Projekt
Registered
Creativity is a requirement when trying to keep things interesting while working here in Iraq. For example, I have a new game that I have recently undertaken. So far after three weeks of doing it every night things have gone relatively well except for a couple of hair-raising moments.
The idea is to go for a walk around the lake here on Camp Slayer at night in the pitch black. Forget the mandatory reflective belt or anything bright, I wear black clothes, no badge and stay out of the light. Until last night the most exciting part was to make it around the two or more mile diameter lake without raising eyebrows and without anybody questioning me about my lack of badge or safety gear.
It is fun to imagine that I am a secret agent or a mercenary on a solo mission into enemy territory. Like Rambo, I travel alone, armed with more wit than weaponry and ready to kill at a moment's notice using only my bare hands. Yeah, goofy and geeky at the same time but like I said, imagination is mandatory here.
Rumors abound about the jackals and other feral dogs that run around this place in the shadow of night with impunity and no real attempts at eradication. The vector control technicians know the boundaries are too porous to control entry of smaller four legged invaders so they just manage things as they are until some dumbass gets bitten prompting a rabies scare.
As it is, sometimes while walking to my room at midnight after work, I feel like I am being followed or stalked for that matter. Looking around reveals nothing, but I hear the footfalls of something behind me. Maybe it's my imagination or the breeze caressing the palm trees into making a taunting and deceitful sound. At other times, my night vision is so well adjusted that I really do see the lone jackal or two running in between the buildings looking for scraps of food that people drop on the way from the dining facility.
Returning to the nightly mission, "Operation Evade and Return with Honor." Last night, things were getting boring so I decided to push it a little and keep walking around the next section of lake shore that would add another two and a half miles to the total distance. There was a very slight breeze in the air and I was forced to pick up the pace since what I wore wasn't enough to keep the cold at bay. It was a speed walk in the dark along the unfamiliar shoreline. There was no stopping now as I was committed to get back after completing the "mission".
The words of John Rambo in First Blood Part II kept going through my mind, "LONEWOLF-WOLFDEN come-in-over"¦"¦ Murdoch, I am coming to get you". He said it while being tortured, electrocuted by the "Russians" in a Vietnamese POW camp. "What a badazs" I thought as I walked on convinced that Rambo wouldn't puss out of this little stroll, "So don't you dare stop Projekt, not you man! Don't be a quitter, you can hack it!" I said laughing to myself.
The gravel and dirt along this stretch of lakeshore was uneven and overgrown with reeds. At times I walked into a low spot practically leaving my boot behind in the muddy bog. The posture I had to use was like that of a zombie, blind at times having to stretch my arms out so as to avoid a tree or another obstacle. It got so frustrating that I decided to step onto the paved road after looking both ways and listening for a possible oncoming patrol vehicle. I'd have a lot of explaining to do if they busted me with so many violations messing around out there in the middle of the night.
Nothing was coming so I walked along the road for a few hundred paces. The asphalt lit up with headlights from a vehicle approaching from behind me and I quickly ducked into the reeds to squat and avoid detection. Pretty darn cunning, aren't I? As the vehicle approached, I pulled my balaclava over my face and kept still. It was an MP and slowed right down to take a look in my direction. The MP lingered there staring straight at me shining the searchlight right in my face. My eyes were closed to avoid reflecting anything back, preventing detection. The reeds in front of me were fairly dense and I clumped some in front of my face to further camouflage myself. The truck's brakes let off and I finally got to catch my breath thinking, "that was a close one". The suspense made me need to pee so I took a pit stop at the next tree I found along the bank.
As I continued walking I got that eerie feeling that I was being followed. Deciding to ignore it, my pace quickened so as to make up for lost time. It was going to be too late by the time I got back if I kept pausing every time my sixth sense went off.
The sensation continued and began to be supplemented by what sounded like footsteps made by a jackal. My mind was playing tricks on me, or so I thought. The impulse to run was ringing my bell so strongly that I almost broke into a sprint. The chills of fear were so strong that I felt adrenaline start pumping, readying me for a fight or flight response. In the darkness, I was alone, walking at night, nearly scaring the crap out of myself. The sounds of paws hitting the pavement grew louder and seemed to be coming from several animals. The ability to resist looking back was gone and I stopped to turn around and face the imaginary stalkers.
Oh crap! It wasn't my imagination, there were six jackals right there nearly on my butt. Their eyes were unlike any dog I've ever owned. They were absent familiarity, without the look of respect and kinship with a master. These were eyes of predators, empty, hungry and fixed. Flinching, I went to grab a stone from the gravel adorning the roadside. Throwing it as hard as I could at the pack of jackals, I hoped for the best. They made a hole where the stone impacted and seemed to just laugh by making panting noises and some hiss-like sounds I hadn't ever heard any domesticated dog make.
One of them lunged at me and the others circled around. It felt like I was the lone Wildebeest singled out by the wild dogs on "Mutual of Omaha presents" wildlife documentaries. Jim Fowler narrating in the background; "The cunning pack of wild dogs will taunt and harass their victim until it is exhausted. The wildebeest lunges and attacks until it has no more. Absent of energy to resist, it falls, only to be eaten alive. The dogs will attack and tear at the rear of the animal where the meat is most tender".
Oh snap! I better pop smoke and roll-the-fug-out! Running along the shore was not going to cut it. The best option was to head for the water. Sure, we are prohibited from swimming in it by "General Order Number One" but this is an emergency. What better reason than to go for a swim as an escape from a ravenous pack of Iraqi jackals. I could just hear them now, chanting "Allahu Akbar" as they chased me down to tear into my delicate parts for their meal.
The first one of the jackals to get in my way was going to catch my steel toe boot right in the "mouf". The rest of them would have to hurdle over their little busted compadre in order to catch me on the way to the water. It was like a blitz as I dropped a shoulder to cut across the line, just like my days on the varsity team, only this time I was running for my life from these predators. The smoke left by my "firetrail" must have been dense. It was all me now. Forget the fantasy of taking them on one by one, these guys are in it to win it, a team and I am on the losing side. I plunged into the manmade lake only to discovery that it was too shallow to swim in. The jackals splashed in right behind me and I struggled through the muddy shallows to get away from them. The panic was no longer there and I lost all fear. My end-time had come and I resigned myself in the struggle. Not giving up I kicked forward and flailed my legs behind to shake off the pursuers. One of them bit at my shirt and I did my very best to choke it out and plunge it into the water to end it. Kill or be killed, that's it!
The lakebed fell away in the struggle and I kicked free into a full freestyle high speed stroke. This is what it must feel like to be an Olympian as I escaped the jackals. They continued to watch me from the shore and even looked like they were going to run around to the place I emerged from the lake but a vehicle approached dispersing them like a crowd of football hooligans against tear gas.
After emerging from the lake, I ran as fast as I could in order to appear like I had been drenched by sweat. The showers were empty at the hour I reached them. Steel toe boots and all went into the stall with me to rinse off the lake water and algae residue not to mention the fear still pulsating through my veins. I shed everything during the long, hot shower. My bed never felt so good after returning to my room and toweling off.
There is no way I was going to tell anyone here about my experience.
The idea is to go for a walk around the lake here on Camp Slayer at night in the pitch black. Forget the mandatory reflective belt or anything bright, I wear black clothes, no badge and stay out of the light. Until last night the most exciting part was to make it around the two or more mile diameter lake without raising eyebrows and without anybody questioning me about my lack of badge or safety gear.
It is fun to imagine that I am a secret agent or a mercenary on a solo mission into enemy territory. Like Rambo, I travel alone, armed with more wit than weaponry and ready to kill at a moment's notice using only my bare hands. Yeah, goofy and geeky at the same time but like I said, imagination is mandatory here.
Rumors abound about the jackals and other feral dogs that run around this place in the shadow of night with impunity and no real attempts at eradication. The vector control technicians know the boundaries are too porous to control entry of smaller four legged invaders so they just manage things as they are until some dumbass gets bitten prompting a rabies scare.
As it is, sometimes while walking to my room at midnight after work, I feel like I am being followed or stalked for that matter. Looking around reveals nothing, but I hear the footfalls of something behind me. Maybe it's my imagination or the breeze caressing the palm trees into making a taunting and deceitful sound. At other times, my night vision is so well adjusted that I really do see the lone jackal or two running in between the buildings looking for scraps of food that people drop on the way from the dining facility.
Returning to the nightly mission, "Operation Evade and Return with Honor." Last night, things were getting boring so I decided to push it a little and keep walking around the next section of lake shore that would add another two and a half miles to the total distance. There was a very slight breeze in the air and I was forced to pick up the pace since what I wore wasn't enough to keep the cold at bay. It was a speed walk in the dark along the unfamiliar shoreline. There was no stopping now as I was committed to get back after completing the "mission".
The words of John Rambo in First Blood Part II kept going through my mind, "LONEWOLF-WOLFDEN come-in-over"¦"¦ Murdoch, I am coming to get you". He said it while being tortured, electrocuted by the "Russians" in a Vietnamese POW camp. "What a badazs" I thought as I walked on convinced that Rambo wouldn't puss out of this little stroll, "So don't you dare stop Projekt, not you man! Don't be a quitter, you can hack it!" I said laughing to myself.
The gravel and dirt along this stretch of lakeshore was uneven and overgrown with reeds. At times I walked into a low spot practically leaving my boot behind in the muddy bog. The posture I had to use was like that of a zombie, blind at times having to stretch my arms out so as to avoid a tree or another obstacle. It got so frustrating that I decided to step onto the paved road after looking both ways and listening for a possible oncoming patrol vehicle. I'd have a lot of explaining to do if they busted me with so many violations messing around out there in the middle of the night.
Nothing was coming so I walked along the road for a few hundred paces. The asphalt lit up with headlights from a vehicle approaching from behind me and I quickly ducked into the reeds to squat and avoid detection. Pretty darn cunning, aren't I? As the vehicle approached, I pulled my balaclava over my face and kept still. It was an MP and slowed right down to take a look in my direction. The MP lingered there staring straight at me shining the searchlight right in my face. My eyes were closed to avoid reflecting anything back, preventing detection. The reeds in front of me were fairly dense and I clumped some in front of my face to further camouflage myself. The truck's brakes let off and I finally got to catch my breath thinking, "that was a close one". The suspense made me need to pee so I took a pit stop at the next tree I found along the bank.
As I continued walking I got that eerie feeling that I was being followed. Deciding to ignore it, my pace quickened so as to make up for lost time. It was going to be too late by the time I got back if I kept pausing every time my sixth sense went off.
The sensation continued and began to be supplemented by what sounded like footsteps made by a jackal. My mind was playing tricks on me, or so I thought. The impulse to run was ringing my bell so strongly that I almost broke into a sprint. The chills of fear were so strong that I felt adrenaline start pumping, readying me for a fight or flight response. In the darkness, I was alone, walking at night, nearly scaring the crap out of myself. The sounds of paws hitting the pavement grew louder and seemed to be coming from several animals. The ability to resist looking back was gone and I stopped to turn around and face the imaginary stalkers.
Oh crap! It wasn't my imagination, there were six jackals right there nearly on my butt. Their eyes were unlike any dog I've ever owned. They were absent familiarity, without the look of respect and kinship with a master. These were eyes of predators, empty, hungry and fixed. Flinching, I went to grab a stone from the gravel adorning the roadside. Throwing it as hard as I could at the pack of jackals, I hoped for the best. They made a hole where the stone impacted and seemed to just laugh by making panting noises and some hiss-like sounds I hadn't ever heard any domesticated dog make.
One of them lunged at me and the others circled around. It felt like I was the lone Wildebeest singled out by the wild dogs on "Mutual of Omaha presents" wildlife documentaries. Jim Fowler narrating in the background; "The cunning pack of wild dogs will taunt and harass their victim until it is exhausted. The wildebeest lunges and attacks until it has no more. Absent of energy to resist, it falls, only to be eaten alive. The dogs will attack and tear at the rear of the animal where the meat is most tender".
Oh snap! I better pop smoke and roll-the-fug-out! Running along the shore was not going to cut it. The best option was to head for the water. Sure, we are prohibited from swimming in it by "General Order Number One" but this is an emergency. What better reason than to go for a swim as an escape from a ravenous pack of Iraqi jackals. I could just hear them now, chanting "Allahu Akbar" as they chased me down to tear into my delicate parts for their meal.
The first one of the jackals to get in my way was going to catch my steel toe boot right in the "mouf". The rest of them would have to hurdle over their little busted compadre in order to catch me on the way to the water. It was like a blitz as I dropped a shoulder to cut across the line, just like my days on the varsity team, only this time I was running for my life from these predators. The smoke left by my "firetrail" must have been dense. It was all me now. Forget the fantasy of taking them on one by one, these guys are in it to win it, a team and I am on the losing side. I plunged into the manmade lake only to discovery that it was too shallow to swim in. The jackals splashed in right behind me and I struggled through the muddy shallows to get away from them. The panic was no longer there and I lost all fear. My end-time had come and I resigned myself in the struggle. Not giving up I kicked forward and flailed my legs behind to shake off the pursuers. One of them bit at my shirt and I did my very best to choke it out and plunge it into the water to end it. Kill or be killed, that's it!
The lakebed fell away in the struggle and I kicked free into a full freestyle high speed stroke. This is what it must feel like to be an Olympian as I escaped the jackals. They continued to watch me from the shore and even looked like they were going to run around to the place I emerged from the lake but a vehicle approached dispersing them like a crowd of football hooligans against tear gas.
After emerging from the lake, I ran as fast as I could in order to appear like I had been drenched by sweat. The showers were empty at the hour I reached them. Steel toe boots and all went into the stall with me to rinse off the lake water and algae residue not to mention the fear still pulsating through my veins. I shed everything during the long, hot shower. My bed never felt so good after returning to my room and toweling off.
There is no way I was going to tell anyone here about my experience.
