After getting to Bagram Air Base, it took a while until I was able to test out the new gear. We had a four-day wait due to rain, which delayed or cancelled flights and gave me plenty of time to indulge in the ice cream bar at the dining hall.  On day five I got a late-night flight to Jalalabad, where I received a briefing about my embed area and made plans to get further north.  Finally, a week after my embed had officially begun, I took a 20 minute ride on a Chinook helicopter and arrived to Foward Operating Base Bostick, located in Kunar Province about 10 miles from the Pakistan border.

The view from the base is stunning. Snow capped mountains to the east mark the border with Pakistan, the Kunar River runs through the valley, and at night the stars in the Milky Way seem close enough to touch.  This being Christmas, there was a candle-lit church service in the chapel on the 24th, followed on Christmas Day by caroling and hot chocolate. The war seemed pretty far away.

Even though the base at Bostick hasn't been attacked recently, the area isn't exactly safe. The only road leading up the Kunar Valley is a dirt track, hardly big enough for a humvee in places, and during my stay two local trucks were stopped and burned, one driver was killed and another kidnapped.  Whether this was insurgent related or the work of criminal gangs wasn't immediately known, but it did send a strong message to other drivers who were bringing goods into the valley.

The area of my embed extends from Bostick up to a couple of small combat outposts in Nuristan Province, and January 5th, after two weeks at FOB Bostick, I finally got the helicopter up to Combat Outpost Lowell. Lowell has the dubious honor of being one of the most heavily attacked US military bases in Afghanistan. It is located in a strategic position at the intersection of two valleys, and as such, is an important checkpoint for deterring insurgent movement north to south and east to west. It unfortunately also sits in a natural bowl, surrounded on all sides by tree covered hills, which make excellent cover for the local fighers to fire down from with their AK-47's, RPG's, mortars and so on.

Generally speaking, the further you get from headquarters, the more austere the living conditions become, and COP Lowell is no exception. The Afghan dust has turned into mud with recent rains, and the paths between buildings are a quagmire deep enough to ensure that nobody walks around with clean boots. The ice cream bar is gone, along with gatorade, Cokes and Red Bulls. No PX if you run out of cigarettes and no cable TV. But there's no shortage of hospitality, and I've been given my own room complete with a heater and a desk. It could be much worse.

Journalists are no strangers to the soldiers of Apache Troop at Lowell. The New York Times was here in November and as the men have been telling me, at the time there was plenty of fighting.  They point out the bald spots on the surrounding hills where fighter jets dropped 500 pound bombs during firefights, the holes in the outhouse from a Dushka anti-aircraft machine gun, and mention the laundry boy who lost an arm when an RPG round came through the roof of a nearby building.

But this week it's been quiet. So today we walked up to the nearby village of Kamu for a weekly meeting with the local shura, or tribal council. Captain Frank Hooker, Apache troop commander, along with members of the Afghan Army and US Marines, sat down with three men from the shura to discuss current issues and future projects. Sitting outside in a circle of chairs, the men talked in turn about local security, food shipments, construction projects and other topics. The atmosphere was cordial, and after tea was served, we all gathered together for a group photo and shook hands.

We walked back to the base and I went up to my room to file a few pictures.  As I started writing this story someone came running up the stairs shouting "contact" and all the soldiers rushed to their fighting positions. It turned out to be a false alarm, but I'm sure it won't be the last time they get the call.

My embed up to now has pretty much been a train wreck. 

It started out on Dec 2 with a two-day wait for a helicopter ride up to Baquba, 50 kms north of Baghdad. I went out on one patrol, then joined AP photographer Marko Drobnjakovic and moved east to another base near Muqdadiya. As soon as we arrived we went up to the roof to check our sat phones. His worked great, mine didn't. I'd tested the phone twice before, so this was a very unwelcome surprise and if there is one piece of equipment you really need in Iraq, it's a good sat phone. The army had internet, but they politely declined to let me use it and the base internet cafe would not let you send attachments. So there we are, 100 kms northeast of Baghdad on a little military post, ready to get to work, but with no means to transmit. Aside from no phone, it wasn't long before I had other problems. A big operation was planned for the day after we arrived and the press officer gave me to one unit and Marko to another.  Marko's unit kicked in doors and took prisoners, mine sat in their armored vehicle for 8 hours in what is known as a 'blocking' position. Like a speed bump with guns. To top it off, the lead vehicle in our convoy got hit by a roadside bomb (no casualties) and I could not get out to shoot a photo. It happened 500 meters away but it might as well have been 500 miles.

So after 8 days on embed I had been out on two patrols and one useless operation, transmitted 18 photos and was developing an ulcer.

On Dec 10 I decided to return to the larger base in Baquba and try to sort out the phone problems. 

Dec 11 the press office set me up on a patrol but the platoon leader changed his mind at the last minute and decided no media. 

Dec 12 my press contact overslept and we missed a patrol, so I took pictures of Iraqi laborers loading rice onto a truck in back of the mess hall. 

Dec 13 I rode around in the back of an armored troop carrier while the Sergeant Major hopped from base to base checking on the morale of his troops.  The soldiers were in good spirits, I was not.

Finally on Dec 14 I got off the base and did some work. 

Dec 15 was an air assault on the Iron Triangle north of Baquba and as fate would have it I ended up with another fringe unit.  We walked through palm groves kicking dirt clods while .50 caliber machine guns and helicopter gunships fired in the distance.  By this time I was convinced the press office was deliberately sabotaging my embed and had a long heart to heart with the head PAO, asking what the hell was going on.  He said my problems boiled down to two words....'bad luck'.  

Which brings us to today.  I've returned to Baghdad to replace the sat phone and try to jump start the embed and at 8 pm I have a flight up to Baiji where I will hook up with the 101st Airborne Division.  I'm hoping that the next two weeks will be everything the past two haven't been.
 

Route Irish, the infamously dangerous highway leading from the airport to central Baghdad, was at one time marked by almost daily suicide car bombings.  Today the ride is quiet, the highway almost deserted. Instead of the circuitous route once required by road closures and checkpoint bottlenecks, we now take a more direct path and arrive quickly to Abu Nawas, a broad avenue on the banks of the Tigris River which has been recently been reopened by the government.

The riverfront was once famous for its restaurants serving grilled fish,  which disappeared after the war and the area had become an inhospitable dustbowl, deserted save for few mongrel dogs and the occasional army patrol. But as we drive down the boulevard today I see a few restaurants have returned and children are playing in a freshly scrubbed park.

We arrive at the office and I'm greeted by colleagues and old friends. Through good times and bad times, their wonderful Iraqi hospitality has never wavered. As I talk to the staff, I ask if maybe things are getting better, that maybe the worse is over.  To a person the answer is the same, "Inshallah" - God willing.