plot certainly resonated: A beautiful young woman flies off to Paris-- over her doting daddy’s objections—gets kidnapped, virtually from the airport, and soon lands in white slavery.
Stand down, retired Master Sgt. Hoffman, the entire base has her back now.
By the time we huddled in Kuwait City’s airport lobby, every stranger seemed a threat and I summoned the A-Team in the form of Mass Communication Specialist 1st Class Kelli Roesch, a Navy reservist, and her cohorts from the camp’s Media Transit unit.
We’re being issued flak jackets at noon.
--Brian O’D
This news business never gets easier.
When I first ventured overseas in 1979, traveling by way of an $1,800 settlement from a motorcycle accident and doors opened by a press card gifted by Trans World News, a basketball-sized Domke camera bag held all I needed: two sleek Olympus 35-mm bodies, a flash and my trim, light 28-, 50- and 135-mm lenses.
What I didn’t wear, I toted in a ridiculously simple aluminum-frame backpack, including a small portfolio and carefully hoarded store of hand-rolled Tri-X and slide film.
My old college friend and collaborator, Jeff Greenwald, had it even easier. A pen and notebook, items readily available on the road, empowered the writer’s pursuit of any story, anytime. Being as young as we were, his burden came from hankering to, perhaps, branch into sculpting. He often complained about the unused chisels and carving tools clanking in his kit.
The prospect journalism might someday require laptops, chargers, converters, thumb drives, backup drives, and programs to make the tools work, internet connections to distribute the results and ensure that same software keeps working — that technical frontier lurked blissfully out of view.
We’ve had time to get used to laptop screens expanding from a few blue-lettered sentences to world-opening portals. We’ve become accustomed to spinning hourglasses eating away our inspiration. We’re conditioned to keep an eye peeled for outlets in the airport. These things took over our lives incrementally; hunger for the possibilities opened trumping the tonnage and worry associated with all these astounding devices allowing us to report stories in compelling new ways.
UAF Journalism’s Iraq reporting gear cost roughly $11,000. We’re bringing a pair of so-large-they’re-hard-to-pack Macbook Pros suited to editing HD video; a pair of new Canon HG-21 camcorders chosen for their built-in 120GB hard drives; two older PCs; a trio of digital audio kits; two very cool Canon T1i SLRs—one being mine financed out of pocket--and, lastly, a Sat phone courtesy of the UA Risk Management Office.
We have to pay for the minutes. Ouch.
We’ve consulted other embeds and collected info from the brigade and soldiers we know regarding the likely working conditions at Forward Operating Base Warhorse and other places we might end up. Honestly, there’s no end to what we might belatedly discover we should have brought given today’s ever-widening appetite for news delivered in differing formats.
Those years ago in Egypt, my flash busted right off the bat. By then, Greenwald had continued on to India and Nepal, which became the setting for his signature book, Shopping for Buddhas.
Freelancing for the UPI Cairo bureau netted about $35 a week, enough to survive, but well short of what I needed for the flash I coveted at the local shop window. You make do. No one even noticed at UPI Cairo that the skinny American stringer shot everything, including portraits of Arab-Israeli peace talks and summit meetings between Sadat in Begin, in natural light. Mainly I hunted the right light, if need be shadowing the TV guys. They always brought wattage.
Redundancy and self-sufficiency is, theoretically, our mantra for this assignment.
Our savvy department tech, Jason Lazarus, pulled all nighters ensuring all hums as it should.
Our equipment list is good on paper. It rivals the complexity of an Iditarod Team’s food drop, which mushers and handlers will appreciate.
Yet, dread fills my soul.
Watching Jessica, Tom and Jennifer testing and packing gear for UAF Journalism’s invasion, I know there’s a cable missing in the pile. An ill-chosen power converter. Software poised to demand an update. Things will crap out, crash, or beep uselessly. Students are going to confront that and, if we’ve done our job back home, adapt and overcome it—as the soldiers we’re here to cover surely must every day.
“Stay tuned,” the professor said, again with the dated material.
--Brian Patrick O’Donoghue
At some level, all of us know we’re going to die someday. We do a pretty good job of not letting that knowledge dictate the way we live, and for the most part it’s an easy thought to keep out of the front of our minds.
There are times, though, when you’re forced to confront the reality – I’m going to do something that might get me killed – head on. In ordinary life, these moments usually come after the decision has already been made, on a black-diamond-rated ski slope or a moose you didn’t see crossing the road until it was too late. When going into a war zone, on the other hand, you have the unlooked-for opportunity of savoring the prospect of your death, with a dozen questions on forms you fill out asking about your blood type and your helmet size.
The embed application had two spaces for names of people to contact in case of my death. I assume the second is there in case the first person doesn’t pick up the phone. In the first space, I put my mother. No surprises there. As for the second space, I think I’ll keep that to myself for right now.
Who knows, maybe it’s you.
Unless you know one of us personally, it’s likely that you’re a bit in the dark about the fundamentals of our expedition. Here’s what you need to know to understand what’s going on:
There are a lot of finer details, but those are the broad strokes, and they should be enough to get you by. Please understand that the reason we aren’t always forthcoming with exact dates, locations, and other specifics is that the military, the university, and our families are all concerned with our safety and the safety of those around us during our time overseas. Loose lips sink ships, and all that.
What we don't have to be skittish about (and neither do you) is sharing this blog with others who might be interested. The blog is super easy to update (I can actually do it from my phone via text message!), and it will be our most reliable communication link while we're abroad. We're excited about this, and we want as many people on board as possible. Tell your friends!
We were told of our selection as embeds on May 20. The intervening months have been a blessing – plenty of time to prepare, research, and get gear together. The wait isn’t without drawbacks, though. Three months is a long time to think about the potential what-ifs, and there are a great many. The question I keep coming back to is the one I expect to hear the most when, God willing (insha’Allah?), we return: "What’s it like over there?"
I’ve tried my best to answer this question for myself, reading up on the war from the perspective of other reporters and soldiers. I’ve seen some video from friends in the military that probably treads pretty close to the edge of what the armed forces will allow their soldiers to send home. I even ran across some good photos from around the base where we’ll be stationed.
Even with all of that background material to study, the conclusion I’ve come to is that Iraq isn’t a place that I can comprehend until we arrive. I’m reminded of the first time I went to New York City. I had seen countless pictures of the Manhattan skyline, flown through it in movies, and read about it for three years thanks to a gift subscription to The New Yorker and the New York Times online. When it came down to it, though, the first time I really understood what it was like to be in New York was when I emerged from the Lincoln Tunnel into Manhattan and lost the sky to buildings so high I couldn’t see the tops from my window. I learned more about New York in that instant than in the previous 17 years of my life.
I have a feeling Iraq will be the same way, which poses an interesting question: when people ask me, “What’s it like over there?” what am I going to say?
Hi, this is Tom Hewitt. I’m 26 years old, and I’ve spent 25 of those years in Fairbanks. Unless you count trips to Hawaii when I was little, I’ve never been off the North American continent.
So how does a guy like me get to a place like this?
As I said, I was born in Fairbanks. I graduated from Lathrop High School in 2001, and studied astrophysics at New Mexico Tech for a year before running out of money and returning to Fairbanks and UAF. I stuck with physics for a year or so before I took an amazing computer science class from Kara Nance (she makes more than Alaska’s governor, and judging from the behavior of our governor lately, I’d say Professor Nance is a better deal) and switched concentrations.
I got into journalism relatively late in the game. An interest in video as a hobby led me to a journalism class taught by former professor Rob Prince. While the video aspects of what I learned were valuable, the bigger lesson I learned was that I love telling stories. I dove into journalism soon thereafter, and it feels like coming home.
My focus in journalism thus far has been a kind of three-pronged affair. I really enjoy print, and that’s where I’ve done a great deal of my professional work so far. With my computer science background, I’m also heavily into new media and the web – right now there’s no question that the future of journalism is online. Finally, I got into journalism for video and that’s still a great love for me – cutting a video story together is one of my favorite pastimes.
I’ve been writing for the UAF newspaper, The Sun Star, for the past year, and upon my return from Iraq I will take over there as editor-in-chief. I was recently elected to a position on the Alaska Press Club’s board of directors, and have enjoyed my experience there so far.
Right now it’s summer, so I have a summer job – actually a couple. I’m a First Mate at the Riverboat Discovery, a popular Fairbanks visitor attraction, where I enjoy being out on the Chena River every day and making sure that the thousand or so folks that take the tour every day have a great time. I’m also a systems administrator and IT coordinator at Information Insights, a local consulting firm cofounded by current UAF Chancellor Brian Rogers and longtime friend Ellen Ganley.
I’m tremendously excited for Iraq. I think that the thing I’m looking forward to most is all the stories over there waiting to be told. We’ll do what we can to bring them home for you.
Brian Patrick O’Donoghue
Geez. Still can't believe it myself, but the mirror doesn't lie. I'm 53.
Where does time go?
My career has taken me from photo shoots atop the Great Pyramid to interviewing oilfield workers in 70-below conditions on the Arctic ice pack, pulling 7Gs in the cockpit of a soaring F-16, eying
Bringing readers on these and other rides typifies my 30-year career as a photojournalist, reporter, editor and author.
Fresh out of school, I followed an old newsman’s advice—“find someplace miserable and newsworthy”—and broke into the business as a photo stringer for United Press International in
True story: My mother later showed around my Egypt photos to relatives in Minnesota. Studying the above portrait of Anwar Sadat, one clueless relative observed, "Oh, how your husband must have suffered before he died." My mom didn't have it in her to explain.
Weighing life’s curves, I shipped out as a Seafarers International Union wiper aboard an India-bound cargo ship.
Back on “the beach,” I branched into writing for City Paper in
My wife, UA Public Affairs Director Kate Ripley, and I have three kids: Rory, 13, Robin, 11 and Rachel, 5.
Somehow it adds up.