Meals on the run

November 22, 2004

All we wanted was some lunch.

We rolled through the gate of Camp Taji after spending the morning with 3rd Battalion’s Alpha Company visiting rebuilding projects with just a half hour left for chow.

Lunch ends at 2 p.m.

We roared into the parking lot of the nearest chow hall — not our usual dining facility — and headed for the wash rack.

There is a row of sinks outside the front door, where soldiers clean up before going in to eat. It was busy since this is a usual stop for soldiers coming off patrol in the early afternoon. We’re all trying to beat the clock, eat before chow hall closes.

Tick-tock.

I piled fried chicken, potato salad, peas and carrots and a carton of banana milk on my tray.

Food has really improved here in recent months, not that we had time to notice today.

We’re chatting, eating and laughing, all the while ignoring the faint booms outside. But we knew what was coming.

Mortar rounds were falling in the distance, far away from where we sat.

We kept eating.

The alarms sounded and the packed chow hall began to empty. The alarms are kind of an annoying order to get to a bunker.

We looked at each other, but none of us moved — until we were ordered to, that is.

Everyone grabbed a handful of food. I still had a piece of chicken and a Diet Coke. Others took handfuls of hot wings.

Capt. Tony Stephens, a civil affairs officer attached to 3rd Battalion from Fayetteville, N.C., took his entire plate. Smart guy.

We were just about the last ones out of the chow hall. We weren’t in a hurry, you see, because they always sound the alarms after the rockets or mortar rounds fall. None were falling now.

By the time we got out there, the bunkers were plum full — packed solid with hungry people.

The non-commissioned officer in charge of the chow hall came by and told us to get into the bunkers. They’re full, we told him.

But he wouldn’t let us back into the chow hall, so we stood there, between the chow hall tent and the dirt-filled Hesco barriers that surround the tent to protect it from mortar and rocket shrapnel.

We stood there, upwind from a platter of neon yellow rat poison placed next to the garbage cans about eight feet away, and continued to eat.

Sgt. 1st Class David Malone’s radio squawked to life and Capt. Joel Lynch, commander of Alpha Company, said, “I think we need to get some ice cream after this to cope with the trauma.”

Ice cream.

How could I have forgotten to grab some of that before running out?

We debated about sneaking back in to get some, but the chow hall guy was still skulking around. I think he was on to us.

Then someone noticed Stephens eating a cup of pink strawberry ice cream. He brought everything from his tray — ice cream included.

I’m pretty sure he’s found himself in this predicament before. Either that or he’s brilliant.

Well, it didn’t take long for us to head to the safety of humvees and continue our day. On the walk across the gravel past the packed bunkers, one soldier, who asked to remain unnamed because his wife thinks he’s working in Kuwait, summed up the silliness of the day.

“Yes, I’ll have the hot wings, potato salad and two mortar rounds to go, please.”

Infantry humor. I can’t explain it. But it’s funny, trust me.

Posted by Amy at November 22, 2004 10:38 AM