Coryell County Republican Party

Christmas in Iraq

24 December 2003 It was just another day, I thought. Just another mission. We would fly into the "Sunni Triangle" again, make a "delivery", pick up some troops, fly them to a different location, I would do my "thing" near "TQ", and not be gone more than a couple of days from our base camp. We hoped for an uneventful Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.

This region deserved our greatest respect and vigilance. We had lost 40 folks there in November and that was just the combat aviation deaths. The ground troops had a pretty bad November too. December was coropletely different, it seemed. We had a great day on 13 December 2003 , and it seemed as though luck had been running in our favor lately.

We loaded our gear on board and were "wheels up" by daylight on the morning of Christmas Eve. My portion of the mission would be different from the rest of the crew's. I am a Combat Flight Surgeon and have many different duties, but this mission was more of a "favor" to an old friend. I would be leaving them at the LZ and I would "hump" my gear forward a few miles. At my destination, I would meet my friend, COL Bob Adams. He was a Doctor with the 82nd and was as far forward as one could get in this war. I would deliver some "hard to get" medical items, help him for a while, and then I would hike back to the LZ. I would be allowed 5 hours for my task, so my timing would be crucial if I were going to get back in time to catch my "ride".

We landed at an airfield that we had all-but-destroyed at the beginning of the war. There were craters at regular intervals down the middle of the runway. Most of the major damage had been repaired, but an Iraqi contractor was still finishing repairs on some of the crater damaged areas of the airfield. There was a Civil Affairs officer waiting for us when we landed and he immediately began a conversation with the Air Mission Commander, once we had "shut down". I unloaded my gear from the aircraft and stood there debating how much gear I could shed in order to lighten my load. Nearby there was a group of Iraqi men, working on runway repairs and I noticed one of them leaning against a large presser/roller/compacting machine. I noticed, mostly, that he had noticed me. As he continued to watch me, he stopped leaning against the equipment and started walking towards me. I figured that he was just curious about the aircraft and all my gear, but I was not fond of the idea that a local Iraqi man knew I was there, and that I might be traipsing through the countryside shortly. He started a conversation with very broken English and I tried to converse back in the worst Arabic he had probably ever heard. I was able to glean from the conversation that he was a contractor, that he liked Americans and that he had been imprisoned for 10 years by Saddam's regime. I never could find out exactly why he was in prison. He told me, I just could not understand his Iraqi Arabic. Our pseudo-conversation was interrupted by the pilot who had waved me over to join him. As I approached him he said, "You have to get going, Sir, and be back in three hours." I didn't need to ask why; I just needed to get going so I said, "I'll be back in 3 hours." I quickly grabbed my gear, replacing my flight hehnet with a Kevlar helmet, left my body armor and ALSE (aviation life support equipment) vest on and slipped my rucksack on over all of it. I released the ALSE vest leg straps, buckled the waist and chest straps on my rucksack, then made sure my weapon was "locked and loaded" and that the extra magazines were still loaded and in their pouches. I had no time to waste, so without a word I headed off across the runway towards my destination, just under 3 miles away.

40 minutes later I was tired and sweaty, but at the spot intended. The 1st Sergeant was my first contact in the remnants of a mostly bombed out building. It had been cleaned up since I was last there and in the good end of the building they had sandbagged the walls and window holes and had turned it into a fine little TMC (troop medical clinic). "Where is Doc Adams?" I asked. "He's not here, Sir," he replied. "When will he be back?" was my next question. "I don't know, Sir," he started. "He was sent to Baghdad and was up there until they caught Saddam. He came back here for about a week and then they called him back. I think he is gonna stay there, Sir." "Well good for him", I quipped and then added "He deserves some hot showers and a roof over his head for a while." (I had completely forgotten about the pride of ownership that the American G. I. has when he attempts to make a "silk purse out of a sow's ear" in places like this, until the 1st Sergeant responded) "I don't know, Sir. It's not that bad here. We have fixed this place up pretty good. Hell, I bet you are wetter than we are when it rains. " He was right. The last time I was there it was late October, but still very hot. Having good ventilation was their only priority at the time. Now it was definitely winter. It was cold and rainy at times, but their TMC was now a well-planned and warm facility, and I was still living in a tent and everything that I owned had gotten wet during the last rain. Still, I couldn't resist: "I am afraid you have been here waaay to long, Top!" Then I told him that I would leave the supplies for the enlisted medics or whoever replaced COL Adams, and headed back to the LZ. I was sorry to have missed my old friend, but glad for him that he had better conditions and a new mission.

As I got to the airfield, I could see the aircraft. It was a mile and a half away still, but I had been gone just a little over 2 hours and wanted to be on time. With a "2nd wind", I double-timed towards the aircraft until I was within a hundred yards and then I slowed down to a walk. There was no one at the aircraft and I was sure it was locked up because even at that distance, I could see the red warning flags pinned in place on the countermeasure system. They were always pulled out and stowed prior to take off. I could see that the Iraqi men were finishing up as I arrived and I asked the man that I had spoken to before if he had seen the crew. He somehow understood me, and made several rapid gestures as if he was eating popcorn and he said "Al gha daa", Arabic for lunch. Evidently the crew had gone to the "chow tent" at the other end of the airfield. Knowing that it was a mile away and me being tired, I was not about to join them. I just said, "thank you" in Arabic (Shukran) and began to remove my now-extremely-heavy gear. I noticed how the wind had picked up and was really cool. so I stacked my gear up on the tarmac and sat down-wind from it to keep from cooling off too quickly. The Iraqi man looked at me and spoke. He seemed to be asking me for lunch. I just shrugged my shoulders and showed him that I had none and therefore had none to share. He continued to talk and make signs and I realized he was asking me ifI would eat today. I responded with "In sha laa" which means "'maybe", but literally means, "If Allah wills it" in Arabic. Now this word is not a formal religious comment, but more like whai people would say where I come from. More like a: "'The good Lord willin' and the creeks don't rise" way of saying "maybe". He replied back to me: "In sha laa" and they all packed up in their little old Toyota pickup and drove away.

I scrunched down and lay on the ground, blocking the wind with my gear. It was getting colder and my cloths were moist from the sweat and I just lay there waiting for the aircrew and hoping that I wouldn't get too cold. "What a terrible Christmas this will be," I thought. The combination of not being home, then not being able to meet up with my friend, our overall mission changing, now the weather was worsening, and I was lying there, on a godforsaken airfield in Iraq, cold, tired, hungry and alone. (I usually eat heavily before and after a mission but not during a mission. This was a way of not creating a need for a toilet during a mission. Murphy's law dictates that if you need a toilet in combat, it will be at the worst and most inopportune time.) I thought about my wife and how I missed her and how I missed being with her at Christmas, because it was her favorite holiday, and she was always so cheery then. I thought about my children. About how lucky we had been and how they had been such good children. Both of them had been blessed with good looks and intellect and they were growing into fine adults who would soon have families of their own. I thought about how I hated giving up one of our last Christmases together, as a family, before they are both married and gone. I actually chuckled to think how I wouldn't miss the shopping though, or the last minute rush to make sure the dinner was just right, but also, that this was really a ridiculous way to get out of it! Then I remembered that I had gotten a couple of pieces of mail the day before and that I had stuffed them into my gear to read during a quiet time. It didn't get much quieter than this, so I dug them out. I knew they were Christmas cards and one of them was from my wife. The first card was from Martha and Reggie Van Meter from Elizabethtown, Kentucky. Who were they? I didn't know these folks! I opened the envelope and pulled out the card. I was right. I didn't know them, but they knew Mike and Annie Bigay. Mike was from my Army Reserve Apache unit at Ft Knox:, and must have given them my name. In the card they stated how they wanted me to know that I (and all soldiers) were appreciated for our sacrifices. They were wishing me a Merry Christmas and didn't want me to feel alone on Christmas. What great timing! I was deeply impressed and wasn't sure if it was the cold wind or the card that made, my eyes water.

Then I noticed the little Toyota pickup coming down the runway. It was the Iraqi contractor again. He stopped his truck, got out and came towards me. My hands were cold and I tried to subtly find my pistol as he approached. I saw that he had cloth in his hands and holding it out in front of him. In a thick accent he said "Hatty Krish!" I knew that my head was shaved but had he said "Hari Krishna?" He came closer and annunciated: " H a t t y K r i s h e s!" It finally dawned on me that he was trying to say Happy Christmas! A broad smile came to my lips and I put my hands out and he laid the cloth in my palms. I could feel the warmth coming from with in the cloth and I peeked inside to see a couple of burrito-looking items in there, and then the smell hit me. It smelled great! For the second time today I thought "Great timing!" He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of water. As he gestured for me to eat, I sat down, crossed-legged and took a bite. It was unleavened bread, sort of like a tortilla, with spicy grilled lamb, vegetables, a crumbly white cheese and olive oil. It was delicious! He went back to his truck, got a bag and motioned the other man (who had returned with him) to get out of the truck. They came and joined me with their meals and sat down and we all had a Christmas Eve meal together. I placed my pistol on SAFE and slid it deeply back into its hoIster. I looked at both of these Iraqi men and said " Happy Christmas". They both smiled and replied "Hatty Krishes". As I finished this wonderful little meal, I thanked them profusely and then remembered the Christmas card. I held up the card from the Van Meters and said "Christmas". He replied "yes, Krishes" and stared at it with curiosity. It was a fancy card with gold foil cover and a stylized drawing of Arab men with turbans, standing under palm trees with a large star casting light on them. They were all holding gifts, which I assumed to be gold. frankincense and myhr. He smiled at the card, pointed and said "Iraq!" He was right. The artist could have easily drawn that picture from life, right there. that day! I handed it to him and said "Merry Christmas" he took it and said "Hatty Krishes" followed by "Tank you". I didn't know how to tell him that he couldn't have it, so in the spirit of the moment, I just let him keep it. Then he pointed to the other card next to the envelope that the Van Meter's card came in. This was the one from my wife. I had wanted to read it alone and savor it. I didn't want to share it…with anyone! But, enjoying the moment, I opened the envelope and removed the card. (I still saved the envelopes. as I didn't want anyone to get the return addresses). I opened the card slightly and read the note from my wife. Her words cheered me up completely and then I passed the card on to the Iraqi man. He opened the card widely and then we all learned that it was an electronic card and it began to play "Jingle Bells". Both men laughed and laughed and opened and closed it over and over, marveling at the card. Finally they gave it back to me and said "Hatty Krishes". I thanked them for the meal and they motioned that they had to leave. We shook hands firmly, and exchanged "Hatty Krishes" and they got in their truck and left, waving as they drove out of sight. We had only spent 20 minutes together but it really made my Christmas!

I sat there alone again, waiting for the aircrew to return. I just couldn't believe how this had worked out. That I was here, on Christmas Eve, in the land of Abraham, and Babylon and the home of the Three Wise Men. I had shared my Christmas with them and they had brought me my Christmas meal. On this day I felt that the three of us had been truly wise. We had exchanged gifts instead of bullets, pleasant thoughts instead of stones, joy instead of anger. I never found out why the one man had been in prison. It didn't matter. He is a good man, from good people, who recognized that I was a long way from my home and comforted me.

The crew showed up along with our "passengers" and we left for the next part of our mission. As we flew just 50 feet over the desert, I could see camels in a single file traveling westward, and shepherds watching over their flocks, and this scene was repeated many times as we flew onward. It was a photograph of2000 years ago, in living color. It has hardly changed since then. And I realized that I was having a glorious Christmas! Oh what a lucky man, I thought of my self. This year I spent Christmas in this Holy Land. I focused more on my family than I usually had time to do at home. I was not encumbered by having to go to 3 different dinners in one day, or having to run to the store at the last minute to get butter or ice, or by having to worry if everyone got a gift and if they liked it. Instead I basked in the joy and wonderment of my life's gifts. I have a wonderful wife, two wonderful children who now, as adults, make their parents very proud. I have many, many family members and friends who wish me well and the good fortune of having been born a citizen of the greatest place on earth. No one could be luckier than me! It seemed that everyone in the aircraft was looking at me. It was too noisy to talk and they were probably wondering why I was sitting there alone, chuckling. (I had just realized that maybe I had just had my own revelation, my own version of James Stewart.s "It's a Wonderful Life".)

I thank you all for your cards and good wishes and I hope that you all had as good a Christmas as I did.

James R. Hodges, MD
Task Force Flight Surgeon
Aviation Task Force
Operation Iraqi Freedom