Hi Everyone!!
As some of you know, I have a dear friend who is a chaplain stationed in Traq whom I send supplies and plenty of cigars. I hear from him every couple of months and usually share his letters to let people in on the "real story". I am also going to post some pictures. I'm not religious at all, but I can't help feeling for all our guys over their and their families and hope we can all learn a little from their sacrafices. Take Care, Cookie
My dear brother monks, family and friends, 15 Nov 2004
The operation in Fallujah has just begun, and the mood here on base is tense. We are bracing for high numbers of casualties, expecting the worst but praying for the best. Fallujah is only a few miles from us, and we can hear distant booms as well as some close rockets--one landed 60 yards away. The enemy is trying everything they can to intimidate us, as they also do with the local Iraqis in increasing numbers. I'm reading General Tommy Franks' autobiography now, about his time in Vietnam. It's weird--the same helos used in Vietnam are still being used here, and mortars are going off around us here much as they did in that time-just as I'm reading about it.
Our tent is next to the airfield, and very often through the night, we hear helos, planes and jets taking off at all hours. It gets pretty loud, and some of the 10 guys in my tent, unbelievably, sleep through it. During the day, too, machines are constantly flying overhead, on rescue missions most often. Many times they are flying our wounded and enemy wounded to higher care units. It's ironic that we transport the enemy, given the fact that they have just tried to blow us up, sometimes succeeding. Ironic, especially, when our birds are getting shot at trying to save an enemy's life. Even though it's emotionally difficult for the docs and pilots to work caring for the enemy, they do so with every consideration and effort they can, as if they were caring for one of our own. Al Jazeera (sp?) television, of course, (because of death threats) never reports our efforts, never mind our own media's reporting.
We have a program in which we videotape the Marines reading a children's book to their kids, then they mail the videos home. They are reading in the room next to mine, and with plywood walls, I hear most of it. It is touching to hear some of these guys, especially the higher ranks, quite tough on the outside, reading with such childlike simplicity and gentleness to their kids. Some of them as they sign off, through tears, tell their kids to be good, that they miss them, etc. Tough to be away from home for them. One told me recently he lost it on the phone when his little 4-year old said, "Daddy, it's time for you to come home now. You've been gone long enough."
18 Nov
The wounded have been streaming into our SSTP tents (hospital). We've all been pushed pretty hard with long hours, difficult situations, etc. The docs have been doing surgeries sometimes non-stop for hours on end. At times we've had as many as 15 wounded come in at once. My fellow chaplains have been an inspiration, and we work together very well. We first find out the religious preference, if we can. Some wounded have no ID on them as they've been stripped of clothes and gear on the scene of the injury in order to check all of their wounds, and sometimes they arrive here unconscious. We chaplains quickly tell each other, "This one's Protestant, this one's Catholic, Buddhist, or no-preference," etc. Then we tend to our own faith groups as best we can. Of course, though, we are not limited to our faith group. I've anointed many men who were not Catholic, yet requesting anointing. The Holy Spirit has not been lacking for people to strengthen! One Marine told me, "I'm Wiccan, sir," and then quickly and anxiously added, "but my parents are Catholic." I had to smile. We all take turns going to chow, or if it's too busy, chow is brought to us. Sometimes it tastes better when you're really hungry!
I have so many memories of these guys on the gurneys, on the operating tables, in the wards. Often, the wounded who arrive are from the same unit, and they've grown very close to each other. One night, two wounded came in and were taken to separate tents for prelim exams. (Often the chaplain acts as a messenger between two or more of them, as they are constantly asking how their buddies are doing.) As one of them was being carried into the surgery tent, he was carried right by his buddy's stretcher. They stretched out their arms and grasped each others' fingers as they passed, so the stretcher bearers paused for a couple of seconds: "Sergeant, how ya doin?" "Hey man, good, you?" "Good, Sergeant. Sergeant, I'm with ya, I'm right here with ya. Good luck in there." "Hey, thanks, you, too, Corporal, you're gonna be fine, see ya in a few." Their fingers let go and off he went. These scenes happen time and again, with variations.
One night I was called to the hospital tents for incoming, then 5 seconds later the Mortuary called-two "angels' bodies" to bless. I hurried first to the surgery tent, where a Catholic Marine officer was in prep for a fairly serious operation to remove some large shrapnel from his shoulder and legs. He was already grieving, as he had seen two of his Marines blown up in front of him. I anointed him and told him I would be back shortly. I rushed to the Mortuary, a gruesome scene every time, but this time particularly so. They were both Catholic. As they normally do, the crew there all joined me in praying the Prayers for the Dead, then we sprinkled the men with holy water. When I got back to medical, the injured officer was in the recovery ward with three enlisted from his unit who had carried the KIA out of the kill zone. Most were Catholic, and so we prayed together a decade of the rosary, then spontaneous prayer the likes of which I have seldom heard. It was most moving to me, inspiring, and in a wonderful way, hopeful. In the midst of their great sadness, their faith in eternal life still shone through. Sometimes I wonder, given those same circumstances, if my faith would be that strong. I think so, but I don't know. I hope so.
Another patient: blond headed kid, shot, in operation over 2 hours. Thinking he was stabilized and good to go, I left as they were stitching him up, preparing to medevac him to a base with a higher echelon of care. A messenger came less than an hour later. Despite the surgeons' desperate attempts, his bleeding had continued, and he had died. (There are more medical details, but in respect to his family, possibly reading this, they are not noted here.) That was an especially difficult one for the docs and me, since we had talked to him when he arrived (the bad ones are usually unconscious), and that connection made the unexpected death more personal. One of the docs was understandably angry, mostly at himself, wondering if there could have been anything else done to save him. There really never is, but they still question.
A while back I went on a convoy to Blue Diamond, another base. They had great chow, we could hardly believe how good, and of course, envy set in immediately! Then during Mass a mortar hit very close to the chapel, cracking with an extremely loud bang, sucking the door into a slam with the concussive wind, shaking the walls of the building. I decided the good chow wasn't worth living there, as they got more mortars than our base! There was a contingent of about 50 young Tongan military men there, doing base security. At night, they would sit in a circle and sing their evening prayers in four-part harmony. Many folks stand around in the dark near them and listen. Quite a beautiful experience. Much like the monks' singing Compline back home.
During another convoy, after we had arrived at our destination and had just gone to sleep, at 2am we were awakened to the loud noises of a firefight less than one click away from our tent. It went on for a couple of hours. One Marine next to me could see I wasn't able to sleep, either, so he asked if he could go to confession. So right there, huddled in our sleeping bags in the freezing cold, I heard his whispered confession and absolved him. Shortly afterwards, the artillery and small arms stopped, and we slept for another hour. On our way home, they were firing artillery about a thousand yards off the right side of the road over our heads towards the enemy. That was a little unnerving. Two Marines from this convoy unit 10 days later were moderately injured when their vehicle, going 40 miles per hour, hit a road barrier.
It's been raining off and on, and our tents, which are coated with kerosene for some reason, smell strongly inside just like old urine. Our tent leaks, too, right behind my rack, so I've pulled away from the wall a bit to avoid getting my mattress and me wet anymore. The weather has changed amazingly quickly. Where just two weeks ago we were sweating now we are shivering. At night the temps are around 32-35, daytime temps just in the 50s. The wind has been quite strong at times, which makes it feel much colder.
Thanksgiving Day
The "internet café" is a tent with about 40 computers connected to the internet, and they Marines use them for email, etc. Of all the times for it to be down, this week is one of the worst. The last windstorm started to blow the roof off of the computer tent, so it was condemned and another is being built. The AT&T phones were down, too. Makes it hard for folks. We've not received any mortar attacks for almost 10 days, but today just as we were headed for the big meal, several dud rockets hit quite close. Actually one hit inside the chapel itself, just 5 feet from my office chair. No one was around at the time. But it has became the talk of the base. We were a little more thankful than normal at the meal, I'd say. The medical folks set up tables in the surgery tents, rather than eat with the thousands in the mess hall. It was as close to home as possible. We even had real turkey, vice the normal pressed meat we get. The dressing, though, was not at all like mom's or my sister Kay's, which I missed the most. It is somehow appropriate and almost sacred that we eat in the same tent where so much blood has spilled, where so much life and death has crossed our paths. We do have so much for which we are grateful.
2 December
We haven't been getting tomatoes or lettuce for the last couple weeks in the chow hall. However, the supply of bleu cheese salad dressing, which really is terrible, has never dwindled. We are looking forward to the day when we get something other than that kind of dressing, along with real tomatoes and lettuce. We come to appreciate such simple things in life out here! The hot water has been on and off in the showers for several days, and the cold shower experience is not pleasant, especially in these cold temps. Some days the water is off altogether. Today I got my first hot shower in a week, and it was so good! It's become like a game for us, finding the shower trailer still with hot water and heated air being the grand prize. The chapel has been without power for two weeks now. Sunday Masses are a test for the devoted, as it is very cold. Last Sunday we moved outside, where the sun was shining, thus warmer than inside. It was actually pleasant to sit in the sun and celebrate Mass. My office in the chapel has been without power for the last three weeks. Miserably cold, especially for counseling, until I was given a space heater and got power hooked back up today. Such luxury, it feels like. The weather prediction for next week says it will get into the 60s, but we've been duped beforeJ
My last letter home seems to have taken a life of its own. People are writing from all over, and sending packages, often with cigars. Some boy scouts made some cookies, some folks sent Christmas lights, others are sending edible goodies, etc. Their generosity is amazing. And they are all offering prayers. That is of course the best part. Our postal Marines have been working very hard lately, receiving enormous amounts of mail, sometimes 80,000 pounds in one 24-hour period. Their spirit is remarkable, always smiles on. They have to work sometimes night and day in the cold, throwing box after box into the right container. But they help bring a lot of love to us.
This week I saw another Iraqi brought into medical. He had helped us in some way, and the criminal insurgents had whipped his body to shreds. Last week one of our ambulances had picked up several Army soldiers seriously wounded by a grenade. On the way back, the ambulance (clearly recognizable as such) was hit with an IED and then again by a vehicle suicide IED, wounding several more inside. Two KIA and 5 WIA. That was very tough to take. A few days ago a little 4 year old girl was brought into the SSTP, wounded in Fallujah by the insurgents' mortars, was found by us in a pile of rubble. Her eye was shut, she was covered with dried mud, etc., and mangled hair. The enemy had just left her there, for a couple of days, we estimate. We had an interpreter here who spoke to her.
A couple of the Marine attorneys and I have become friends, and once in a while we sit outside their office with our snivel gear on, smoking cigars. I never thought I'd enjoy them, but have come to learn a few of the finer points of cigars. The smell is nice, and the company, enjoyable.
You are remembered by all of us here daily at the Eucharist. We depend heavily in like manner on your prayers, too. Let us all prepare to meet Christ!
Come, Emmanuel!
Fr. Karl, OSB
