Stalker platoon has cordoned off a small village in the Diyala Province while the Iraqi Army conducts house searches. While they wait for the Iraqi Army to finish, a young Iraqi boy stares up at Sgt. Joseph Garcia in his humvee’s gun turret. The boy smiles and waves. As a nearby primary school lets out, Lt. John Hintz laments not bringing candy.
The boy continues to gawk at the humvee. Sgt. Garcia looks to the platoon’s interpreter for help. “Say ‘Shlonak,’ orders interpreter AT4.
Sgt. Garcia hesitates, “What does that mean?”
AT4 shrugs, “It’s like ‘what’s up dawg?’”
Still uncertain, Sgt. Garcia turns to the boy, “Shlonak?”
“Zen,” replies the boy.
“See, he said ‘zen,’” says AT4 without bothering to tell Garcia what “zen” means. Garcia becomes momentarily annoyed, then returns to scanning the road for enemy activity.
The soldiers in Stalker Platoon are part of the fourth rotation of American soldiers in Iraq since the beginning of the war in 2003, yet not a single one of them speaks Arabic. The same can be said for the over six-hundred soldiers who serve in the First Battalion, Sixty-Eighth Armoured Regiment, home to Stalker Platoon.
A year before deploying to Iraq, many of the soldiers in Stalker platoon volunteered to study Arabic in an Army run course after work. Unfortunately, the scouts widely regarded the course as poorly structured and ineffective. A few managed to learn basic phrases, but no one has even a rudimentary understanding of the language. The complete lack of Arabic speakers forces the US Army to rely on interpreters like AT4.
All Iraqis employed by the US military go by a nickname to reduce the chances of being recognized by locals and make their names easier for Americans to remember. An interpreter nicknamed Steve was recognized by a spy who infiltrated the base. Soon Steve’s family began to receive death threats, so Steve quit work and immediately left Iraq.
AT4 is named after a shoulder-launched rocket used by the Army. Watch this high-strung, nineteen year-old kick in doors during house searches and it’s readily apparent how he got the name. He carries a pistol and an AK-47 the military confiscated from some Iraqis who lacked the proper permits. While blowing a bridge, some engineers from Stalker platoon accidentally dropped an explosive charge into a drainpipe. AT4 was one of the first to volunteer to crawl into the pipe to fetch the charge.
Hearing AT4 speak English it’s clear that he fine-tuned his English working with American soldiers. In place of “um,” he casually inserts “fucking.” In other sentences “fucking” appears as an adjective applied for no discernable reason.
“Iraq is bullshit, man,” says AT4. He used the money he’s made working as an interpreter to buy his family a house, which insurgents once RPGed. When this happened AT4 says, “My dad tell me to stop working. I say ‘Fuck that,’ and I keep working.” Though AT4 calls his family every week, he hasn’t visited them since he started working as a translator over two years ago.
In the Army nothing indicates acceptance more than constant and merciless mockery, and by the amount of teasing AT4 gets Stalker platoon clearly loves him. He normally rides in Lt. Hintz’s humvee, driven by PFC Ryan O’Connor. During training exercises in the States, O’Connor brought tweezers into the field to pluck his eyebrows. Since then he’s been branded the platoon’s pretty boy. Lt. Hintz is fond of accusing AT4 of having a crush on O’Connor.
Despite AT4’s energy, he’s a fairly laid back interpreter. He translates what Lt. Hintz needs, and often times waves off locals trying to ask more questions or give him additional information. One of Stalker platoon’s other translators, Ibrahim is almost the opposite of AT4 as an interpreter.
Although Ibrahim earned the nickname Crusader-6, he prefers to accept the risk and go by his given name. Watching him work, one might think the US Army had employed a B-list Arab actor trained in interrogation by C-list police movies.
While Lt. Hintz and the director of the Al-Abara police station carry on a relatively calm and levelheaded conversation, Ibrahim fills every statement with the maximum amount of emotion possible. When he translates Hintz’s praise for the Al-Abara station it sounds like he’s narrating a live account of someone pulling a crippled boy and his puppy from a flaming building.
At other times, Ibrahim’s enthusiasm makes him a liability. He often acts as the self-appointed strong-arm of Stalker platoon. Questioning someone who Ibrahim believed was withholding information, he once asked Lt. Hintz to turn around so he could beat the suspect.
Although those in Stalker platoon generally acknowledge Ibrahim as an effective interpreter, he often annoys soldiers by constantly acting as something of a backseat-general. As US Soldiers and the Iraqi Army fanned out around a house, they were about to search, Ibrahim trotted behind Lt. Hintz suggesting where he ought to send soldiers. Later, Lt. Hintz expressed his desire to enroll in Arabic courses at a local college when he returns home.
The boy continues to gawk at the humvee. Sgt. Garcia looks to the platoon’s interpreter for help. “Say ‘Shlonak,’ orders interpreter AT4.
Sgt. Garcia hesitates, “What does that mean?”
AT4 shrugs, “It’s like ‘what’s up dawg?’”
Still uncertain, Sgt. Garcia turns to the boy, “Shlonak?”
“Zen,” replies the boy.
“See, he said ‘zen,’” says AT4 without bothering to tell Garcia what “zen” means. Garcia becomes momentarily annoyed, then returns to scanning the road for enemy activity.
The soldiers in Stalker Platoon are part of the fourth rotation of American soldiers in Iraq since the beginning of the war in 2003, yet not a single one of them speaks Arabic. The same can be said for the over six-hundred soldiers who serve in the First Battalion, Sixty-Eighth Armoured Regiment, home to Stalker Platoon.
A year before deploying to Iraq, many of the soldiers in Stalker platoon volunteered to study Arabic in an Army run course after work. Unfortunately, the scouts widely regarded the course as poorly structured and ineffective. A few managed to learn basic phrases, but no one has even a rudimentary understanding of the language. The complete lack of Arabic speakers forces the US Army to rely on interpreters like AT4.
All Iraqis employed by the US military go by a nickname to reduce the chances of being recognized by locals and make their names easier for Americans to remember. An interpreter nicknamed Steve was recognized by a spy who infiltrated the base. Soon Steve’s family began to receive death threats, so Steve quit work and immediately left Iraq.
AT4 is named after a shoulder-launched rocket used by the Army. Watch this high-strung, nineteen year-old kick in doors during house searches and it’s readily apparent how he got the name. He carries a pistol and an AK-47 the military confiscated from some Iraqis who lacked the proper permits. While blowing a bridge, some engineers from Stalker platoon accidentally dropped an explosive charge into a drainpipe. AT4 was one of the first to volunteer to crawl into the pipe to fetch the charge.
Hearing AT4 speak English it’s clear that he fine-tuned his English working with American soldiers. In place of “um,” he casually inserts “fucking.” In other sentences “fucking” appears as an adjective applied for no discernable reason.
“Iraq is bullshit, man,” says AT4. He used the money he’s made working as an interpreter to buy his family a house, which insurgents once RPGed. When this happened AT4 says, “My dad tell me to stop working. I say ‘Fuck that,’ and I keep working.” Though AT4 calls his family every week, he hasn’t visited them since he started working as a translator over two years ago.
In the Army nothing indicates acceptance more than constant and merciless mockery, and by the amount of teasing AT4 gets Stalker platoon clearly loves him. He normally rides in Lt. Hintz’s humvee, driven by PFC Ryan O’Connor. During training exercises in the States, O’Connor brought tweezers into the field to pluck his eyebrows. Since then he’s been branded the platoon’s pretty boy. Lt. Hintz is fond of accusing AT4 of having a crush on O’Connor.
Despite AT4’s energy, he’s a fairly laid back interpreter. He translates what Lt. Hintz needs, and often times waves off locals trying to ask more questions or give him additional information. One of Stalker platoon’s other translators, Ibrahim is almost the opposite of AT4 as an interpreter.
Although Ibrahim earned the nickname Crusader-6, he prefers to accept the risk and go by his given name. Watching him work, one might think the US Army had employed a B-list Arab actor trained in interrogation by C-list police movies.
While Lt. Hintz and the director of the Al-Abara police station carry on a relatively calm and levelheaded conversation, Ibrahim fills every statement with the maximum amount of emotion possible. When he translates Hintz’s praise for the Al-Abara station it sounds like he’s narrating a live account of someone pulling a crippled boy and his puppy from a flaming building.
At other times, Ibrahim’s enthusiasm makes him a liability. He often acts as the self-appointed strong-arm of Stalker platoon. Questioning someone who Ibrahim believed was withholding information, he once asked Lt. Hintz to turn around so he could beat the suspect.
Although those in Stalker platoon generally acknowledge Ibrahim as an effective interpreter, he often annoys soldiers by constantly acting as something of a backseat-general. As US Soldiers and the Iraqi Army fanned out around a house, they were about to search, Ibrahim trotted behind Lt. Hintz suggesting where he ought to send soldiers. Later, Lt. Hintz expressed his desire to enroll in Arabic courses at a local college when he returns home.
posted by Tom | 8:02 AM
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