Atlantica - 01.10.2006, Blaðsíða 32

30 AT L A N T I CA
on the fly
CONFESSIONS OF A WAR REPORTER
Clearly when you make your first trip
to a war zone it’s all in your head.
What you know of the place is
created by images you’ve seen. You
don’t imagine the average things: the
airport and the road into town. Not
knowing is terrifying. I just envisioned
this giant hand picking me up from
Manhattan. I was surrounded by young
professionals, I had family (my sister
was there), and then, all of a sudden, I
was being dropped into war.
The most terrifying night I had was
the night I spent in Amman, Jordan
before going to Iraq. It was miserable
waiting. I finally remember hearing,
“Now boarding for Baghdad.”
You want to talk about extreme air
travel. Up at cruising altitude, everything
below was basically desert, vast, and
finally you get there. I remember that
the runway looked like two rings wound
together. When you approach New York
at night you see city lights. Not when
you fly into Baghdad. The captain gives
you a heads up to buckle your seatbelt.
And then you hear the engine power
reduced from a hooooo sound to a
heeeee sound. It was a lot like being
on a roller coaster ride. If you are in the
front, you’re facing down, and waiting
to go but the weight behind is holding
you back. You’re just sitting there and,
like in a cartoon, boom! You go.
The plane did a corkscrew landing.
That’s a tight maneuver, and we weren’t
in a fighter jet. The safest area is the air
space directly over the airport. One guy
almost pulled off the tray table in the
seat in front of me.
When you land, you want to think
the worst is over, but it’s kinda where it
just begins. It can be frustrating driving
from LAX to where I live in Los Angeles,
California, but nothing compares to the
ride you take from Baghdad airport to
NBC’s headquarters in the city.
When I arrived, I put on a flak jacket
and our security agents strapped on
my seatbelt. “Just so you are warned,
Peter, you’re a perfect target,” one of the
agents said to me.
You’re on the most deadly road in
the world; two years ago, 50 westerners
died on that road. That’s what scares
you the most. There are no front lines in
this war. Wherever you are is a threat. A
veil of brown sand blankets the homes
and trees on either side of the road.
There are hunks of metal from past
explosions. You find yourself saying,
Maybe I’m weak. Is this the moment
before the moment? What if this is the
second before the boom? That’s a scary
way to live.
Once you are in the hotel, you feel
like you are safe. But even there, we
found a hole from a stray bullet in the
bathroom window.
It’s one thing for an anchor sitting
behind a desk and saying another bomb
went off. It’s another being the guy who
hears the boom and feels the shaking
in my chest and feeling my heart stop.
The second time I went to Iraq, 20
bombs went off in one day. Al Zarqawi
had called for all out war against the
Shiites. At 7am you heard the day’s
first bombing. It’s not like when you
live in Los Angeles, Oklahoma City or
Spokane, Washington, where if there
is a loud accident on the other side of
town, you don’t hear it. When you’re in
Baghdad, you can. The bombs went off
with an extremely powerful force.
Before I went to Baghdad, I made a
professional decision. My loved ones
were two times as worried as I was, and
I told them, “I want to have gone just
as much I don’t want to go. I want the
experience, but I don’t desire having to
live it.” I went because I wanted to tell
stories that American people deserve
and demand to know and then return
safely. I’m not doing much of a service
if I die. a IL
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At 28, Peter Alexander, a correspondent for the American news network NBC, made his first trip to Baghdad. While he had already been
on assignment all over the world and would later return to Iraq, that first arrival was one he’ll never forget. As told to Daniel Heimpel.
009 airmail Atlantica 506 .indd 30 25.8.2006 0:42:49