U.S. soldiers wilt under fierce Mesopotamian sun

BAGHDAD, Iraq -- On Abi Nawas Street, the heat shimmers off the blacktop and the blue-green leaves of the eucalyptus trees droop in defeat. And though he stares at the Tigris River, U.S. Army Sgt. Donald Stretz sees something else: a Mexican restaurant in Mt. Kisco, N.Y.

"I wish I was there right now, drinking a cold Corona with a lime," says Stretz, his face basted in sweat.

At 3 p.m., it's 110 degrees in the shade. With the legendary Mesopotamian sun hammering down, U.S. troops swaddled in long-sleeve uniforms and gear look like ants roasting under a magnifying glass.

"It feels like someone's holding a hairdryer to your face," says Army Sgt. Daniel Conforti, 22, of Selden, N.Y.

And it's going to get worse. To hear Iraqis tell it, June is mild. "This is nothing," they repeat, sometimes laughing. "Wait until July. Wait until August." In those months, the mercury challenges the 130-degree mark.

For U.S. soldiers patrolling Baghdad, there's no escaping the heat. There is no air conditioning. No swimming pools. Cooling off means a seat in the shade with a baby wipe to cut the grime. Sleeping is a fitful affair, with men stripped to their shorts, spread-eagled on cots.

"I pity them," said 73-year-old Hajj Talib Taha, as a pair of rumbling Humvees sat stuck in traffic on teeming al-Rashid street.

Others said the Americans should've considered the heat before invading the kitchen.

"They came here to do a job. They have to endure the heat, just like us," said Mohammed Jassim, 18, selling bootleg CDs in a sun-drenched market on Tahrir Square. Jassim conceded the gear-burdened Americans "feel it more than we do."

Unlike other troops in Iraq, the Americans seem to lack a summer uniform. No matter how hot it gets, they don long-sleeve fatigues with desert boots and a heavy Kevlar helmet. They wear T-shirts underneath, often skipping the underwear -- a state known as "going commando."

On top, they wear body armor vests with heavy ceramic plates, plus tens of pounds of other gear. The ensemble would be more appropriate in 45-degree weather.

"Try putting a trash bag on your torso and cinch off the bottom and the top," said Army Sgt. Ray Poole, 39, of Winter Haven, Fla., guarding a gate in the midday glare.

Poole spends the day drenched in sweat, guzzling water to keep pace with the sweat pumping from his pores. It floods his chest and back, dribbling down his legs and soaking into his socks. Poole points to wet patches on his boots where the sweat weeps out.

Others suffer far less. The Nepalese Gurkhas guarding the Republican Palace radiate comfort. They wear short-sleeve khaki shirts and light canvas caps. In the deepest midafternoon furnace funk, Gurkhas smile as they check IDs, bidding guests to enter the palace with a slight bow and a wave.

Baghdadis traditionally leave the streets at midday to take their chief meal. Then they settle under a fan -- or air conditioning for the well-off -- for the qaylulah, or siesta. When the sun drops and mellows to orange, they return.

The heat does have its benefits. A cup of hot coffee stays hot. Making tea means shoving a few tea bags in a water bottle and setting it on the dashboard. The lack of hot showers on most U.S. bases isn't a problem.

But it can be dangerous.

Stretz, a pudgy man from Millwood, N.Y., says he felt dizzy and run down after a long day in the sun. Army medics told him it was heat exhaustion. They laid him on a litter and started pumping cold bags of saline solution into his arm.

"I took eight bags," Stretz says. "You can feel the cold running up your arm. After three or four bags you start feeling better."

Some soldiers sweat away their weight, often because they can't eat in the heat. Others affect a cavalier attitude toward the heat.

"We can fight in any weather, sir," says Lt. Brian Scicluna, 23, a bookish officer leading a group on guard duty in front of the Palestine Hotel. "You just get acclimatized."

A heavyset soldier chimes in, saying he's on his third tour in the Persian Gulf. Then the braggarts wander off -- probably seeking shade -- and Pfc. Leonard Talley, 25, pshaws their statements.

"Don't believe those guys. Especially that fat guy," Talley says. "He complains about the heat more than anyone."