Chapter 36: The Concert for America

July 4, 2006

The day after I got back to Anaconda Three, things began to get complicated. Major Duckworth and Captain Vernier flew in on a Blackhawk early in the morning and immediately went to see Lieutenant Southerland. I didn’t see them, but everybody knew that the captain had flown in with a major nobody had seen before. You always tried to keep track of where the officers were, if for no other reason than to get ready for whatever nutty idea they came up with next. It was universally agreed that life would be much simpler if it was left up to sergeants. I agreed, especially since I was now a sergeant.

The nutty idea theory was proved out about ten minutes later, when the word came down that Bravo Three was to report to the command post. At least we weren’t on patrol or on watch. I grabbed the guys and we headed over, to find the three officers in the largest room in the building, and not Southerland’s claustrophobic little cubbyhole. In addition to Southerland, Vernier, and Duckworth, Platoon Sergeant Levi was there, and Bix Bixley, Third Squad Leader, came in right after we did. He looked around and immediately asked, “Reaper, what’d you guys do now?”

“Feeling the love, Sergeant!”

The officers all laughed at this, and Captain Vernier answered, “I am turning this over to Major Duckworth. He will explain everything. Major?”

“Thank you, Captain. I met you guys in Bravo Three in Baghdad when you met Miss Hunter. This is going to be more of that. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m with the Public Affairs Office, and I coordinate public affairs events and USO tours, that sort of thing. I was involved with some of what Miss Hunter was involved in when her helo went down and Bravo Three here rescued her, and later on during the photo ops and press conferences later. Everybody following me so far?”

Vernier knew what was going on, and Southerland just nodded. Levi and Bixley looked at each other and gave curious looks. “We caught some of this from the guys as they came back, but I haven’t had a chance to talk to Sergeant Reaper yet,” admitted Levi.

“Well, he can fill you in later. In any case, I am here to fill you in on upcoming events, events that will involve Bravo Three and the entire platoon.” That got us all to looking at each other curiously, but before we could ask, Duckworth continued. “In three weeks, it will be the Fourth of July. Tolley Hunter will be putting on a major concert in Baghdad at Camp Victory. We’re talking network broadcast. During that concert Bravo Three will receive their awards and decorations. Your families will be flown in to be there with you.”

“WHAT?” came out of several mouths, not just mine.

“It gets better. The week before that, Tolley Hunter will be flying in here, to Anaconda Three, for background video. She’ll do meet-and-greets with everybody here, eat MREs, be videoed here, and do interviews. All this will go into the primetime special that the concert will be part of. Gentlemen, it is about to get very strange here in your little corner of paradise.” The room exploded with questions.

I simply stared at Duckworth. Our families? Here? I just felt the blood draining from my face. I shook my head and said, “Major, all due respect, but no way am I letting my family anywhere near this shithole! I’ll switch sides and join the hajjis before I let my family visit Anaconda Three!”

Southerland and Vernier bristled at that, but Duckworth laughed and waved it off. “No, they aren’t going to be anywhere near here. They will never leave Camp Victory. We’ll bring you guys there a day or two ahead of time and clean you up first. Miss Hunter is planning to visit, though, so you guys will get to meet her again. She’ll be good. She’s tougher than she looks.”

With that he laid out the plan. Levi was there because the platoon sergeant needed to know what was going on; Bixley was there because he needed to know what was happening to half his squad. In two weeks, Duckworth, Tolley Hunter, a photographer, and a videographer would fly in and land at Anaconda Three. They would stay overnight, so we needed to scrounge up someplace for her to sleep. Bravo Three was to be made available during her stay. No matter what happened, she wasn’t to ever set foot outside the compound. No matter what she wanted, nobody was going to be that crazy. On the plus side, if anybody in the place wanted to get some photos taken with her, get autographs, get some free CDs, or that sort of thing, she would be happy to cooperate. She would fly back to Baghdad the next day.

Then we got into the details about the concert. Miss Hunter was flying our families here at her own expense to participate in the concert. They would join her onstage to present us our awards. Duckworth asked each of us names and phone numbers for people who would attend. He had even brought a satellite phone so we could call home and set things up. We had three sat-phones in the battalion, traveling up and down Route Indigo, so we could call home about ten minutes every week, just like we had been able to do at Camp Custer on my first deployment. We also had access to a computer to send emails home with. Still, this was something special. We were each to call home and tell our families what was happening, and that they would be getting a follow-up call to arrange travel. If nobody was home, we were to leave a message stating that they would be contacted.

It got a little tricky at that point. We each had to come up with who we wanted to attend. I picked my parents and Kelly; since she was my fiancée Duckworth said it would be acceptable for her to attend. Gonzalez selected his wife and his Aunt Rosa. Givens picked his parents. The problems were with the other two. Riley Fox simply didn’t have any family to bring. His only family was his sister, and they weren’t on the best of terms. He suggested getting a couple of the backup singers to assist, as long as he got to pick them out. Duckworth rolled his eyes at that and said he’d look into it. Montoya was a bigger problem. PFC Montoya might have been born in America, but his parents hadn’t been, and neither had his fiancée. He had already informed us that on his next leave home he was marrying his girlfriend so she could become legal. His parents weren’t going to go anywhere near anyplace that required a passport to travel, since they didn’t have passports. The best he could come up with were his younger brother and sister, both of whom were legal, but who didn’t have passports. Duckworth promised to get somebody back in the States to figure it out, so his brother and sister could attend.

If we had gotten some grief before from the rest of the platoon, it was nothing to what we would get for the next two weeks. Everybody wanted to know what Tolley Hunter was like, and Alpha Three gave us a never-ending ration of shit. No, I didn’t get into it with Jim Bruno, but I dreamed about it at night. We simply told everybody that Duckworth had said she would sign autographs and take photos with everybody, and that from what we had seen, she probably meant it. The news that she was an Army brat herself took a lot of people by surprise.

Duckworth commented on it to me before leaving. “She’s actually going to take a lot of heat over supporting you guys, just so you know.”

“I’m not following you. Why is that a problem?” I asked. She certainly wasn’t the only performer to have come over on USO tours. I mentioned several names I had heard who had traveled to Iraq and did shows at Camp Victory. I hadn’t seen any because none of them were crazy enough to visit the front lines, but they often played stuff on AFN.

“She’s different. All those guys are country. They’re generally conservative types. She’s pop and rock, very West Coast. Most Hollywood types are not at all in favor of this war or the soldiers fighting it. I know for a fact she got some grief from her manager and a couple of producers about this. They were worried she would lose listeners and viewers. In that business, if you’re not hard-core liberal Democrat, they will throw you to the wolves. Country music and Nashville are the exact opposite. They want conservative Republicans there.”

“Huh.” I shrugged. “Might be her chance to do a country album.”

Duckworth shrugged in agreement with that.

Regardless, our impending visit from a certified superstar was about the only topic worth talking about for the next two weeks. One important thing to remember was that aside from the mind-numbing terror of being shot at and dodging IEDs constantly, and the back-breaking work the rest of the time, there was very little to do at Anaconda Three. Life there was hard and boring. Meanwhile, we had to survive the next couple of weeks, with the usual fun and games of random hostile attacks and never-ending summertime drives up and down Route Indigo. Nobody got killed, but a couple of guys did end up in the hospital in Baghdad. We were lucky, though. A couple of privates over at Anaconda Two bought the farm when their convoy was attacked at the Bend. Humvees and RPGs don’t mix well together, even if the Humvee has some extra armor bolted on.

Soon enough the big day arrived, however. Southerland and Levi tried to get us to clean the place up some, but that was a hopeless task. I mean, really, how do you dust off a place made from compressed dust? The best we could do was lay in an extra-large supply of baby wipes, and truck in a larger tanker of water the day before, so everybody could wash up. Between Third Platoon and the support elements we had out at the ass end of Route Indigo, Anaconda Three had about a hundred soldiers manning the place. The word was that she would arrive mid to late morning.

It was about 1030 when the word came down that Bravo Three was to assemble down by the landing zone. We were going to be Tolley Hunter’s official escorts during the visit. We were already long up and ready, so it was simply a matter of adjusting our armor and helmets and grabbing up our weapons before heading over to the LZ. It was a typical Iraqi summer day - bright, hot, and miserable. We looked up at the sky as we got to the LZ. This time around the Blackhawk had plenty of company. We saw what looked like a pair of Apaches darting around the sky ahead of a pair of Blackhawks. They approached and took up flanking positions, and then one of the Blackhawks touched down. The door slid open, and Levi motioned us forward.

The first person I saw in the doorway had long blonde hair tucked into a helmet. She smiled when she saw us, and Riley and I stepped forward to help Tolley Hunter out of the helo. As soon as she was out, I gently pushed her away and towards the guys standing outside of the LZ. She scampered away and we helped the rest of the people out. Next to come were a couple of camera guys, followed by Captain Vernier and Major Duckworth. Last out was an E-7, a Sergeant First Class I had met before. “Sergeant Stenver, good to see you again!” I yelled over the engine roar from the Blackhawk.

We all looked over the helo and the crew chief indicated he was good, so we all backed away. The Blackhawk lifted off and flew away, along with the gunships and the second Blackhawk. Suddenly we could all talk again. Stenver reached out and shook my hand. “Good to see you again, son. How’s the chest?”

“Pretty good considering I got shot in the heart.”

He smiled. “You’re a sergeant now. You don’t need a heart!”

I laughed at that and asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Making sure the Tenth Mountain didn’t lose what we rescued.”

I snorted out a laugh. “I love you, too. Who was in the second Blackhawk?”

“A ready team in case something happened to the first. The brass is finally waking up about these trips.”

I nodded in understanding. We joined the others, where Miss Hunter was enthusiastically greeting the rest of Bravo Three. She turned to me and hugged me. “Sergeant Reaper! How are you?”

“Just fine, ma’am! Where’s Bobby the Asshole and the Scribbler?”

She laughed at that. “Bobby and Marcy are still in Baghdad. Is that what you called her? The Scribbler? I love it! So true!” She moved on to the rest of Bravo Three, who then looked over at me.

I said, “This here is Sergeant Stenver. He led the guys who saved our bacon last month during the rescue. Be polite and don’t tell him what you really think of the One-Oh-Worst!”

Stenver laughed and told me where to head in. Then we headed over to the main compound. The LZ was simply too exposed to be comfortable hanging around in. Once we got to the command post, Captain Vernier introduced Tolley to Lieutenant Southerland. “Nice to meet you, Miss Hunter.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“Miss Hunter, here’s a quick safety lecture. We are glad to have you, really, but this is a combat zone. You never leave the command post without a helmet and armor on, and you always have at least two of our guys with you, even to the latrine.”

“Understood, Lieutenant. I know this is strange, but I don’t want to be a burden. If I’m inside someplace, can I take off the helmet and armor? That stuff is very uncomfortable!” He nodded and Sergeant Stenver began to help her out of the armor. It wasn’t surprising it was uncomfortable. Tolley Hunter was nothing if not buxom. Wearing body armor must squish her painfully! Without the armor and helmet, she looked about half her size, and very, very pretty.

“Yes, ma’am, that will be fine. One last thing. We never built this place to be coed. We rigged you up a bunk in the storeroom there.” He pointed at a small room off to the side. “It has one door and no windows. Only you are authorized entry there, nobody, and I mean NOBODY, else can go in. It has a lock on the inside and tonight we expect you to lock it. I am not trying to imply anything, but this needs to be clearly understood.”

She nodded soberly. “Understood, Lieutenant, and appreciated. We’ll leave that sort of thing to really bad movies, okay?”

As soon as she said that the room lit up. Montoya said, “Unless the manticore’s loose! Then you can help us kill it!” Everybody in the room exploded in laughter.

“Excuse me?” she said.

That required us to explain Manticore and how it happened to the Tenth Mountain Division, and that meant us. She just shook her head in disbelief. “I will have to ask my father about that one. He wanted to come along, but Mom and I told him to stop acting like a kid. I was a big girl, and you guys could protect me just fine. He’ll be there next week at the show.”

“We’ll be sure to say hello, ma’am,” I replied.

With that we began the meet-and-greet portion of the trip. She introduced her photographer and videographer to us, and explained they were going to take pictures of her meeting people and going around Anaconda Three. Nothing that was classified would be shown, not that we had anything like that. Meanwhile I introduced Stenver to the rest of Bravo Three. His troops had pulled all our asses out of the fire, so it seemed fair to let them know. After a bit, we all dined on a tasty lunch of MREs, pretty much like all the other tasty meals we ate around the place. One of these days I will find the guys who invented MREs and force them to live on them 24-7 for a month at a time and see how they like it.

Afterwards, Miss Hunter geared up to go back outside, and we escorted her around the place. She basically met everybody, both from Third Platoon and all the support guys, too. A supply convoy rolled in about 1800 and needed to spend the night, so they got a surprise treat, as well. Meanwhile they were taking pictures of her talking to people, and even got shots of her helping to unload the convoy (more tasty MREs). At one point she gave me and Riley our Good Conduct Medals, which you needed three years of good behavior to qualify for. Riley got ribbed endlessly for that, since nobody could figure out how he had stayed out of trouble for three years.

After that we took her up to the roof of the command post and let her look over the reinforced parapet to see the sights of beautiful Route Indigo and the Triangle of Death. To my mind that was the diciest part of the day, since we occasionally would get a sniper-wannabe taking potshots at us from either the town or from across the canal. If I was out there and saw in my scope somebody with long blonde hair who didn’t know what they were doing, I’d sure try to take a shot.

That evening she pulled out a sat phone and let guys call home for a few minutes. That was always a welcome change around the place. She also sat down with Duckworth and Bravo Three to go over the schedule for next week’s concert in Baghdad. The news that Bravo Three was going to be at Camp Victory for a few days, and seeing our families, did not sit well with some of the guys. Lieutenant Southerland sorted it out by informing us that when leaves started, Bravo Three would be at the bottom of the list. We grimaced and nodded in understanding.

“So, Sergeant Reaper, your fiancée and your parents will be coming? Who else is coming?” she asked us.

“My wife Maria and my Aunt Rosa,” answered Gonzalez.

“My parents, ma’am,” answered Givens.

“My brother and sister, ma’am,” said Montoya.

“Your parents couldn’t come?” she asked.

Montoya grimaced. “They could not...”

Gonzalez answered in Spanish something a bit too quick for my understanding, but I recognized the words la migra. I knew that meant Immigration; Montoya’s parents were illegals. Montoya nodded at this, and the three of them talked briefly in Spanish.

After a bit she looked over at me and asked, “You know about Jose’s problems?”

“Yeah, pretty much. I mean, he’s in the Army, so he must be legal, but I know his family stays under the radar, so to speak. He’s probably not the only guy in the platoon or company either. Not that it’s any of my business. Jose does his job and doesn’t give anybody any grief. I’ve got no business giving him grief over this.”

She nodded. “Man, I have to tell you, back home it’s a big deal. There’re people back home who would love to run everybody like that out of the country.”

Montoya did not look happy at that, but didn’t disagree, either.

I shrugged. I didn’t tell her the truth, that I didn’t really know my own feelings on that sort of thing. Did I like it when the news showed videos of people climbing fences and gang-rushing the border crossovers? No, of course not. That didn’t mean I wanted concentration camps and sending people back to starve or be killed. “Ma’am, I just don’t know. I’m just a fire team leader, not some big thinker type in Washington. Jose’s a good soldier. If his being in the Army means he can marry his girlfriend and she becomes legal, fine by me. Hell, open the Army up like that. I figure anybody who’s willing to fight for the United States can become part of the United States.” Most of the guys in the room seconded that thought.

Everybody turned in early, including Bravo Three. It had been a long day. Stenver camped out in the command post, the final guard dog of Tolley Hunter’s virtue. The CP was manned constantly, so it wasn’t like anybody could sneak in. Early the next morning everybody was up, for some breakfast MREs, and then the helos returned to take her back to Camp Victory.

For the rest of the day and the next few days, it was back to business as usual. We just needed to survive a few more days until we could get to Camp Victory for the concert. The plan was that a helo would come in early Sunday July 2 and haul us to Camp Victory. We would get cleaned up - haircuts, decent shaves, fresh uniforms, the works - and then be put up overnight. That way when our families showed up, we wouldn’t look like a collection of assbags out on the line.

What none of us were expecting was where we and our families would be living for the time we were there. I was half expecting tents, with maybe air-conditioned shipping containers for the families. Certainly, Bravo Three wasn’t going to rate anything else, no matter how heroic we were. Oh, I was so mistaken. After we landed at Camp Victory we were loaded into a couple of Humvees and driven away from Camp Victory. I was worried that we were going to be driven to the Green Zone, which would mean driving Route Irish, supposedly even more dangerous than Route Indigo. Instead, we drove southeast a few kilometers, and turned towards this gigantic building that was on an island in the middle of a lake. We pulled up in front, and the driver, a PFC, said, “Everybody out! You’re here!”

I looked around. “Where the hell is here? What is this place?”

“Welcome to the Joint Visitor’s Bureau, Camp Victory, Iraq, otherwise known as the Al Faw Palace.”

“The what? A palace?”

He grinned and hopped out, so we got out as well. I called the guys over. “Tell them what you just told me,” I said to the private.

“This is where you’re staying, the Al Faw Palace. It used to belong to Saddam Hussein, but for some reason nobody blew it up or bombed it. If you want to know how ruthless billionaire dictators live, this is the place. Now they use it as a swanky hotel for VIPs and generals. Since you guys are neither, I would guess the VIPs are your families. I heard you have people coming for a few days. They must not want them to know how we actually live around here,” he said, grinning.

“You’re serious?” asked Givens.

A staff sergeant came out of the front towards us. “Hey, ask them inside. I just work here, you know. Have fun! You’ll be eating sand again soon enough,” said the private. He waited for us to take our bags.

The Humvees drove off, leaving us to stare at the... palace? The sergeant came over and said, “Bravo Three?”

“That’s us,” replied Givens.

“My name is Dressler. I’m your tour guide, sort of. Welcome to the Joint Visitor’s Bureau and the Al Faw Palace. You’ll be staying with us for a few days.”

“This is really a palace?” asked Givens.

The sergeant grinned. “Oh, yeah! Come on, let’s get you settled in, and I’ll tell you all about it.” We grabbed our gear, and he led the way inside. “Sorry about the lack of bellhops. We’ve had to limit ourselves you know because there’s a war going on.” Inside the place was gargantuan, done in marble and gold. The lobby seemed like we could fit all of Anaconda Three inside it, including the landing pad. He led us up to a small but ornate table where a Specialist was seated. Check in basically consisted of checking our names off a list and handing us some room keys. From there we went across the lobby to an elevator and went up two floors. He opened one gold-plated door and went inside, and we all followed. “Just drop your stuff here and grab a seat.”

There was a large plastic bucket on the floor with a bunch of beers cooling on ice. “Is that what I think it is?” asked Riley.

“Yes, it is, but hold your horses. Let’s talk first. Sit.”

We all sat down on some really fancy looking sofas and armchairs. I felt like they were too fancy and fragile to support us, but they held up just fine. “Talk to us, Sarge. What’s the deal?” I asked.

“Okay, thank you. I was asked to speak to you guys, one sergeant to another, so to speak. You guys are not our normal visitors here, you know. When we captured this place, it was set up to be a fancy hotel for any generals and diplomats and such. That would mean Miss Hunter and her bunch, for instance, or any of the other USO people who visit. Now, civilians are allowed to drink in a combat zone, and diplomats are allowed also. Soldiers are not, but who the hell is going to tell a general no. You guys aren’t generals, though. Now, nobody is going to bitch if you have a few beers or whatever, as long as you don’t get out of control. That means if you would like a quiet and discreet beer right now, fine. You start guzzling tequila out on the front steps and you are up shit creek. Follow me?”

I gave Dressler a thumbs up. “Understood, Sergeant. Guys, one beer each, and make sure to offer Sergeant Dressler a beer. Anybody here gets stupid will be delivered back to Anaconda Three air freight without a parachute, got it?”

There was a rumble of agreement and Givens and Gonzalez passed around bottles of beer. I think I finished mine in three swallows, but oh my God did it taste good! Nobody else was much slower on their beers. I set the bottle down and noticed that Dressler was eyeing us closely. He was still sipping his beer. “Now you know why I wanted to talk.”

I nodded. “We’ll behave, Sergeant.” He nodded and smiled. “So, this is really a palace?”

“Yep. This was probably Saddam Hussein’s favorite palace.”

“Favorite?” asked Montoya. “He had more than one?”

“He had them all over. I don’t think many of them were as big as this place, but it’s good to be the king. Most of them got bombed or blown up when we invaded, but I think the brass were planning on keeping this one intact to live in, so it wasn’t destroyed.”

“Madre de Dios!”

“He lived here, worked here, partied here. He also tortured here, raped here, and murdered here. Homicidal maniac, you know. Sort of the reason we came over here to begin with.” He drank some more beer.

“I think I’d leave that portion out of the welcome speech when the visitors arrive,” I commented. “So, what happens next?”

“Now we try to make you guys look human again, and not like something living out at a combat outpost.”

“You ought to try it sometime,” commented Riley.

Dressler gave an elaborate shudder. “Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. No thank you! No, no, no! Mrs. Dressler’s baby boy does not need any more Purple Hearts.”

That earned him a measure of respect from the guys. “Here?” asked Gonzalez.

“Afghanistan. Nothing like what you guys did, but I developed a severe allergy to high-speed flying objects.” He stood up and passed around a second round of beers. “Go slower, this time, savor it.”

I had to smile at Dressler. He was like Riley in a lot of ways, the class clown who was actually a decent soldier. I cracked my beer and sipped it a lot slower. “You were saying?”

“I was saying, I make you human. Are those your clean uniforms or do you have them packed away?”

“These are our clean ones,” I answered.

He did a ‘Tsk, tsk, tsk!’ sort of sound. “Well, that just won’t do. Perhaps you might want a complete set of ACUs to take back with you, plus a few spares? Some new boots? Maybe some other personal gear?” Everybody’s face lit up at that. “So, let’s get you to your rooms. I want you guys to shower and shave and report back here. I will take you and get you haircuts and new uniforms, and then we can have some lunch while we discuss the schedule.”

“Sounds good, Sarge. Where do we go?”

Dressler pulled out a piece of paper from a pocket. “Private Gonzalez, you have your wife and your aunt coming in?” Gonzalez nodded. “You have a small suite assigned, two bedrooms, but you’ll have to share a bathroom. Sorry about that. Sixty-two bedrooms but only twenty-nine bathrooms. It’s a bitch being a dictator these days.”

“Private Montoya, you have a brother and sister coming. You get a different small suite, with three smaller bedrooms, one bath. Specialist Givens, you and your parents will have a small suite, two bedrooms, one bath. Specialist Fox ... no visitors?” Riley shrugged and drained his second beer. I was going to have to watch him. “Small bedroom, one bath.”

“What about me?” I asked.

“Sergeant Reaper, is there something wrong with this small suite?”

“This is a small suite? Jesus H. Christ!” I looked around. “This place is bigger than my parent’s home!”

“It’s good to be the king. Your parents get one bedroom, your fiancée gets another, and you get the third. We can’t allow any immoral behavior, you understand, not in the United States Army. Two bathrooms. Boys can have one and girls can have another.”

“Holy shit!”

“And now I bid you a fond farewell for a few minutes. Allow me to take the rest of the team to their rooms while you unpack and get cleaned up. We’ll all meet back here in thirty minutes.”

I shook my head in disbelief. Dressler took off with the rest of the guys and I grabbed my duffle bag. It was mostly empty, but I had brought it and not a rucksack in case I had a chance to get a few things for back at Anaconda Three. I congratulated myself on my wisdom. I wandered around the place and figured out the bedrooms. My folks could have one bedroom and bath, and there was a Jack-and-Jill setup with the other two bedrooms and bath. Kelly and I could use that, and we just wouldn’t tell the Army we were going to cohabitate and commit various infractions of the Uniform Code of Military Justice. I unpacked what I had, stripped down, and took my shaving kit into the bathroom. It had gold faucets! Un-fucking-real!

I showered a long time, and then shaved carefully. We shaved at Anaconda Three, of course, but probably only every few days. We just didn’t have a lot of water to waste that way. The same applied to bathing. The air was noticeably fresher when I finished cleaning. I returned to the bedroom to find Dressler drinking a beer and sitting in an armchair. “This is my second beer. Don’t bother packing your clothing. We’ll bundle it up and either wash it or burn it. We’re going to make sure you guys get some decent uniforms to take back with you. I remember what that was like.”