The indignities of war or how I learned to stop worrying and love the bottle

BAGHDAD - Like a newsroom scanner, a soldiers patrol radio is constantly crackling with official jargon and acronyms laid down in a deadpan voice.

Amid the “rogers,” “wilcos” and “charlies,” this came over the radio the other night in the same dry monotone:

“Red six, red six, we need to pull over, we’ve got a gunner who’s feeling nauseous and is about to shit his pants.”

And shit he did. With his friends flashing away with digital cameras, the poor bastard ran out of the Humvee, yanked down his pants and painted the walls on the side of the street. Five minutes later he did it again.

It was ugly. It was hilarious.

My mom recently asked me if I am doing well and if I am “comfortable.” Doing well, yes, comfortable, well, that’s a relative term out here.

A flush toilet is a roughly once in three days luxury and hot water showers are hit and miss. Beds with real mattresses are heaven.

Mainly, though, as that unfortunate soldier so gruesomely illustrated, you have to watch your intake – liquid and solid – before heading out on an 8-hour patrol. I’ve been fortunate to avoid his fate, so far, but I have found out the hard way a couple times that in Iraq you can’t just pull over to piss (mind the mines on the side of the road!)

A couple good rules:
- If you’re shy, this ain’t the place for you.
- Hold on tight when pissing in the belly of a Stryker on a bumpy Iraqi road (that’s redundant – they run the gamut from rough to cratered).
- When you really have to go, you’ve got anywhere from a half to two thirds of a liter in you. Pick your bottle wisely and don’t overfill.
- Don’t forget to lift your groin guard.