Rarely is it 'everything according to plan'
Equipment failure puts end to patrol
On Tuesdays and Fridays, The Sun is publishing e-mails sent by Jason Henderson, 23, a 2002 Naperville Central High School graduate who is serving in Iraq, to his mother, Cathy Henderson of Naperville.
Today we publish an excerpt from one of Henderson's undated e-mails.
As we draw even with the 113 our gunner stands up just in time to hear a string of curses emanating from the vehicle commander's turret. After some back and forth, made all the more difficult by the roaring of its massive engine, we surmise that the 113 is indeed broken and will not go any faster.
The decision is made by those appointed over me that the track is of no use to us in its current state and therefore needs to head back. The proper notifications are made over the radio as this mild inconvenience is taken in stride. It is at this point that another interesting discovery is made, the 113 no longer is putting out the necessary engine power to turn around.
With no other options apparent, it is decided to push on in the direction we had been going and park the track at the Iraqi Army outpost a hundred yards down the road. The plan, and a fine plan it was, calls for leaving the broken vehicle at this outpost until a wrecker or mechanic can be arranged for in the morning.
At this juncture we notice that the 113 is having a hard time making any forward progress at all. Before any of us even has the time to comment on the situation, the inevitable happens and the track quits on us altogether, directly in the middle of Malaab Road.
It is not that this road is particularly dangerous by Ramadi standards, but it certainly isn't someplace that I would recommend for tailgating. Again the proper calls were put out over the radio, and again we waited. The minutes ticked away, and just prior to the hour mark a string of trucks show up on their way to do our convoy run.
Still unhappy about being woken up to do a job that had been tasked to us, the driver of the last Humvee throws the jumper cables at us and storms back to his truck. They drive off in the usual cloud of dust as we try to jump the track. This last attempt, of course, didn't yield the slightest success.
So yet again the proper calls were made and a wrecker was dispatched to us. Whatever topics of conversation that might have helped pass the time had long since been covered and re-covered on the countless hours of guard already pulled in the same truck with the same people. As we sat in silence and listened to the radio, we couldn't help but notice that the wrecker was on its way for the better part of an hour. We had long since finished commenting on how long the drive that takes us 5 minutes should take the wrecker when a stroke of fate intervened.
It was decided that we should swing back by the Eagles Nest and pick up a few cans of gas and one of our NCO's who knows a thing or two about tracks. We covered the 200 yards of road quickly and came to a sliding halt in front of our building. I grabbed a pair of gas cans and had just finished loading them up when our team leader informed me that we might need the extra seat in the humvee, and why don't I just stay back. Of course I didn't need to be told twice. As I grabbed my gear I gave one last beaming smile to my buddy up in the turret and I was gone.
They walked back in 10 minutes ago. It is now a few minutes past 2300 (11:00 PM), and they have been out there since we left at 1945. A simple convoy mission that should have taken all of 15 minutes was stretched into a 3 hour affair. It would be one thing if this was the exception, but sadly it isn't.
As I dial in the Willy Nelson playlist on my Ipod again I cant help but wonder what is in store for tomorrow. Perhaps another road will flood, or maybe another powerline will go down on the overpass, or maybe something new and exciting might happen. Who knows, maybe the unheard of will occur and we might actually make it through the day with everything going according to plan. I for one intend to go enjoy a nice peaceful night skipping around from Oz to Texas and back again.
Jason
