They called over the radio, “Possible IED in place near the ice factory, go and take a look.” Few had refrigerators in Fallujah and none had steady electricity so people bought large blocks of ice from street vendors. These blocks were made in factories and someone apparently put a bomb in the road in front of one of these factories. Having working refrigerators we did not know where the ice factory was. “McGee, go ask that guy on a bike where the ice factory is.” I was the translator for our PLT when we couldn’t get an Iraqi for a patrol and I will now admit my proficiency in Arabic was vastly over estimated. The things I learned to say while studying it here in school did not often come in handy in Fallujah: how long have you studied at the University, are you married, the weather is nice, I cannot eat the chicken I am vegetarian., etc. Before I left the Humvee I reached into the medic cooler and sneakily grabbed a handful of ice. I walk up to the man with the bike and with my back to the PLT point to the ice in my hand and then shrug my shoulders. He points. I look at him for a bit waiting, then I say “Shukran,” breaking the silence, and turn back to the patrol. “He says we turn up here and it’s about a half click down that road. Says we can’t miss it. He didn’t know anything about a bomb but said be careful. Nice guy.”
Posted on: Fri, 27 Sep 2013 21:44:41 +0000
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