Sharks In The Water

April 7, 2008

There are always helicopters buzzing around overhead. Most of the traffic is Blackhawks ferrying someone or something from point to point. And usually there are a few Apaches patrolling high cap and keeping a watchful eye on things. (And then there’s the dull drone of the Predators that fly high and out of site. But that’s another story.) The helos always fly in pairs, and they always seem to catch my attention. I wonder if they’ve gotten used to the view of Baghdad from way up there like I have gotten used to the site of them from down here. High, lazy, deliberate circles are usually the norm. But when they slow way down and appear to be looking for something in particular they take a hunters shape, lingering and waiting for their chance to kill. I’ve started to look up now and see that familiar dance and whisper to myself, “Sharks in the water…”

A few weeks ago when the mortar and rocket attacks were going in earnest the US didn't really seem to be taking an active role in quelling things. But the sharks were still up there looking. On the night we had mortars in our perimeter I was in my room and heard explosions and a gun being fired from what seemed like was right outside my building. I went out to the window to have a look and there were already several people outside standing around. They were buzzing about an Apache that had just fired a missile and went on a strafing run into Sadr City. I was bummed that I missed it, but happy as hell that we were finally shooting back. After a couple of days of mortars I was feeling pretty helpless. It felt good to know that there was an American up there patrolling with my personal well-being at heart.

Two days later we were out at our morning briefing before heading over to the prison. There were several Apache’s overhead slow rolling and trolling for trouble. I watched them intently this time because I could feel something coming…Sharks in the water. Then, all of a sudden, “Crack…whoooosh!” One fired off a hellfire missile right above our heads. I traveled for about 4 seconds before I heard the distant explosion. In my excitement I said out loud, “Hell yeah!” A few people looked at me funny, like maybe I was taking too much enjoyment in the deaths that inevitably just happened. But I didn't feel the need to explain myself to anyone. I wasn't elated at someone’s death. Rather, I was pumped that we were fighting back. That some mortar team thought fleetingly that they could set up a hasty launch and kill indiscriminately, but were surprised by American might. It felt like justice being served after the long days and nights of explosions. Is that bad? Don’t think so, but I don’t feel like I should feel guilty for feeling that way.

-Jim Franks