Memoirs of an Outlaw: Life in the Sandbox

Chapter 9: Camp Baharia

Camp Baharia (Ba-ha-ree-a). It was originally named Camp Volturno, but shortly after we arrived, it was renamed Baharia specifically for the Marine Corps. In Arabic, the Marine Corps is called “mushaat al-baharia,” which translates to “walkers of the navy,” or naval infantry, so the name was very fitting.

The base used to be a retreat for one of Saddam Hussein’s sons. It had a double wall surrounding it, with guard towers protruding from the wall about every hundred meters. In the middle of the camp was a huge, man-made lake with an amphitheater surrounding a portion of it. In the middle of the lake was an island with a few lampposts, none of which were lit.

The area around the entrance was deserted apart from the few Marines who were guarding it. Along the road that led to our section of the camp were a few small buildings that housed some of the headquarter elements for the other occupants of the camp, 2/1 (Second Battalion, First Marine Division) Marines. As we came closer to our section of the base, the road swerved. We passed a grouping of huts that seemed to have air-conditioning wall units. Everyone’s spirits perked up a bit because we thought we were lucky enough to have a hard roof over our heads and some air conditioning. What the hell were we thinking? We were the Outlaws, we didn’t get anything nice. Our company convoy slowly came to a halt in a giant patch of sand. Gunny Rossignol and Lieutenant Walker were guiding the vehicles into their designated areas.

Once the vehicles stopped, we dismounted and looked around. This giant patch of sand was what we were going to call home for the next seven months. It was about three football fields long and about a hundred yards wide. We were right next to the wall that was closest to Fallujah. Built into the wall were two cement buildings that were designated as the company headquarters and the staff and officer housing, both of which had air conditioning. The rest of us got to look forward to the dirt for the night.

 After a long, tiresome trek to our new home, all we wanted was to sleep. We were told to take out our camouflage netting and set up a makeshift canopy to provide us with a little shade. We pulled out our poncho blankets and isomats and finally got a bit of well-deserved rest. Sand or not, it felt so good just to sit down and close my eyes.

We were awakened a few hours later by the blistering hot sun. I give the Iraqi people credit, I don’t know how in the hell they deal with the extreme temperatures. In the winter months, it goes from eighty to ninety degrees during the day to fifty and below at night. The huge difference between day and night made packing for patrols and missions a pain in the ass.

A few Iraqi citizens were at our new home setting up two huge, circus-like tents. These were to be our new homes. The smaller of the two would house Headquarters Platoon and some from Weapons Platoon, and the larger tent would house the remainder of Weapons Platoon and all of First, Second, and Third Platoons.

The problems with the tents were numerous and continued to haunt us through most of the deployment. First of all, the tents were about fifty feet high and resembled the giant tents used at the circus. They towered over the base walls and could be seen from Fallujah. An insurgent could easily use them as markers and set up an incredibly accurate mortar firing position. Fortunately, they were never that good. But this led to the next problem, which was that the tents were doused in flammable liquid to repel mosquitoes. So if a mortar did happen to land anywhere and a fire occurred, our tents would go up in a ball of flame in a matter of minutes. What made it even worse was that the tents provided shade from the sun, but they had no ventilation. So it ended up being more of a sweatbox than a place of rest. Also, it also had no flooring, so dust was constantly kicked up.

Next on the list of complaints was the chow hall, which was about a half-mile walk from our side of the base. It wasn’t that bad of a walk; however, after an eight-hour patrol under the scorching hot sun, the last thing anyone wanted to do was walk to the chow hall. Plus, for a portion of the deployment, all they had to offer was t-rats (a vacuum sealed pre-cooked meal in a tray), which tasted worse than MREs.

The only good thing we had going for us was that we were close to the internet center. The internet center was a small hut with a couple of satellite dishes on top of it. It was our outlet to the rest of the world. It started out small, but by the time we left, it had everything it needed to support a battalion of Marines.

I looked at our tents and realized we had a lot of work ahead of us.