Yesterday, at noon, I stepped off on a patrol with 3rd Platoon, Kilo Company, 3rd Battalion, 6th Marines.  Twelve Marines, four Iraqi Police officers and myself patrolled the village of Husabayh Jawal.

But I cannot eat in the chow hall at TQ.

The patrol base in Husabayh Jawal is so small it does not have a name, just a number---548.

Across the mesa, down by the school and around an old, looted factory, the Marines and the IPs flat-footed their patrol, chatting up the locals and visiting a few informants.

Across a four lane road from the old factory the locals had set up their own entry control point to their village.  Whether you call them a militia, TAA, Sons of Al Anbar or Provisional Police, they make sure the only people who cross the canal are the people who belong in the village.

The patrol, like most patrols for 3rd Platoon, was uneventful.

That night, I stayed in the Khalidiyah Police Station.  A lamb was purchased earlier in the day, slaughtered and butchered.

With a small squad of soldiers, I ate the lamb for dinner as IPs dropped by our camp fire to shoot the breeze.

Breakfast was the staple of the Iraqi diet, potatoes and tomatoes, fried in oil with cinnamon and black pepper.

Of course, it was followed by tea.

By 1100, the soldiers of Police Training Team 6, Habbaniyah, were finished with their classes on evidence handling and supervision of cleaning up the evidence locker.  Evidence being a western concept the IPs are only slowly grasping.

A few of the soldiers asked if I wanted to go with them across the canal to TQ for lunch.

TQ is a massive logistics and air wing base only 500 meters from Habbaniyah.  Its chow hall is legendary for having metal utensils and real plates.  In homage to the garrison mentality of TQ, the chow hall even has an area for officers to dine separated from the rabble.

The chow hall is also a fortress guarded by Ugandan security guards.

I was immediately stopped by the Ugandans.  The soldiers explained that I was with them.  But that was not enough.

My Press ID issued by CPIC was not enough.  Evidently you need two forms of ID to eat at the TQ chow hall.  After a five minute conversation and various radio calls to various supervisors, I was finally allowed passage into the sacred chow hall.

On my plate were two pieces of breaded meat they called "veal."

The lamb butchered in an open air Iraqi market tasted better.

Outside the Wire if you are an American, you are welcome by the grunts and the Iraqi Army, Khalidiyah Police and even the local militia in Husabayh Jawal.

But inside the wire, in Garrison, you need two forms of ID.

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