We have discussed this in passing before, but I thought this might be a good week to look into the matter of getting around in a War Zone.

The single biggest barrier to getting anything accomplished here is the ability to get around. That includes any destination outside the Green Zone whether it is to the Sheraton Hotel to do a Fox News Channel gig or getting to Tikrit to visit the Fourth Infantry Division.

You do not call Hertz and order up a car with a NeverLost GPS device to keep you from getting lost.

This sign is, I think, supposed to say "Welcome TO Tikrit," but maybe not.

At any rate, if you are on Route 1 between Samarra and Tikrit, you are already lost.

There are two approved methods of getting around Baghdad for Americans: In a convoy of Humvees or SUVs with guns bristling out of every window; or, in a 1957 Opel with rusting bullet holes in the doors.

As I don't often have access a 1957 Opel - with or without bullet holes - I usually travel in SUV convoys.

How you dress in these convoys is important as well. Driving in the 1957 Opel in full military battle-battle rather than in mufti sort of defeats the purpose. In fact, the Brits will not allow you to travel in their convoys if anyone is dressed in anything other than civilian clothes.

American soldiers, on the other hand, seem to be perfectly happy to let me ride around in my Ranger Rick outfit. Because I look just like they do.

Except cooler. Much, much cooler.

There are also variants on the Humvee and SUV themes. There are heavily armored versions (which are called "UP-armored") and modestly armored vehicles which are called - tuna fish cans.

Most of the SUVs are just regular old GMCs or Explorers who's offered protection is on the order of tin foil - and not that heavy-duty stuff you use to make grilled onions and potatoes by slicing the vegetables in about 1/8 inch slices; place - with butter and garlic and Lowry's seasoned salt and some pepper - on a sheet of heavy-duty foil after which you carefully roll all edges to prevent the butter from leaking out. Place on the grill for about 45 minutes turning every 15 minutes. Be careful when opening because �

Dear Mr. Mullings: Have you lost your mind?
Signed,
The Automobile Manufacturer's Association

Huh?

This not the "Cooking with Ranger Rick" show.

Oh. Right. Sorry. After 247 straight meals from Halliburton which included some variant on the chicken theme, I got a little carried away.

As an example, here are the menus from Sunday January 25:

Note, please the soup for lunch: Chicken & Rice. Then Honey Glazed Cornish Hen. Or Turkey Terazini. And on the short-order menu, Grilled Turkey & Cheese.

Then for dinner: Chicken Curry or Turkey Cutlet Breaded (sometimes Yoda types these menus) and let's not forget the staple of our diets: Chicken Gravy.

Dear Mr. Mullings: Now even WE'RE bored with this.
Signed,
The American Culinary Institute

So, we typically go zipping around Baghdad in SUVs.

Long range travel is something else again. There the choices are typically Humvees or helicopters.

And for REALLY long-range travel there is our old friend the C-130.

Let's take the Humvee first.

It's official name is "The M998 High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle," which would lead you to believe it had an acronym of "M998HMMWV" which is unpronounceable by anyone other than some farmer on Mars who is trying to convince his friends his double-wide has just been hit by a UFO from Earth. For the second time!

It replaced a vehicle called a quarter-ton truck; whose acronym was not "QTT" but "Jeep."

An acronym like "QTT" could only have been pronounced "QUIT" which is not a work the military - or college football coaches - like to hear very often, so Jeep it was.

It is not true that "Jeep" was a slurring of the initials G and P for "general purpose." For starters GPW was Ford Motor Company's designation for the WWII quarter-ton. Those letters stood for "G" - government contract; "P" Ford's code for a vehicle with an 80" wheelbase; and "W" for the fact that the motor was of the Willys Company's design.

Anyway we don't have Jeeps. We have Humvees and they come in as many configurations as you can possibly imaging - and some you can't.

They have one thing in common: They are as noisy as hell. We are not talking about an Arnold Schwartzenegger Hummer 2, here. We are talking about a diesel-powered beast which will likely be too cold in the winter and too hot in the summer.

However, it's what the Army gives all its units, so you're quite likely to go out in one.

Helicopters

The next item is a helicopter. You've seen these and you know that I am very frightened of being him them - not because I think they might be shot down by a ground-to-air missile but because I'm afraid I'm going to throw up when they fly a "combat pattern," which never fails to remind me of that scene from "The Hunt for Red October" when Ryan is in the aircraft and the first officer is telling him about how it was so rough one night that everyone threw up and it wasn't just regular "�it was the chunky, industrial strength stuff."

This is what it looks like when you're sitting behind the pilots. The gunners are just out of the frame to the left and the right. At some point in the flight they will "exercise their guns."

They think it is very, very amusing to do this without telling the 57-year-old passenger sitting just behind them with this eyes closed praying that the next time he looks at his watch more then 11 seconds will have passed from the previous peek.

At those times, upon hearing machine gun fire about 48 inches away, the average 57-year-old passenger is quite likely to exercise something else entirely.

When we took that trip to the mass grave site I told you about last week, the commander of the helicopter mission told me that they would drop us off and then come back to get us.

I said they would drop us off and stay there until we were ready to leave.

"Well, we tend to attract attention."

"There ain't nothin' where we're going. There's no one to attract the attention of."

"We'd feel much better not hanging around."

"I'd feel much better if you stayed and so you will."

I finally relented to this degree: I said that we would proceed with the mission as I had outlined. However, if necessary I would alter it on the ground.

They stayed. This was the working definition of the middle of nowhere.

The reason I didn't want them to leave is because helicopters tend to break or get fogged in or grounded for any number of reasons. I did not want to be stuck there in the middle of you-know-where all night waiting for someone to come back and get us.

One time I got stuck out in a not-so-terrific place overnight when a helicopter couldn't make it to me. I wasn't worried; I was with a bunch of soldiers, and I knew someone would come to get me sooner or later. I slept there overnight and, indeed, in the morning I caught a convoy back to Baghdad.

I didn't have any way to call to tell the folks I was going to be in the next day, so a group of people went to BIAP to see if the helicopter had dropped me off there. Not finding me, they began calling around to see if a helicopter had gone down somewhere.

They gave me a satellite phone to take with me anytime I leave Baghdad so I don't get lost again.

C-130

The last form of transport any rational human being would want to take is a C-130. I know I have told you about these before but it bears repeating: They are made to carry cargo. If human beings get on, they are just more cargo. Upright cargo, but cargo nonetheless.

One of the things about flying on a C-130 is you have to be there three hours ahead of time. I don't know why this is, but it is true and no body tries to beat the system. People get there three hours in advance.

One time I had an 8 AM flight and this is what the loading area looked like when I got there.

Picturesque, huh? About five hours later, when we finally boarded this was what my happy self looked like:

Remember all those stories about the hardships I have endured while flying in coach on Delta? Coach is looking pretty tasty right about now.

Anyway on this one trip I got to sit in the cockpit of the C-130. No pictures because � I don't know why, but there are no pictures.

There are four cockpit crew in a C-130: Pilot, co-pilot, flight engineer, and navigator.

They didn't have an extra set of headsets - or they said they didn't have an extra set of headsets, so I put in my disposable earplugs and settled back to watch out through the cockpit window.

About an hour into the flight there was a good deal of chatter back and forth between the crews. The navigator began pressing lots of buttons; the flight engineer leaned over me and got out a device which allowed him to look out of the TOP of the plane.

The loadmaster was standing next to me. I mouthed "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?"

He mouthed back, "NOTHING."

Lying piece of chunky, industrial strength �

SOMEthing was obviously going on, and I finally stood up and asked the flight engineer what it was.

It turned out one of the radio antennae had snapped off and was flapping, so to speak, in the breeze.

The issue was: It could have wrapped around one of the control surfaces of the wing or, better yet, wrapped around one of the propellers.

Are you kidding me? I have been shot at. Mortared. Rocketed. Frozen in Humvees. Slept in my clothes for several nights in a row. Eaten cold MREs. And I'm going to die because of a broken RADIO ANTENNA?

I �don't�think�so.

The wire tended to flap to the left, so the pilot shut down the left inboard engine and called ahead to Baghdad airport to call an emergency.

As it happened we landed safely and the flight engineer popped the escape hatch in the ceiling of the cockpit to take a look.

Seeing what he needed to see he climbed back in, grabbed a pair of pliers and went back out. This time he crawled out onto the fuselage - we were still taxiing and being accompanied by fire trucks, by the way.

Here's what he looked like when he crawled out to clip the offending wire:

Now that I think of it, I had to stick my head out of the hatch while we were taxiing to get that shot.

What...is...wrong...with...me?

He came back in with the wire in hand, we stopped where we were supposed to stop. The cabin door popped open and a guy in a Nomex suit stuck his head up into the cockpit and asked the captain if he was clearing the emergency.

The captain said he was, and the flight was over.

That's what travel is like in Iraq.

Be safe.

Note: The Iraq Travelogue emails are distributed through the services of Focus Data Solutions, Inc.

Click here to return to the Mullings page