Of bats and men

I endured a “bitter-sweet” scene of drama last night. We are in the final week of Session E and I only had one more test to take. Here in Baghdad, the terrorists are fair-weather fighters: they rarely attack in bad weather or at night. From this assessment I’ve made it a practice to take my tests at night, when there is little activity on camp and no rocket attacks. Because the tests are timed on the computer, it would be very inconvenient to come under attack in the middle of a test.

Now, because of my job as a journalist, I have a pretty sweet working environment. My office is in Saddam Hussein’s personal terminal at Baghdad International Airport. It’s lavish, complete with a glass dome ceiling (see photo) and marble floors. I share the area with the camp’s commander and his staff.



Anyway, at about 9:30 p.m. while I was taking my test, a bat found its way into the building and was flying around up in the dome. Several people gathered to watch what would turn from a minor distraction to a major one.

The captain called entomology to come retrieve the bat. But when they arrived, they didn’t have nets or traps – only a flash light and a long stick.

So I’m sitting at my desk focusing on a question about the theme of Ephesians and enduring a scene of minor disorder. Until this point I got only the occasional “fly-by” visit from the “flying rat.” However, the guys from entomology engaged in their trapping technique, which involved turning out the lights and attempting to usher the bat outside with a bright flashlight. Some other guys decided they’d help by waiving some sticks (and one garden rake) at the bat.

So I’m at my desk taking a test, while there are guys jockeying around waiving sticks to and fro in the dark. The chief is waiving the rake and asking me why I’m not joining in the fun. I tried ignoring his question, but he just kept asking me in a louder voice. In addition to this, there’s a guy shining a flashlight around in the dome filled with reflective glass. The place looked like a disco club with a bunch of angry villagers going after an ogre. Eventually, they chased the bat out the door. I knew right when it happened too because they all started cheering like their team just won the Super Bowl. There were high fives all around and each person came to me personally to inform me what I already knew from the ruckus.

“We got ‘em Wicke! You should write a story!” Although I politely declined to cover their victory over the bat, I can’t help but love these people.

I scored my lowest grade in the class (78%) but I couldn’t be upset because it was just too comical. I’ll likely never experience anything like it again.

Image of a broken spirit

This environment is so unpredictable. Just when people are beginning to feel a little security, something happens that jars that delicate state of mind. It’s not just the rocket attacks, or casualties among our unit. Part of it is that every man who has lost his life in Baghdad – his remains come to our airfield to be flown back home. So we see all the fatalities – not just those from our unit.

We load more than ten flag-draped caskets every week into the back of a plane. We pray over them, we salute, and send them off to their families. My heart is pummeled every time. But yesterday, after sending off six more Army soldiers, my soul felt shredded.

This one was a little different. I don’t attend every memorial, but the ones I usually go to are at night, and only a few Airmen are there. This last one, however, about fifty Army soldiers traveled to our airfield to see off their fallen brothers. After we loaded them on the aircraft we gathered around the caskets for the chaplain to pray. We asked God to receive them, said Amen and then we stood at attention ready for the call, “Present Arms!”

Now a salute is always given at attention, maintaining a rigid body and stoic face. We all try to remain strong. In front of me there were four soldiers in my line of sight. They were big. They had hardened, angular faces and shaved heads – but they were struggling. The soldier directly in front of me, a man I did not know, suddenly squeezed his eyes shut. His lips became thin and spread downward across his face. While holding his salute his broad shoulders began shaking, and tears made tracks on his cheeks. His rank was sergeant. I will never forget this sight, because it pierced me; it burned its image permanently in my soul. I wept again – a usual occurrence for me here.

I know the loss of physical life is not as tragic as the loss of a soul. In the Bible God puts a much higher value on following him, than on maintaining one’s life. That’s why he calls some to die early. But there’s something about it that causes great pain to us – something that makes us fight hard to prevent it. Seeing that soldiers face made me want to do something to help him, something to take his pain. This must be why Jesus wept at Lazarus’ tomb. It wasn’t for Lazarus – Jesus was about to raise him. It was because he saw on the faces of Mary and Martha what I saw on this soldier’s face: a broken, grief-filled spirit.

But a broken spirit is the state of mind that God is closest to a person: “The Lord is close to the broken hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit,” (Psalm 34:18). C.S. Lewis agrees that war is a great evil, but he admits there are times when fighting is necessary. In fact, he suggests war is a “safer” place to die.

All men die, and most men miserably. That two soldiers on opposite sides, each believing his own country to be in the right, each at the moment when his selfishness is most in abeyance and his will to sacrifice in ascendant, should kill each other in plane battle seems to me by no means one of the most terribly thing in this very terrible world (Lewis, The weight of Glory).

From our position, the position of a rank-in-file combatant, our job is to fight; not to make policy. Ours is to be faithful to one another and to work hard for the greater good. Ours is to keep our “selfishness in abeyance” and be willing to sacrifice. And ours is to comfort those who have lost ones they love. In this way we are the image of Christ to other people.

After all, these situations force people to recognize their mortality. People here are looking for God when they otherwise wouldn’t be. Maybe this is the meaning of the proverb: “Grief is better than laughter, for sadness can improve a person” (Ecc. 7:3).

Humility: such a slippery virtue

I have a long way to go.

We, here, are suffering through one of the most challenging times in the military: A change-of-command ceremony. I know this sounds ridiculous considering we are living in Baghdad, Iraq. But something peculiar happens when a new boss comes in – no matter where you are. It makes middle management overreact to every little thing. And when middle management suffers stress, we all do.

Because of this ceremony I found how serious my vice of pride really is.

I can’t help but feel middle management places a load on the workers when they want to impress the big boss. They make promises and commit to jobs that won’t affect their day-to-day work, but it loads up a burden for us. It’s quite an insecure feeling actually – to watch someone load up your schedule who doesn’t know what’s already on it.

Here’s what happened. I was at my desk enhancing some photos and the captain comes up to me and said, “Hey Flash (my nick name), go grab the colonel’s body armor, ammo and helmet and load it into the truck – get mine too while you’re at it.” For the whole day I was pulled from my duties to meet little demands like these. Frequent interruption is painful to me. I began grumbling to myself, “Where’s the protocol guys? This is their job.”

I didn’t notice my problem until the final interruption. Later that night the outgoing boss was out-processing the base, which involves paperwork. The official duty day ends at 7 p.m. and I was at my desk focusing on my homework. At about 9:20 p.m., the captain came to me again and said “I want you to take the colonel’s paperwork up to the admin office and complete his out processing.”

Although I didn’t say anything to him, I was angry. The time I have here for homework is irregular and limited. I felt he was invading on my time, in order to have me do a demeaning task.

But under the anxiety, I started examining myself. I thought, “Isn’t service like this what our whole philosophy as Christians stands for? Why do I have such a problem with what is asked of me? Instead of jumping on the opportunity to “wash feet” when it comes, I get angry at being interrupted.” Jesus was interrupted frequently.

Even more convicting is this: the man I was being asked to serve is actually my better in all areas: age, rank, education, experience and income. Even the captain surpasses me in all these. If I struggle serving those above me, how can I expect to do as the Lord commanded, and serve those under me?

In my self defense, I began recalling past times where I served people I “outranked” socially, without internal protest. This resulted in my horror.

A day in the life at Baghdad International Airport

I’ve been here a little over two weeks now, which is long enough for me to explain life here. The most eye-opening detail is the rocket and mortar attacks. Although there is no pattern, we average about three attacks a week, and each attack consists of two to four rockets/mortars. (For those who don’t know the difference, rockets are engine propelled and mortars are shot like a gun at an upward angle. They arch and fall back to the ground. Both explode with shrapnel – see shrapnel in photo below).



A few days ago, a rocket hit the building I was in. It was about 20 meters from where I was sitting and knocked about 200 pounds of concrete to the floor. I nearly had to change my underwear – and my ears rang for a while. Thankfully, our building is reinforced with concrete all around. But there was still a big hole right through the ceiling. The rocket exploded on the roof before it punched through, so none of the shrapnel went into the building. No one was hurt – I think it’s because of my wife’s prayers. She’s is one of God’s favorites.

For those who don’t know, I’m a journalist for the Air Force. But my commanding officer won’t let me leave the compound to get any stories – he said he doesn’t want to send any letters to my wife and mother. He lets no one go off base unless mission dictates. That means it’s safe for me – but it makes my work harder. Every boss is different. In Afghanistan, my commander sent me all over the place getting great stories. Of course, with great stories comes great pucker factor (in other words, in Afghanistan there were many close calls).

However, I feel almost shameful being on the base all the time. Almost every day we get casualties, and my chest is always tight when I watch them load up on the aircraft. I haven’t gotten used to it.

It’s out of my hands though. I can’t go out to get stories, so I’m stuck on the Victory Base Complex surrounding the Baghdad International Airport. I write about the missions that happen inside, (see links at bottom for samples of my work). It’s been about 113 degrees outside and rising. It’s also dusty. Bathrooms and showers are all communal – and a long walking distance. The average day is more than 12 hours of work, and then homework, and then sleep. I take Saturday as my one day off because it’s the holy day.

The food is very good. There is a chow hall that serves three hot meals a day here (as opposed to MREs). I pulled guard duty there today. Each person has to take turns guarding the doors once a month.

So that’s my routine: I Take photos and write about what’s going on inside. I do homework. We take rocket fire. We pay our respects to those who fall. We eat well. We endure the heat. We sleep (usually). And then we rise to do it again. May God always be praised. He will deliver us when we die, be it in Iraq or back home.

Some of my work:
Airmen in Baghdad keep convoys off the road
Baghdad Power Pro: We take heat so you don't have to
Photos: Baghdad airport runway cut 3,000 feet