July 10, 2004: Missing someone special

By Capt. Steven Alvarez | Special to the Sentinel
Posted July 10, 2004

 

July 12, 2004: Mail call

By Capt. Steven Alvarez | Special to the Sentinel
Posted July 12, 2004

 

BAGHDAD -- Mail. At home it is mostly just piles of junk mail that get thrown into the recycle bin in the garage.

Somewhere in the daily paper club sandwich that is my mail back in Maitland are pieces of mail that matter: a bill, a postcard from my sister, Haidee, writing about her latest excursion, bank statements, and my magazines.

 

Everyday I pick the fliers and ad booklets out of the pile of mail that my mailman jams into our mailbox, sort of like plucking pickles off of a sandwich. You just want the meat.

Here, you crave every bit of mail. At least I do. Even catalogs. E-mail is super �?a great way to keep in touch. But there is something special about getting a letter from home. When Rosie writes, I open the letter close to my face, not because she perfumes her mail, but because for a second, I can smell the scent of our home. It's bliss. And to see her written words and her handwriting makes me feel as if she is holding my hand.

Letters were the primary way I communicated in my early days in uniform. Maybe I'm a dinosaur in that regard, but there is nothing like one �?especially from home, especially when you are here.

Two days ago, on my anniversary, a buddy let me know that the mailroom had four unclaimed letters for me. They were more than a month old. I was mad about the delay, but not for long. Opening them was a great anniversary gift.

July 13, 2004: Remembering a comrade

By Capt. Steven Alvarez | Special to the Sentinel
Posted July 12, 2004

 

BAGHDAD -- I got an e-mail today from a friend of Arthur Stacey Mastrapa. Mastrapa was a mail carrier in Seminole County, a father, a husband and an Army reservist. He died on duty here several weeks ago.

I didn't know Sgt. Mastrapa, but I knew of him. He was killed in a rocket attack; tragically, on the last day he was supposed to be in Iraq. He was on his way home, having served as a military policeman here since February 2003.

 

I have been e-mailing Mastrapa's friend the past few days. Out of respect, I have not identified her. Here is what she wrote:

"His 8-year-old daughter was in my daughter's class in school this past school year. The whole class sent him letters, books, and care packages all year. At Christmas last year, he was able to come home for 2 weeks. Of course he went right to my daughter's class to talk to the kids and show them pictures from Iraq. The kids loved it! While the kids were eating, Stacey and I stepped out into the hall and talked for about a 1/2 hour. I didn't know it was going to be the last time I was going to talk to him or I would have said more."

I don't really feel like writing anything else today. I hope you understand. I wanted to let you know about Sgt. Mastrapa, what he did here, how he died here, who he was, and that people will miss him. Don't forget him.

July 14, 2004: A shopping-free zone

By Capt. Steven Alvarez | Special to the Sentinel
Posted July 14, 2004

 

DISPATCHES FROM IRAQ

July 15 2004: Gifts for Iraqi children

By Capt. Steven Alvarez | Special to the Sentinel
Posted July 15, 2004

 

BAGHDAD -- Early this morning, I handed three boxes to a soldier from California who smiled as he stuffed them tightly into the back of a Humvee.

Packed carefully inside were school supplies, stuffed animals, and toys collected, donated, organized, packed and paid for by Central Floridians. They sent the items to me so I could give them to Iraqi children. The items are headed for the streets of Baghdad.

 

In the coming weeks, soldiers from the Iraqi Intervention Force will patrol the streets of Baghdad. In a sign of slow but steady change here, the soldiers will carry not just their weapons, but also those gifts to give to children they meet. More and more, it is kids who are greeting the Iraqis fighters as they enter neighborhoods.

These care packages have made a long journey. They first started as a kind thought, then became a call to action, and finally materialized through the efforts of Paulette Davis, Brian and Chris Caslow, Deb Holzman, Laurie Ullyot, Bill and John Mathews, Jacqui, Rebecca Callahan, and Jim Pullin; neighbors reaching out to help distant neighbors.

None of them will likely ever meet the kids who will enjoy the stuff that was sent to them. They will never see the smiles, watch the joy, or experience the fun.

But I'm here to report that because of their generosity, Iraqi children will color in coloring books, play with hand puppets, pick up jacks, jump rope, and play with other gifts from the Orlando area.

And there's something good in that, I think.

July 17, 2004: Can it get any hotter?

By Capt. Steven Alvarez | Special to the Sentinel
Posted July 17, 2004

 

BAGHDAD -- It's hot. Temperatures are steadily in the 115-125 range now, depending where you're at, and the bad thing is it will only get worse. August is allegedly the hottest month of the year here. I don't know how it can get much hotter.

A soldier I worked with in Florida traveled back to the Sunshine State on leave a few weeks ago and he said that the high humidity and 90 plus degree Florida weather was "cool" compared to heat in Iraq right now.

 

Bottled water is distributed in large cages here known as water collection points. If you're going to make instant coffee or hot cocoa, you can do it by simply opening a bottle and pouring it into a cup with some mix. The collection points are mostly located in full sun because there are hardly any trees here.

If you walk along any stretch of the many miles of "T-Wall" that has been erected to protect the Green Zone, you can feel the heat radiating from the stone, almost as if the tall stone was blowing its hot breath on you.

Every day you drink your weight in water here. The bottled water industry is certainly not going to go out of business any time soon. This heat is exhausting. I never thought I'd say this, but I really wish it would rain.

July 20, 2004: Winds of change

By Capt. Steven Alvarez | Special to the Sentinel
Posted July 20, 2004

 

BAGHDAD -- The wind here has been blowing steadily now for a couple of days. I would have used the word breeze, but that word does not invoke the feeling I'm trying to describe. Breeze, to me, means something that cools you when it reaches you. 'Wind' is more accurate in this case.

Recently, wind has swirled up dust devils all around the city. Like a blow dryer, it hits you, darkens your skin with a thin layer of powder, and forms dust rocks in the corners of your eyes. It's interesting to watch your body repel grit the way it's supposed to.

 

I've been busy with a few projects recently, hence the absence from the blog.

More and more the Iraqis are starting to take control of their country. More of their military units are patrolling their streets, looking for bad guys. The police forces are taking control of situations and using their wits, as opposed to their fists, to keep law and order. Steady progress is being made. At the scene of a recent car bomb, Iraqi police questioned their citizens and kept order. At checkpoints throughout the city, Iraqi military personnel are on watch.

Tomorrow, I'm certain it will be windy again. But when the wind blows tomorrow, it will not just bring the dust, it will also bring some good news for the Iraqi army. Tomorrow we will turnover a $96 million military base to the Iraqis--the first since Iraq became sovereign last month.

Winds of change are a blowing

July 21, 2004: Sentries on watch

By Capt. Steven Alvarez | Special to the Sentinel
Posted July 21, 2004

 

BAGHDAD -- I leave the office late in the evening, or more precisely, early in the morning most days. As I walk back to my "hooch," a.k.a. my trailer, there are a few people walking around the Embassy grounds. The Marines are on duty all over the place and they greet me as I pass -- so I'll be able to sleep tonight because they're on watch.

As I make my way to the trailer, bats fly erratically above me, chasing the few insects that dare to take flight in their nocturnal "no fly zones." Last night at 1:00 a.m., a friend stopped me as I was watching them.

 

"Is this where the UFO is supposed to meet you?" he joked, mimicking me staring upward. We laughed a bit and then he walked toward work, disappearing into the darkness and joking that his office "never sleeps."

I think for a moment about when I stood a fence (that's military-speak) in Korea. I was a military dog handler. I was 20. On Christmas Eve 1984, I stood my post in the middle of the night, toes numbed by the cold. I thought to myself as my dog frolicked in the crunchy, frozen grass just a few yards away from a rice paddy, "I wonder if anybody really knows I am out here."

The answer was clear: "No."

It was the height of the Cold War. Millions of Americans were in military service and it was probably very unlikely that anybody was thinking about some freezing, skinny, Florida kid standing a post in Korea. Besides, it was enough for me to know that my squad was out there with me, and my sergeant was looking after us.

Tonight as I pass by the soldiers and Marines who are on watch, I wonder if they have the same thoughts I did when I was their age and when I was the one on watch. I don't know. I don't ask.

But I know one thing, some people in Orlando, and possibly elsewhere, now know about these young men and women--just in case they ever do ask themselves that question.

They now have an answer.

July 22, 2004: The eager sergeant

By Capt. Steven Alvarez | Special to the Sentinel
Posted July 22, 2004

 

BAGHDAD -- The female Iraqi soldiers are working. They are being employed in the Baghdad area. Many of them came today to the green zone or international zone as it is now called, to attend a military women's seminar. Coalition soldiers met with them as mentors.

I saw many familiar faces, from my visit to Amman, Jordan earlier this month. Many were surprised to see me again and I was not able to play the tough Army officer. I walked around with a smile on my face. I was glad to see them -- one soldier in particular, Johaina.

 

She is 20, from Baghdad, and she was the best soldier in her training class at the Royal Jordanian military academy for drill and ceremony (this portion of military training pertains to military bearing, i.e. how a soldier salutes, marches, wears the uniform, etc.).

She is a natural leader. When soldiers fell behind on platoon runs, she encouraged them. When soldiers couldn't negotiate obstacles on the obstacle course, she coaxed them. When soldiers were thirsty, she gave them water, and when soldiers hadn't eaten in more than 8 hours during the trip from Amman to Baghdad, she took some food from her purse and gave it to everyone around her. She ate none. I prayed they would see her talents, and they did.

Johaina is the first female sergeant major in the Iraqi army. I tried to explain to her how important her role is and that she is the one who will make things happen for her soldiers. She ignored what I said, like most know-it-all 20-year-olds (I was the same way at that age. Who wasn't?). She said she was a little disappointed that she wasn't made an officer.

I tried to explain that I used to be a sergeant too and that it was important for her to serve as an enlisted person. It would help her be a better officer; she would know the life of an enlisted person having lived it. She acknowledged my points and then began to speak quickly, excitedly, and the translator could not keep up. Finally the translator had to tell her to stop talking. They both laughed.

"What is she saying?" I asked.

The translator responded that Johaina wanted to know when her soldiers were going to get more training. She wanted more training in weapons and in police duties. Her people needed it, she said. What could I do to help her?

I laughed and told her, "Don't look now, Johaina, but you're acting like a sergeant major."

She smiled and said, "So do you have an answer for me?"

A sergeant major is born.

July 25, 2004: A determined police chief

By Capt. Steven Alvarez | Special to the Sentinel
Posted July 25, 2004

 

BAGHDAD -- Today, I had the privilege of interviewing an Iraqi police chief from Ninawa Province. In past weeks, the chief has taken an aggressive stance against terrorists in his town of Mosul, and recently he and forces from the Iraqi National Guard raided six terrorist safe houses.

In those raids, the chief says, they captured terrorists who confessed openly to killing Iraqi security and coalition forces, and Iraqi civilians. The raids yielded a bounty of rifles, surface-to-air missiles, rockets, and grenades. Days later, while the chief's police forces worked the beat on the streets of Mosul, they discovered three vehicles on as many days -- each one loaded with half a ton of explosives. One of them, parked near a mosque, was set to explode as worshippers left services.

 

"We will not allow these terrorists to intimidate us. We are determined to capture or kill these terrorists. No mercy," he told me.

Between July 1-10, and on July 11, 17, and 22, the Iraqi people, Iraqi security forces, and coalition forces were spared their lives, thanks to an aggressive police chief who refuses to let bad guys run his town.

The chief added the "results were very good."

That's the understatement of the year, if you ask me.

July 26, 2004: Football rivalries hot in the desert

By Capt. Steven Alvarez | Special to the Sentinel
Posted July 26, 2004

 

July 27, 2004: Morning sounds

By Capt. Steven Alvarez | Special to the Sentinel
Posted July 27, 2004

 

BAGHDAD -- My roommate John already had gone through his daily morning routine. Each day this chap's alarm goes off, and he fumbles in the dim light to shut it off. His side of our small room is littered with electronic devices. I'm surprised he can figure out which one is making noise.

He has a satellite phone, cell phone, MP3 player, laptop, remote control for the television, GPS, and other miscellaneous items I can't identify. Each day, his alarms go off, each day he ignores them and each day I ask myself, "Is the penalty for murder really worth it?"

 

I'm kidding of course.

About an hour or so after John's phone alarm sounded, and he ignored it, and then tossed about his bed, came another noise. This one, we didn't ignore. It was a couple of explosions. Here, something that is miles away can sound as if it is right next to you--sort of like thunder. The sound travels recklessly without many barriers, because there isn't a lot to deflect sound in Baghdad; unlike the arboreous roof that hangs over Maitland or Winter Park, this place is like a giant gymnasium--if you whisper loud enough, somebody will hear it.

We both sat up in our beds and looked at each other. We waited. There were a few more explosions. Then silence. John, an infantryman who claims to have spent some time in Afghanistan, peaked outside to see if he could see anything. Of course he saw nothing.

We shaved and went through our morning rituals, got our uniforms on, and went to work.