August 07, 2005
Shifting Sand
by Capt. Danjel Bout from his Blog
currently serving in Iraq
The desert could not be claimed or owned—it was a piece of cloth carried by winds, never held down by stones, and given a hundred shifting names before Canterbury existed, long before battles and treaties quilted Europe and the East.
There are many, many types of sand here in Baghdad, and to warehouse them all under one generic word does little to explain the misery they inflict on men and equipment. In some areas the sand has congealed into vast beds of sandstone, the surface marred by deep cracks whose depths seem to swallow all light. In other areas the sand shares an uneasy coexistence with fertile soil, evidenced by stunted copses of ragged weeds. Then there is the course, tumbled, thick grained sand that would be immediately recognizable to anyone who has walked a coastline. This is the hateful grit that in a true sandstorm lashes the earth like a cracking, hissing whip. Anyone who has suffered through these storms remembers the brittle sting as the desert hungrily chews on exposed skin.
Over and above all these other incarnations are the pulverized remnants of the desert crust, the ones that clot the air with particles too fine to be seen. These shattered grains are our constant companion, ghostly clouds of dirt that are only visible in aggregate. When they do pool up they are restless tenants, spilling into the air at the slightest tremor. Even a foot fall summons a dusty halo that hangs in the air for several seconds. The effect is magnified a thousand fold when our tanks slew through this liquid earth, as they rumble by they leave a long, billowing trains of the superfine silt.
Today the wind swept through Baghdad. The steady pulse of air wasn’t strong enough to turn the air into a bone dry slurry, but it was enough to cloak the sky in a blanket of vanilla emptiness. It wasn’t a sandstorm in the proper sense, but the wan dust seemed to drown the entire FOB in earth tinged nothingness. If you could escape the kiln like heat for a few minutes the scene would resemble a foggy morning in Northern California. The same random scattering of light was at work, robbing color of its vibrancy and reducing visibility to a few dozen meters. Of course there was no escaping the heat; the masked sun still scorched the air from somewhere high above the silt choked FOB. Maybe tomorrow the air will clear…
BIO: I grew up in a great little city named La Verne, nestled in the foothills outside Los Angeles. My original reasons for joining the Army as an enlisted soldier were simple - I needed the college money. But something about serving in the Army seeped into my very bones , and rather then leave the service I went through OCS and became a commissioned officer. I'm currently deployed as the Deputy Commander of A Co, 1-184 IN, 3ID in Southern Baghdad. In the "normal" world I am a newlywed who just happens to be the proudest, luckiest husband in the wide world, a son to parents who instilled in me concepts that have served and continue to serve as my unwavering compass, and the brother of 7 brilliant beautiful siblings. Contact Capt. Bout.
