[Saturday, 10 May, at 2 PM]

As I type this blog entry, the internet is down, but not in the usual way. When I try to get on the net, instead of getting the usual “Internet Explorer cannot access this web page” 404 error, I am getting an ominous black screen with red writing, as so:

The medics tell me that “River City” is a code (could not find anyone today who knows from whence this strange euphemism arose), used on certain posts in Iraq, and it signifies that someone from our post was killed in combat. When this occurs, the Base Commander blocks out the internet (and the phones, mail, etc) until they are able to notify the family. Pretty sad.

By the time you get this, the internet will be back up. I will add more info at that time.

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[Sunday, 11 May, 10 PM]

Woke up today, still getting the “River City” page when I tried to get to Yahoo or anywhere else. On my iTunes program (which I keep going all night so that it aggregates the various news and church programs which I listen to when I am working out), I noted that all of my podcasts had been renamed “Radius iCafe OPSEC.” At work, I tried using a DSN line to call home. Lorri left me a message on e-mail right before River City started, about some computer troubles, and would I please call her back right away. Unfortunately, the answer seems to be “no” and I was starting to wonder whether I would be able to talk with her at all on this Mother’s Day.

At church, I learned from one of the hospital workers why River City was in effect. Two servicemen (unclear whether soldiers or marines) had been hit by a sniper shortly after leaving their vehicle in an area of Anbar province not far from Al Asad. The servicemen were stationed here, and had been out on “patrol,” which is a means of maintaining a military presence in the surrounding areas, to let the bad guys know that we are still here, and closely watching their activities. This is a dangerous job, as it requires a frequent presence in area with known insurgent activities. One of the troops received a lethal would (in consideration of privacy, I will forgo details here), and was declared dead on arrival at the Combat Surgical Hospital here on post. A second troop received a serious but non-fatal wound (again, privacy concerns preclude me from revealing more), and is in the hospital, doing well, and will survive to fight another day. The rest of the company on patrol are all safe.

I had to work today, because we are short a provider, which means no day off for me this weekend. Put into perspective, not really a big deal. Or any deal. After work, I went to church, and then came back and checked the internet again. No dice, still River City. Time for a bit of food (Simply Asian thai noodles, microwaved to perfection), and then a serious nap. At about 5:30 I heard voices outside of my room, so I rolled out of bed and walked outside in my classy Calvin PJs. The medics were barbecuing to celebrate the fact that SPC Hert got a bag of smoky wood chips in a care package today. Burgers were tremendous, and I even got a bit of a ribeye steak bought by some kind person. When I walked back into my can a half hour later, I heard the phone ringing, and was happy that River City was over. I talked with the kids, and was not surprised to hear that Maya had been concerned about me since I had been incommunicado for the past 36 hours.

We all take these kind of situations very much to heart. Everyone was down today, knowing that one of our own had fallen. Even at the barbecue, there was a sadness which hung over all of us, and the levity was kept to a certain lowish level. In all of the mess halls I have visited in Iraq, there is a table which is set, with a nice plate, silverware, napkin, etc, and usually a helmet or a soft cap on the seat. It is maintained meticulously, and even if the seats are all taken, that one is left open for the serviceman who gave up his/her life for the cause.

God bless that mother out there, who got some very, very bad news today.

Executive Mansion, Washington, November 21, 1864.

 

Mrs. Bixby, Boston, Massachusetts:

 

Dear Madam: I have been shown in the files of the War Department a statement of the Adjutant-General of Massachusetts that you are the mother of five sons who have died gloriously on the field of battle. I feel how weak and fruitless must be any words of mine which should attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so overwhelming. But I cannot refrain from tendering to you the consolation that may be found in the thanks of the Republic they died to save. I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom.

 

Yours very sincerely and respectfully,

 

Abraham Lincoln