Two ‘Private Fuzzies,’ diverted on their way to war

U.S. deaths in Iraq

As of Sunday, at least 3,137 members of the U.S. military have died since the beginning of the Iraq war in March 2003, according to an Associated Press count. The figure includes seven military civilians. At least 2,514 died as a result of hostile action, according to the military’s numbers.

? An explosion in the distance broke the silence in tent MC-01 just after 9 a.m.

“IED?” Pvt. Ryan Tozour asked his friend sitting astride the next cot, referring to an improvised explosive device, or bomb.

“I never heard an IED before,” Pvt. Stephen Daniel replied. He leaned forward and spat tobacco juice into a Gatorade bottle, just inches from his rifle. “I only saw a video,” part of a briefing a few days before when he and Tozour got to Iraq.

The two privates, artillerymen, had been together since basic training in July, and they had reached this small, dusty base outside Baqouba in Diyala province, northeast of Baghdad, the night before purely by accident. The helicopter ferrying them to their unit made a quick stop here, and when they got off to let some other passengers out, other soldiers grabbed their bags and jogged away.

“We were yelling, ‘No!'” Daniel explained. “By the time we got clear to where they could hear us,” he paused, then lifted his arm slowly, mimicking a helicopter taking off.

Passing time

They slept here Saturday night, in this dark, cavernous tent, where plywood covers the ground and the furniture consists of about 60 green canvas cots. Dust, sand and gravel are everywhere.

Their unit, a battalion in the 1st Cavalry Division, has been in Iraq since October. Nobody has told them what job they’ll be doing here, but they don’t think there is much artillery in this war, and they expect to be used as infantry.

“They call us Private Fuzzies,” said Daniel, 22, because they have no rank tabs on their uniforms – just a soft Velcro patch where an insignia would go if they had one. “Our drill sergeant used to say, ‘You’ll be in Iraq in 90 days.’ We’d say, ‘You’re crazy.’ Guess it wasn’t too crazy.”

They had eaten breakfast at the dining hall nearby and now had nothing to do but wait. They rehashed rumors, worried that the helicopter mix-up meant they would now have to fly in daylight. They argued about where and what kind of helicopters had crashed in Iraq recently.

“When you’re not here yet, you’re like obsessed with here,” Daniel said. “You’re like looking at blogs and looking online. And then you get here, and it gets old within a day. You halfway don’t want to go. But it’s why you joined, so it’s cool. Maybe time will go faster if you’re getting shot at.”

Of the 150 people who attend his small church in Belton, Texas – “the buckle of the Bible Belt,” Daniel described it – nine are serving in Iraq. “It’s a conservative, independent Baptist church. Very patriotic, rah-rah.”

He has a 6-year-old son. The other families in Daniel’s congregation were disappointed in him and his girlfriend for getting pregnant. “They kept asking, ‘When are you two going to get married? You’re going to get married, aren’t you?'” They did get married, a year and a half ago.

“Everything happens for a reason,” Tozour assured him. He is 19 and grew up in Wilmington, N.C.

“Don’t say it like you’re proud of it,” Daniel interrupted.

“Hey, it’s a nice place,” said Tozour, who got married two days before basic training. His wife works at a Wal-Mart back home, and he said he joined the Army “for the benefits. I mean, I don’t need to pay for dental, medical, none of that.”

‘Don’t relax’

At 9:50 a.m., Daniel checked his watch. They gathered their duffel bags and carried them out of the tent, through the maze of blast walls designed to protect against mortars and other dangers.

“Hey, Daniel!” called out a burly staff sergeant.

Daniel spun on his heels and snapped to “parade rest” – hands clasped smartly behind his back, feet shoulder width apart, eyes straight ahead.

“Yes, sergeant!” both men said.

“It’s OK, you can stand easy. Are you guys new?”

“Yes, sergeant,” came the replies. They unclasped their hands.

He asked what job they had trained for and where they were headed. It’s tough here, he said. “Keep your eyes open. Be alert.”

“Yes, sergeant.”

“Don’t relax. This is no place to relax.”

“Yes, sergeant.”

The sergeant looked them over. “But you guys are going to have a lot of fun,” he said as he sent them on their way. “Be safe.”

Just out of the sergeant’s earshot, Daniel turned to Tozour. “Don’t relax speech Number 208,” he said.

Their ride arrived a few minutes after 10 a.m., and they headed back to the landing zone.

Shortly afterward, the sergeant who had given them the “don’t relax” speech, Staff Sgt. Benjamin Maldonado, 31, had a minute to reflect. An infantryman in his second year in Iraq, his current job is to help run the transient tents and other facilities on the base.

U.S. casualties are piling up here now, slowly but steadily. Maldonado said he doesn’t see things here getting better, and it’s tough to watch new guys go off into the fight. “It would be one thing if you saw some improvement.”