A year of changes

February 18, 2005

Happy anniversary to me!

One year ago today, I walked onto Forward Operating Base Anvil at Fort Polk, La., with way too much gear and too few muscles and embedded with Arkansas' 39th Infantry Brigade.

I walked through a field of gooey mud, past more portable toilets than at a state fair and into the 100-man tent 3rd Battalion's Delta Company called home.

It was a sea of cots. The aroma of 100 pairs of dirty socks filled the air. I later dubbed that stench as the "infantry smell." Yeah, you get used to it.

One year ago today, I remember thinking about what this year would bring, what adventure and insight would be born from it.

Today, as I sit on the back porch of Charlie Company's building at Camp Gunslinger in Baghdad, I can honestly tell you I found adventure and insight -- more than I could have ever imagined.

And I found more than that.

I've watched 18-year-old boys grow out of their pimples and into men. They've aged in appearance with the harshness of this country. But mostly they've grown into their responsibilities.

They've spent a year deciding in a split second whether to kill someone. They've been scared to death and continued on as though they weren't.

They've cleaned up the blood of fallen buddies and then held each other up as they grieved together.

Watching and living beside these soldiers for a year, I've learned that the bond of friendship can be much stronger than I ever knew.

I've learned that infantrymen are really more sensitive than you'd ever guess. They talk openly about feelings and fears with their buddies because that's the only way to make sense of what they see and do.

More evidence?

Well, there are many heads around here that have been shaved clean for a year. Now, as we get close to going home, hair is growing back. Lt. Chris Lawless of Jonesboro is growing his in preparation for an April wedding.

Capt. Jon Stubbs of Searcy is growing his because his 7-year-old daughter said he looked "scary" with a shaved head.

Oh, there's hundreds of stories like that around here.

And I've seen men age 30-something pull pranks with their younger counterparts, bonded by that inner 8-year-old that I've become convinced lives in every man.

I've seen horrendous things that will never leave my mind.

I've laughed harder than ever before in my life.

And I've completely given up on mastering the 8-minute combat shower. Not gonna happen.

And right now, as I smell the sewage bubbling out of a nearby pipe somewhere and hear the melodies of songbirds, I realize I will never fully understand this country of contrasts.

And I'll never get used to the smell of it.

I have gotten used to the crack of gunfire that seems to constantly echo around me, many times way closer than I'd like. I hear it to the south right now and my first thought was not where to run. It's clearly far enough away. But I'm trying to identify the gun. From the sound of it, I believe it's a PKC automatic rifle, used by Iraqi police and insurgents alike.

I've got used to the infantry and fear I will miss it.

Charlie Company's house was vacant earlier today with everyone out on patrol. The halls were silent, which never happens. There's always something going on here.

It didn't seem right to be so quiet. I kind of felt lonely.

One year ago, I remember feeling claustrophobic surrounded by all these people.

Oh what a year can do.

Posted by Amy at February 18, 2005 12:41 PM