WB 11 News At 10
It’s a slice of Americana with a first run movie theatre, a Pizza Hut, and a Burger King. With a population of 22,000, this is not a small city in the heartland of America, but a military outpost in the heart of a war zone. Camp Anaconda in central Iraq is the largest logistical support base in the country. Many of the truck convoys that traverse the often insurgent-infested roads originate here. As they leave the north gate of the base, soldiers are reminded of their vulnerability and the importance of staying alert. In bold letters, a sign asks the chilling question, “Is Today The Day?”
I’m filled with a kaleidoscope of images during my weeklong stay, particularly the faces of Americans, mostly citizen soldiers from the Army Reserve or National Guard. Some are young. Some are not. They range in age from
Friar Marvin Scott describing what it's like
to be in a war zone as he files a report for
the WB 11 News at 10, near Balad, Iraq.
With insurgents lurking nearby, the
helmet and flak jacket are required.
The heart quickens with every red alert–the sirens warning of a possible incoming mortar or 19 to 54. Many are our neighbors who gave up ordinary jobs to serve their country. They are dedicated and courageous, and determined to end the reign of terror and help bring democracy to Iraq. “Let this not be for nothing,” is their battle cry. A twenty-two year old marine, wounded during a fierce battle in Fallujah, tells me he’s eager to leave the base hospital so he can rejoin his buddies in combat. “We came here together,” he declares, adding “and we’re going home together.
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 Many Iraqi nationals who work at the base shield their faces because insurgents often threaten the lives of those cooperating with coalition troops.
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 Keeping a vigilant eye outside the gate to Camp Anaconda as fifteen-hundred Iraqi nationals are carefully screened daily when they arrive to work at the base.
Each time we race for our protective flak jacket and helmet. My most anxious moment comes with the horrendous crack of thunder that sounds like an explosion. There is reason for concern. Camp Anaconda has been hit so often, it’s been nicknamed, “Mortaritaville.” During Christmas mass, however, the wailing sounds of war fail to interrupt the prayers for peace.
“Let this not be for nothing ”
The fine, oil-tainted sand coats our throat and clothing, and leaves layers of grit on the Humvees and other vehicles. A rainfall turns the ground into yucky mounds of clay that cake in the soles of my boots. A fiery morning sun rising over the Tigris River is in stark contrast to the darkened clouds of violence that lurk just beyond the razor wire perimeter of Camp Anaconda.
If they are scared, the fear is not etched in the faces of these soldiers, but it is in their thoughts as American casualties continue to
Armed soldiers are always at the ready.
Here, one soldier keeps watch over an
Iraqi national involved in a construction project at Camp Anaconda.
mount in Iraq. And there are the faces of the local Iraqis who risk their lives working at the base. Several embrace me and make a gesture of slashing Saddam Hussein’s throat, while asserting “America our friend.” Others shield their faces in red and white scarves,
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knowing that insurgents threaten the lives of those cooperating with coalition forces. Nearby, farmers toil the land under the watchful eye of soldiers standing guard in towers with fully armed automatic weapons.
Modern technology provides luxuries never before attainable in war. Laptops permit instant messaging and satellite dishes installed outside tents and atop trailers bring in the TV images from afar. The sound of hair blowers contrast
Sgt. Danny Hernandez, a reservist from Brooklyn who drives the Q56 bus in
Brooklyn when he’s not in Iraq, shows
Marvin how to fire an automatic weapon
that fires two hundred rounds per minute.
the rattle of armored vehicles rolling by. Yes, there is a beauty salon at this lonely outpost in the middle of the Iraqi desert. For the more than 4,000 women soldiers at the base, a little pampering is the best way to combat battle fatigue.
 The most gratifying part of my visit is the happiness we bring to soldiers from New York who are far from home for Christmas. The WB 11 brings them cheesecakes from Juniors, H&H
A Kodak moment. Local troops, grateful
for the New York cheer Marvin brought to
Iraq for Christmas, wanted him and cameraman David Kimmel to be the first image they took on the disposable Kodak camera they had just handed out.
Bagels and Nathan’s hotdogs, and arranges for live hookups with soldiers to talk directly to their families back home. I get to play Santa, wearing the jolly old man’s red hat I borrowed from the Friars Christmas party.
The most sobering moment for me comes while transferring planes in Kuwait. Two hundred soldiers are getting off one plane to begin their duty in Iraq. My eyes drift in the darkness toward a cargo plane nearby. I notice several hands in salute and catch a glimpse of a flag-draped casket of another soldier going home. Tears stream down my cheek as I stand alone momentarily in salute. The reality of war strikes me hard.
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