Today
is the Feast of St Ignatius, July 31, 2013
Reading
it today made me think back to the issues we faced that summer. Sadaam had been
driven from power but not yet captured.
Decisions were made by the Coalition Provisional Authority, largely US
military and diplomats. The political situation that later morphed into sectorial
violence was still in the future and not foreseen as a matter of great
concern.
It is
too early by far to answer so many questions that rightfully will be dealt with
by historians. The happenings which I wrote about that day are simply a mirror
into one day in that conflict as seen through my eyes.
31 July 2003
On the Feast Day of St Ignatius,
Amara, Iraq, close to the Iranian border.
Ignatius told us to be in service for others; I think we met
that test today. What was starting out to be a "normal day at the office”
in Amara turned out to be anything but that.
British Intel advised us early in the morning that there
were several hundred refugees on or near the border with Iran in a very
isolated area.
We filled all available space in our transport with bottled
water, joined our two vehicles with two British Armored vehicles and about an
hour later and having traveled through the most in-hospitable areas we arrived
at what only can be described as a copy of Ft Zindernuff from Beau Geste.
Much like the opening scene from the movie it was deserted but
had not long in the past been the border control point for the Iraqi forces and
later for squatter refugees.
There was a scribbled Arabic message dated from a few days ago
asking for God’s help. I hope he heard it.
We climbed to the crenellated parapets and used binoculars to
stare at the Iranians about 500 m away. It
was just like my experience years back at the Berlin Wall – they
stared back at us.
Funny in a way until realizing there were armed British soldiers
in our party, the equally well armed Iranians began to wave flags and other
gestures to demonstrate that they had no sense of humor.
This picture shows me with Sgt Major and the fort over my right shoulder is in Iran and an identical fort. Such are border areas in the post-Iraqi army period. Largely unpopulated, the British Armored Division, Blues and Royals, patrol but the border is long.
One has to wonder what
matter of folk cross unimpeded from Iran and for what purpose.
Not wishing to push the matter further, we re-boarded the
vehicles and withdrew out of site of the Iranians. I took one of our civilian
cars and went forward with and a civilian driver / translator (Farsi speaking)
to see if they would be reasonable; they were not so it appeared that all had
been in vain and once again we left the border area.
A few miles up road we came across four Iranians who said they
were religious refugees heading to Kabala. One claimed to be from Qerta in
Pakistan and another from Khormamabad in Iran. He was most impressed when I
told him I had visited the clinic there (25 years ago I think).
They drank water copiously and told us there were refugees
hiding in the hills a few miles back up the ravine. The lead army vehicle along
with and one of mine drove forward to recon and as we crossed a dried stream
bed, there they were: hundreds of them. Suddenly it was as if they all knew we
were there and they descended on us.
The Major ordered me to stay with him and Sergeant Major so we
could sort out the sick from the dying. Some were terribly dehydrated but
responded quickly to fluids and to a mist of cold water from a pump gadget I
had bought in St Pete that until then had been the object of laughter! Nothing
like a spray of fine cold mist on a parched face – got me kissed by a variety
of scratchy-faced old men!
We had sent one vehicle back to round up transport of
cars, lorries and whatever we could find and when they came we trucked everyone
out of the ravines down to an oasis whose Sheikh generously let them stay
(after accepting a little financial encouragement from us).
Under a tree and next to a muddy rivulet I held an impromptu emergency sick call.
One chap thought he had broken his leg and I mused how funny it
would be to call on my satellite phone to my old roommate, an orthopopd from
Princeton, and let him consult. Gratefully, I came to the conclusion it was not
broken and the magic spray again did its job. Miraculously someone in our party
had powdered Gatorade and the result of that to some of the elderly was
amazing. Kudos to the U of Florida Pharmacy School for developing it though I
bet they never guessed this use.
Horribly, the people we had found out told us that bandits
in the hills had taken all their money –amazing that people will rob refugees
but they are the most vulnerable. We left them with all the water and a few
dollars and the promise from the Sheikh – and a lot of prayers from me last
night.
Amazingly the column commander said that the Household
Cavalry and the Light Dragoons had discovered a swimming hole not far from
where we were –a spring fed paradise with cool water. He had the GPS
coordinates. Off we went, my Iraqi driver thinking we had all become victims of
the heat and the Brits and me hoping that this was not a joke.
The heat shimmering off the desert floor and there it was!
Stripping down, boots off, diving in – what an amazing feeling –
in the middle of nowhere – swimming in the most refreshingly cool water that there
was on this planet. Surreal!
We left Sgt Major on top with a rope to get us out and then
later switched him with another noncom.
I will never forget it and God bless the Household Cavalry – I
owe them a beer.
I thought for a moment what a paradigm shift it is for them to
be riding on horseback next to HM the Queen one day and permanently patrolling
a very unfriendly border in this hellish place the next.
The clothes put back on; back we came to Amara and the de jure
dinner of kebobs.
It was a good day and glad I remembered Ignatius on his day. We
had done as he instructed.
Today is Friday – it is quiet in Amara and I am at British HQ to
use the Internet. I miss all of you. Keep these people in your prayers.
A.M.D.G.
Thomas
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