Duck and Cover: Inside a Mortar Blast and the Military’s Acceptance of Indirect Fire

Text Box:  BAGHDAD, June 26 — Tonight around 1800, walking past the U.S. embassy compound’s military checkpoint manned by proud Peruvian soldiers, I hear in the distance a deep, heavy whump, whump. Last time I heard that sound, it was 2005 in Camp Taji. I register it but don’t say anything, and, although we both glance toward the direction of the sound, neither does my PAO escort. This compound is converted from one of Saddam Hussein’s former palaces—think Arabian Nights a la 1970s Las Vegas, only worse. Within minutes of entering the garish, ornate hulk, an alarm sounds. Over the intercom, echoing through the vast marbled halls and rooms, comes a mechanized voice: Duck and cover, duck and cover. Stay away from the windows and seek shelter. This is repeated several times. There’s no running or turmoil, but everyone—dozens of soldiers, airmen, U.S. and coalition forces and civilians—walks a little faster, with greater purpose and shoulders hitched a bit higher. Beside me, Maj. Armando Hernandez tenses up some. “Those were mortars?” I ask. He just nods. As we wait in one of several gaudy antechambers off the compound’s main hall for the two Iraqi-American interpreters I’ve come to interview, we don’t saw much else. Such nervous acceptance of indirect fire is telling: The people who live and work in this huge space have grown more accustomed to frequent attacks, but it is an uneasy, fearful