Desert Journal: Journey into Baghdad

By Carol Pipes

BAGHDAD, Iraq—Four weeks ago, I boarded a plane for a once-in-a-lifetime journey to the land of desert sheiks, Aladdin's lamp and Ali Baba. A land where the desert sands hold the history of its ancient people. A land so ancient it is considered the cradle of civilization. The birthplace of Abraham. The land where Nebuchadnezzar held Israel captive. I was headed to Iraq. My mission: to embed with Southern Baptist chaplains serving in the U.S. military.

On the way to Baghdad, my co-worker and videographer, Tim Kwiat, and I overnighted at a military Life Support Area (LSA) in an undisclosed location in the Middle East. This was my first trip to the Middle East, and I marveled at the barren land surrounding the military base. Beyond the metal fence and concertina wire, laid the desert—stretches of sand for miles, with dust clouds whirling over it.

Looking out over the landscape, I imagined Bedouin tribes traveling by caravan on their desert ships. While the sand and dust soon became a nuisance, I tried to remind myself that the dust I was shaking off my pants was possibly the same sand tread upon by Abraham, Ezra or Daniel.

The LSA consists of scores of brown tents housing the 3,000 to 5,000 military personnel and contractors who pass through on their way in and out of the Middle East Theater. Fortunately for us, we spent only one night there; other are not so lucky. I met soldiers and civilians who'd been there for days with no hope yet of a flight out of this dreary tent city.

From the LSA we traveled to Baghdad International Airport (BIAP) by way of a C-130 with a plane full of soldiers. We arri

ved before dawn and were met by an officer barking orders at us to get in formation. Formation? What kind of formation? I thought to myself as I struggled to sweep the cobwebs of sleep deprivation from my head. The soldiers formed a series of straight lines. I jumped into one of the lines, thankful that the years of marching band had paid off. We received instructions on how to claim our bags and where to find chow.

After retrieving our bags, we set out to find a ride into the International Zone (IZ). The quickest way to get there is by helicopter, but a dust storm had swept in from the west and all flights had been cancelled. Our only option was to take the midnight Rhino run. It seems the military prefers to move people under the cloak of darkness.

If you don't have a helicopter at your disposal in Baghdad, there's only one safe option and that's to travel in one of the heavily armored Rhino Runner buses. It looks like a

 boxy RV, but the Rhino Runner is the toughest bus on the planet. 

A Mine Resistant Ambush Protected (MRAP) vehicle led our Rhino convoy. The MRAP makes a Humvee look like a Mini Cooper. We traveled the famous "Route Irish," the name for the 7.5 mile road between the secure International Zone in Baghdad and BIAP. This stretch of highway was once one of the most dangerous roads in Iraq. I'd read about the white-knuckled rides and looming dangers of suicide bombers, ambushes and booby-trapped litter. Today, the road is probably one of the safest in Iraq, with U.S. and Iraqi military checkpoints along the way. But the U.S. military still takes precautions when transporting people on this road.

The security personnel gave us instructions about what to do in case we were ambushed or hit an IED and where to find the medic kits. Hearing the warnings, I was thankful for the helmet and Kevlar vest I'd lugged all the way from Atlanta. And even more thankful to be traveling with highly trained soldiers.

Within 30 minutes we were safely inside the International Zone. A kind soldier from the coalition press office picked us up and took us to what would be our home for the next few days.

Carol Pipes is editor of On Mission.