Blues in the Green Zone on Christmas

Outside the tiny mess hall, a handwritten sign proclaims in a spidery scrawl: “Knight’s Den lunch feast. Try the eggnog tonight. (The rest is just Army chow.) Merry Christmas.”

In this overlooked corner of the Green Zone, troops from Michigan’s National Guard celebrated Christmas Eve on Saturday. From daybreak, the soldiers toiled to decorate the spartan hall, open to the 146 “Knights” who are spending the holidays in Iraq.

At home are newborn children and grandchildren, and families gathering to celebrate. In Michigan, it’s snowing.

But here in Baghdad, it’s a sunny day.

Sgt. 1st Class Tim Arnold has prepared surprise Christmas gifts for the 40 troops in his platoon. He has bought a knife engraved with the platoon insignia for each guardsman under his command. Unknown to Arnold, they too have gone shopping and found an antique bayonet for him.

“It’s the hardest time of the year for the guys,” Arnold says. “In the last 24 hours, people are starting to realize it’s Christmas, and it’s going to be the new year soon.”

As 2005 draws to a close, Arnold’s troops are thinking about their return home. Some will meet children they have never seen. Others will find empty houses and custody battles.

Arnold’s first child was born in May with complications. Six months ago, she weighed a mere 3 pounds, 4 ounces. Since then, she has gained more than 12 pounds, growing healthier with each passing day.

At least eight other Knights have also had “little ones,” says Arnold, a 32-year-old with a construction business at home in Manistee, Mich.

The Knights of the 126th Armored Battalion arrived in Baghdad for the first time 10 months ago, and their work duties have included clearing Baghdad streets of roadside bombs. They are not scheduled to leave Iraq until March.

Not seeing snow has made Arnold “a little bit broken-hearted,” he says. But he adds: “I think we’ll be all right.”

It’s harder on their families, he explains. “My wife probably won’t have a great Christmas. I know my mother won’t.”

In Iraqi-run shops inside the locked-down Green Zone, he has purchased a Bugs Bunny carpet for his daughter, gold and silver for his wife. Others have been shopping at the PX, mailing home DVDs and music to loved ones.

Soldiers mill around in the sunshine with last-minute gifts while “White Christmas” is piped across the plaza. With limited shopping on the base, some have gotten creative. One soldier has burned a disc for his wife, using the song selections to express his love.

David Rivera, a 25-year-old father of three from Holland, Mich., has bought jewelry boxes adorned with Iraqi flags for his wife and daughter. His wife, who has known him since third grade, sent him a pair of pajamas.

Last year, his brother Robert, a sergeant also deployed to Iraq, spent his holidays in Baghdad. This year, it’s David’s turn -- his first Christmas away from the family.

“They were really broken up when I first left,” Rivera says.

“My youngest one,” he says, referring to his 5-year-old son, “keeps saying, ‘Are you coming back next week?’ ”

It’ll be a little longer than that.

“Everything in our life has been put on hold,” he says, while fixing a Humvee.

In the mechanics shop where he works, there has been little cheer. Another soldier found out his wife was cheating on him while he was deployed. She has left and taken their son.

“I brought Christmas music, but no one wants to listen to it,” says Rivera, looking forlorn. Without music and “a foot of snow,” he says, “it doesn’t feel like Christmas.”

A couple of British soldiers stop by to say hello -- both wearing combat fatigues and Santa hats. They wave cheerfully as they drive by.

“It’ll be something that we never forget,” says Spc. Lee Gary, as he cleans his 9-millimeter weapon. Gary is one of the men of the 2nd platoon who has pitched in to buy Arnold’s present.

“He really takes care of us,” says the 22-year-old. “He’ll take money out of his own pocket, if need be.”

The sergeant “is gentle but intimidating,” says Gary, who will miss his daughter’s first Christmas.

Arnold brought pictures from Gary’s wife when he was home on emergency leave after the birth of his own daughter. “We won’t be there in person but we’ll be there in spirit,” Gary says.

His older brother Mike, a Marine sniper who has been to Iraq three times so far, is stateside, but the two often talk on the phone. While the younger Gary is in Iraq, Arnold has taken the role of an older brother “who’s always going to take care of you,” Gary says.

Outside the barracks, soldiers are playing with remote-controlled toy tanks as Staff Sgt. Dale Krueger, 55, returns from the Burger King near the U.S. Embassy’s palace complex. He’s carrying his “holiday meal” in his helmet. A Vietnam War veteran, Krueger is taciturn and aloof.

“We had more freedom” in Vietnam, he says.

Krueger, who’s called Freddie by the younger men, became a grandfather for the seventh time Monday. His new granddaughter was his Christmas present, he says. What got to him 34 years ago in Vietnam is what gets to him today in Iraq -- the orphaned children who come begging. “It’s hard,” he says simply.

Inside the mess hall, a handwritten note asks for donations to buy new chairs. So far, the men have collected $49.

“It’s a small corner of the world forgotten by everyone else and maintained by us,” says Lt. Micah Bell of the Knights’ home on the Tigris River.

It’s a corner with a distinctive culture and camaraderie. After all, the Knights built their own round table to celebrate Christmas. It now stands at one end of the hall, draped in purple velvet and topped with a decorated fir tree.

“Last year was a downer because we were getting ready to leave” for Iraq, says the 29-year-old Bell. “This year, it’s a downer because we are here.

“Some guys,” he adds, “it’s really tearing them up.”

Bell, who hails from Valparaiso, Ind., fights forest fires stateside. Last year, he helped put out a massive blaze in Northern California.

The Green Zone is home to thousands of U.S. troops, and each part has its own character, he says. In one section, Iraqis live in high-rises. At the palatial embassy complex, “it’s the people rebuilding the country,” he says. “Union 3,” another base, “they are all the war fighters.”

This corner is home to the Knights, “the citizen-soldiers,” he says.

But not for much longer.

“The end is in sight,” says the lieutenant, smiling as he drinks his eggnog.