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. 

Baghdad Bad Boys

By Carol Pipes

BAGHDAD (Iraq)--The sound of a banjo tuning bounces out the door of the coffee house at Camp Victory in Baghdad, Iraq. Before you know it, the familiar tune of "Rocky Top" fills the air.

Every Sunday morning soldiers, airmen and marines make their way to Green Beans Cafe for a cup of joe and a chance to escape the chaos of living in a combat zone.

A little more than a year ago, a chaplain and a Southern Baptist deacon formed the Baghdad Bad Boys. Chaplain Jeff Houston and LTC Greg Rawlings, both with the 18th Airborne out of Ft. Bragg, North Carolina, discovered a mutual love for bluegrass and decided to start a band. One-by-one they added instruments - first a banjo, then a mandolin, next a fiddle and finally a harmonica.

They started playing on Sunday mornings for the Protestant worship service at Hope Chapel on Victory Base Complex. The next thing they knew they were invited to entertain patrons of Green Beans Cafe, the military's version of Starbucks. Every Sunday after church, they entertain the troops as they sip their lattes and cappuccinos with bluegrass standards - "Rocky Top," "Seven Bridges Road" and "Salty Dog Blues."

For a couple of hours each week, the band and those around them are transported out of the desert to a simpler time and place. Sitting in the coffee shop, you'd never know that 800 meters away lies a combat zone where the enemy reminds the troops of their presence with the occasional mortar round.

"This is our therapy," said Rawlings, only half joking. "The object is to knock the dust off our boots and go back to North Carolina for a couple of hours."

Said Houston: "We have a great time of fellowship. The few hours that we play together helps us get through the week."

The group has changed over the past year as individual deployments ended and new ones began. New players are always welcome. Like most country or bluegrass musicians, the group's dream is to one day play at the Grand Ole Opry.

It might not be the Opry, but the audience at Camp Victory couldn't be more appreciative of their performance.

The Baghdad Bad Boys wind down their set with a rousing version of "Rocky Top."Folks join in on the chorus whether they are from Tennessee or not, each thinking of a place back home.

Carol Pipes is editor of On Mission.

Desert Journal: Day 2

By Carol Pipes

SOUTHWEST ASIA--Air Force Chaplain (CPT) Dallas Little has a 24/7 ministry. Little serves at an airbase in an undisclosed location in Southwest Asia. He described it as a giant Greyhound bus station but with airplanes. Every day 3,000 to 5,000 troops pass by his office on their way in or out of the Middle East theater. 

Little's focus is to provide a ministry of hospitality. "We provide a safe, comfortable place for travelers as they wait for transport," said Little. The chaplain's office is no more than a couple of cubicles, but they managed to create an inviting atmosphere. Visitors to this small oasis are greeted with hot coffee and, if they're lucky, Krispy Kreme donuts. "We probably go through 25-30 pots of coffee a day."

Little sees a lot of soldiers on their way back from R and R. For some the trip home brings more trouble than rest. "They've been in combat, then they go home and manifest signs of post-traumatic stress," Little said. "This often leads to trouble with the spouse. By the time they get back here, some wish they'd never gone home."

Little sees a lot of soldiers and marines who suffer from combat stress and PTS. His job is to provide a listening ear. "It's my privilege and my burden to keep anything they say to myself," said Little. "People come to us, because they know it's safe to come to us."

Last year, an estimated 20.2 suicides occurred per 100,000 soldiers, the highest since the Army began tracking the figure in 1980. The figure is just slightly higher than the national suicide rate. 2008 marked the fourth consecutive year that suicides have increase, according to the Army's 2008 Suicide Data report released in January.

"Last year the military had more deaths due to suicide than combat," said Little. "These guys are eye-to-eye with death. We try to help them deal with what they've seen and experienced."

It's an intense ministry, but Little is grateful to God for the opportunity. 

Desert Journal: Day 1

By Carol Pipes

KUWAIT CITY, (Kuwait)--Instant camaraderie develops between strangers when traveling to the Middle East. As I sat at the gate waiting for my flight to Kuwait City, I noticed the nods and smiles exchanged between fellow passengers. "Where you headed?" could be heard throughout the waiting area. "Baghdad." "Fallujah." "Kabul." came the replies.

I was among a handful of civilians on the flight to Kuwait. The majority of passengers were soldiers, marines and airmen headed back to the front lines to rejoin their units and platoons after much-needed R and R.

The two young soldiers sitting near me at the gate had only been home for a few days of emergency leave. Even the Army knows it's important to mourn the loss of a loved one. 

 I offered my condolences for each of their losses. Dave's* mother had lost her battle with cancer. Jim had lost a child and fiancee in a car accident. A death in the family is especially hard when one is thousands of miles from home.

They both quickly changed the subject, preferring to focus on the mission at hand—getting back to their respective units. We chatted about our destinations.

They were quite interested when I told them I was headed to Camp Victory in Baghdad to embed with the 18th Airborne. "I'm reporting on the work of military chaplains deployed overseas," I told them. 

"Our chaplain's great," Dave said. "Every Friday he bakes bread for us and always has hot coffee. He's a good guy."

It's the small comforts that make a big difference when you're 7,000 miles from home.

They were kind enough to brief me on life in the Army and what I could expect living at an FOB (Forward Operating Base) for two and a half weeks. 

My conversation with these two soldiers only solidified my reasoning for the importance of my assignment. Life in the military is hard. Many soldiers suffer from combat stress. Add to that the stress of trying to hold a family together with only the occasional phone call or email. Divorce rates among soldiers and marines are significantly high. Military chaplains have the privilege and burden to minister to these highly-trained and hard-working warriors. But how does one minister in a combat zone? That's the question I hope to have answered during my time in Iraq.

As I boarded my flight, I offered up a quick prayer for my new friends. "God, protect them and comfort them."

Carol Pipes is editor of On Mission and on assignment in the Middle East.

Names have been changed for security reasons.