I’m going to tell a “Buzz’s Bedtime Story” tonight that’s a little different from my normal fare. Tonight, I’m going to talk about my experience writing a book and embedding in Iraq to gather material. I haven’t talked about this much. It hits hard, personally. But it’s a story that needs to be told about our men and women in uniform.
In the summer of 2005, the Iraq War was not going well for the U.S. The Pentagon was looking for journalists to embed and tell the actual story. The mainstream media had turned on President George W. Bush, and their fake narrative was being pounced on by Democrat politicians, and it was getting Americans killed in combat. Most of the “real” journalists didn’t really want to cover the war. They hid out in the bar at the hotel in the Green Zone and covered the war by watching Arab propaganda on Al Jazeera to craft their stories. They hardly ever ventured out. They were afraid to.
At the time, I was a retired Air Force pilot, a bestselling author, and a furloughed Delta Air Lines pilot. Delta furloughed a bunch of pilots in the immediate aftermath of 9/11, and I was so new that I was among the first. Thankfully, that gave me the opportunity to fulfill a life ambition and write books. I wrote “Dereliction of Duty” and “Reckless Disregard.” Both were New York Times bestsellers.
Now, I was working on my 3rd book, “War Crimes,” and I wanted to go to the source and talk to the guys involved in the fight. I knew our media wasn’t telling the story. Plus, at the time, I had a radio show and I wanted to broadcast my show live from Iraq. It would be one of the first. I’d interview our troops every day, live from the war. Unvarnished and straight from the front.
The Pentagon approved my credentials, and I was on my way. After a circuitous route to get there, I landed at Baghdad Airport on an Air Force C-130 that corkscrewed down over the airport to avoid ground fire.
I was met by the U.S. Public Affairs folks and headed to my tent. It was incredibly hot. It hits you right in the face. Hot and dusty.
I was based just outside of the Baghdad International Airport at “Camp Victory,” a joint U.S. base established after the invasion at Saddam Hussein’s Al Faw Palace. It was his “hunting palace.” I had office space in the palace, and I lived in a tent nearby with marginal air conditioning and some incredible tent mates. It was incredibly hot in the summer of 2005. We’d hit 125 degrees routinely, and I was going through several liters of water a day.
Every day, I interviewed soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines. I’d eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner with them at the hall and go on patrols with them. One evening, I sat down with a group of Guard members from Ohio. They were all young men from various backgrounds. They told jokes, they talked about sports back home, and they talked about their girlfriends. When it was time to mount up, however, they became steely-eyed American warriors. No false bravado, no overly confident swagger. Just young men headed into combat. It was quite an education for an Air Force pilot who’s always done things from the sky. I’d go out on patrols whenever they’d let me. The guys always took me under their wing and protected me. It was cool.
One day, I was on a patrol with some young Army guys. They were patrolling some of the really bad parts of Baghdad, outside the “Green Zone.” Again, I had a totally different awareness of the threats they faced. I don’t want to say it was like a movie, but it was like a movie. You never knew what might lie in front of you or who was a good guy, who was bad.
We saw a bunch of Iraqi children playing in an empty lot, and we pulled over. We had bags of stuffed animals, Beanie Babies, and soccer balls to hand out. The kids swarmed around, and we laughed as we handed out the toys. At one point, an Iraqi man approached, and, of course, we prepared for the worst. He picked up a girl who was probably 5. I had a 5-year-old at home. He walked over to the squad leader and said, “Will you bless her?” The sergeant was confused and asked him what he meant. We didn’t know if this was a Muslim custom that we were messing up or what. We also didn’t know if it was an ambush waiting to happen.
The father said, “Will you bless her with the blessings and freedoms that you have?” The sergeant said, “Yes, sir,” and put his hand on the little girl’s forehead.
Wow. I took a deep breath. They’re just people, too. Most of them want exactly what we have. They wanted freedom. It was time to return to base. It was a quiet ride all the way back to Camp Victory.
Like I said, quite an education for an Air Force pilot.
