Flashback 9

Al Asad Airfield is home base for a special-forces navy seal team. No number sorry, that is not allowed. Nor am I allowed to describe much about them in terms of numbers or equipment. So, let’s just say there were more than one, and that they had beards, tattoos, and the obligatory swagger.

I am here now as part of a small contingent of field artists working on behalf of the National Museum of the Marine Corps (NMMC) in Quantico, Virginia. We have been chasing the possibility of creating live art of Marines in Syria for the last two years. This trip is the culmination of all that planning. Two Marines and two civilians (two teams with one of each). Two youngies and two oldies. The civilians being the oldies. The plan was for us to spread out into Iraq and Syria over a couple of weeks and illustrate the lives of USMC personnel in the field. That plan changed recently with the limitation of any access into Syria. We will now be limited to operations inside Iraq only. To call this a disappointment would be a massive understatement. We have spent all of the first week at Al Taqaddam Air Base about five miles west of Fallujah, before splitting up. USMC Cpt. CJ Baumann and I are now here at Al Asad Air Base with a group of Marines who provide quick response force (QRF) coverage to Navy Seal special forces operations against holdout ISIS targets and supportive villages nearby.

The Navy special forces blokes were friendly enough, and open to us being around, even if we couldn’t talk about them too specifically, or for the most part render them in pencil, and definitely no photos of faces. We got to know a few during our time there, but they were very busy folks with things to do in the messing-people-up department, so our access was limited to when they were around - and awake.

Our main focus is of course, our Marines. When the seals do deploy on a mission our Marines provided the QRF. In essence they got tooled up completely and were ready to board birds out to assist the Seals should the fit hit the shan. Over our few days on base our Marines were tagged for this role fairly regularly, a number of times on operations that were cancelled before launch. Sometimes before they had even started preparing, at other times right before standing to. It was a running joke.

But then there were also nights when the Seal operation went ahead just as planned.

On one of THOSE nights we hung with a squad of Marines as they prepped for QRF duty. They were based in what had once been a covered revetment shelter for an Iraqi air force fighter jet. Apparently built by French engineers back in the seventies and eighties. They were still in remarkably good shape, and came with a massive arched dome that provided welcome shade through the heat of the day. The Marines were living in a variety of aging improved-shipping-containers underneath, protected from the sun above and from the odd mortar round by all the French laid concrete.

It was almost fully dark and the Marines were spreading their gear out on what had once been the hangar floor. Gone were the Uno playing pranksters. Faces became stiff and resigned. Movements smooth and practiced. The sergeant who had been so playful and friendly earlier had hardened his demeanor, and the Marines responded to the change in tone. They were all business as they checked comms, call signs, chem lights, and weaponry. A marine from the armory set out grenades in a variety of types. “Any station, any station radio check,” says one quietly. They count off who has what, making sure they have redundancy of everything, and nobody forgets anything essential.

It was very difficult to draw under these conditions. Not full dark, but pretty close in lights out conditions under the overhang. Worth a shot though. This is the kind of reality and access we have been looking for the whole trip though, and rather than miss anything once it really is too dark to see the paper I sit back, shoot video, absorb everything, and take photos. I’ll do my drawings from those same photos, my rubbish sketches and memory as quickly as possible after the fact. Often I create the art within hours of having taken photos. Otherwise I find I lose my feeling for the moment.

As everyone straightens out their gear the Sgt straightens them out as to what to expect. The Marines had rehearsed this operation, had studied the maps, and the aerial photography, but the Sgt fills them in on last-minute details and shifts in their (the Marines) responsibility. Every third word is not repeatable to your grandmother, and every fourth word is an acronym for same.

Two of the Marines are carrying folded stretchers. One of them is the medic. As a group they discuss dealing with casualties, how to tag wounded, and order to be used for evac of same. This is all stuff they know. Things they have done dozens of times before. But they rehash through it all anyway. Keeping everyone moving and focused. Outside a huge moon has just crested the force protection berms. Great light. If only I was a painter.

With everything in order the Marines rendezvoused with the seals in a nearby compound.

The Marines took a little of the weight off by squatting up against the force protection barriers, as they watched the seals get themselves squared away. Positioned in the deep shadow like this the men of the QRF were barely visible, and even with long exposure it was tough to pick out anything with the camera. I keep shooting anyway. The Marines sit very quietly. Many of them I know from our week here. They are so young in my old eyes now, and it feels like they suddenly are burdened by much more than their gear.

The seals are a little more casual about their dress code than the Marines. More individual. Each member has their own personal equipment, all of it distinctly built around their personal preferences, based on hard-won experience - or shared experience, on what works and what doesn’t. This in turn is all changeable depending on the role and the target. As they readied themselves to move it was at times difficult to keep them out of camera frame.

On base each Navy Seal has a cubby in their ready room. Here they keep all of the tools of the trade. Think of it like a hockey players’ changing room seat after the game. Except instead of elbow and shoulder pads it was body armor, weaponry, ammo, comms gear, back-up comms gear, and enough other assorted high-tech to make an IT nerd cream. Everything is set out in order to be kitted out in a hurry.

Seeing the seals in full kit it was difficult to imagine them getting into any trouble that they couldn’t fight their way out of, but the QRF was here just in case that did happen. Within ten minutes of the Marine QRF arriving the seals are on their way to the flight line, it is time to go.

On the flight line a number of V-22 Ospreys stand ready. This is real now. This is what we come for, and what we struggle so hard to access. This is an unprecedented view of things. Everything we have done, everything we have accomplished so far, was all build up to this particular piece of access. And hilariously now, not only can’t we photograph it or draw what we see, because of the Seal Team restrictions, but even if we could it would be impossible without light. So we open our eyes wide, dilate our pupils fully, clear out the earwax, and just absorb. The only light comes from the moon and the green lit interiors of the Ospreys across the runway. There is a mix of Iraqi and US special forces standing together, waiting for the go signal. It is impossible to tell which is which. They line up on the flight line chatting back and forth through radios, double checking everything.

The senior enlisted seal stands watching everyone line up. He has a stumpy silenced weapon strapped to is back, and a fat cigar in one hand. Yup this is real.

After watching for a while, I ask the cigar wielder if he’d mind me snapping a few photographs as long as he has his back to us. There is a quick explanation about who we are, and who we represent, before he gives us the thumbs up. Then immediately forgets we exist. I snap blindly and eventually find something to use as a tripod to try and stabilize the scene. It all seems a bit hopeless and I eventually give it up, content to try and absorb enough to allow me to work something up from memory. Maybe there will be enough (see below).

And then it is time. The coalition of special forces form rough lines and file to the back of the beasts. Very quickly they are boarded and secured. The Ospreys start up. The lights on their blades become beautiful red and green ellipses against the night sky. The engine tone changes, and the birds lift off one after another. Just like that, there is nobody left on the flight line but Cpt. Baumann, our minder, and myself.

I try and follow the flight of Ospreys. With lights out they look like nothing more than black spaces in the blackness of the night. Then even the sound is gone. And there is nothing but the moon.