thedrifter
04-26-03, 08:59 AM
A Soldiers Journal
Two Weeks in the Desert
By Lt. Col. Gerard F. Healy / U.S. Army Reserve Public Affairs
IN THE PERSIAN GULF — Nothing is easy; not in the desert, not with 20 pounds of gear strapped on. The flak vest goes on top of the Desert Camouflage Uniform. The load bearing equipment, or LBE, goes on top of the vest. The utility belt attached below includes two canteens of water and a nine-millimeter pistol. The protective mask is strapped across the flak vest. The water pouch goes atop all else.
The feeling is not unlike the little boy in "A Christmas Story." Bundled up in wintry clothes so much by mother, the boy falls immobile onto the ground, flailing his arms and legs. But, it is not quite so bad. We haven't had to don our chemical suits – yet.
As a member of an Army Public Affairs team, I am traveling with the 459th Multi-Role Bridge Company. The unit is headquartered at Bridgeport, W. VA. But this day it is in Kuwait, just south of Iraq. It is the early evening of March 19th. Around the camp, fires burn. Darkened figures of soldiers walk to pits and toss wood and trash inside as flames arch high.
Pride and professionalism are evident in the unit. Earlier today, it was heard in the story of how the unit placed 2nd in a field of 22 in a European bridge-building competition. It is also evident in the quietness of the unit's perimeter. Beyond the boats and bridge parts mounted on large vehicles, there are voices. Someone is yelling for a first sergeant. Someone else loudly asks for a Sergeant Brown. In contrast, the quiet within the 459th area is almost unnerving. Soldiers gather in small groups and talk lowly. One figure leaves and meets another small group and information is passed. All soldiers are in full battle gear; no head is without a kevlar helmet, no weapon is more than an arm's length away,
Capt. Timothey Vanderborne moves purposefully around the perimeter of the camp. As the commander, he performs last minute checks and talks often to 1st Sgt.Fred Bell. There is a question of enough water. Bell heads out into the dark to contact a neighboring unit. Later, he reports the water problem resolved.
Vanderborne, at about five feet, seven inches, is not tall. But even in the dark his movements are easily monitored. He moves with a display of energy, propelling himself forward with quick steps. At close range, his M-16 rifle sling at a 45-degree angle across his chest and a rubbery contraption that surrounds and holds his glasses distinguishes him from other soldiers.
"I want to get it done," he says, echoing the comments of many of his soldiers. By "it," he means the war with Iraq. The soldiers have been at Camp Hammer for eight days. They do not look worn down by the field conditions. Surprisingly, they move with energy. Their words and comments reveal impatience.
"I've been waiting 12 years," said one soldier standing by a wooden table outside a field-cooking shelter. "I wasn't at Desert Storm, but I'm here now." He looks around as though speaking for all the surrounding soldiers. "Let's do it." Heads nod in agreement.
As the fires burn the remnants of Camp Hammer, Vanderborne returns to his jeep, looking around the camp. 'I just wish we came here earlier," he says. "At Arifjan, the soldiers were losing their focus a bit. You could see it in their eyes." An earlier staging base, Camp Arifjan had a Post Exchange, fast-food restaurants, and ice cream shops. None of those luxuries visited Camp Hammer. "They're sharp now," adds Vanderborne.
As the commander of the 172-person unit, Vanderborne is responsible for everything the unit does or fails to do in the coming battle. When asked if the current situation or his responsibilities awe him, he flashes a quick smile. His face feigns puzzlement. "This?" he asks looking about. "This is nothing. Back home I manage a chemical plant."
Vanderborne and his entire company are members of the Army Reserve. It was last October when most members of the unit learned of their upcoming deployment. Four months later, they arrived in
Kuwait. With the variety of most Army Reserve units, the soldiers of the 459th include construction workers, college students, truck drivers, a school counselor, a policeman and even a bartender.
Today, around the perimeter of the camp, small bulldozers level dirt berms built only weeks ago. Assembly Area Hammer is being destroyed, erased from the desert landscape. Later, long rows of vehicles snake through departure pints. The immense convoy goes northwest, not yet into enemy territory, but closer to the coming fight.
At 4:31 a.m. this day, it is beyond the President's 48-hour deadline. America is at war and the men and women of the 459th MRB Company move toward Baghdad. Between these soldiers and Saddam Hussein's home is the Euphrates River. It is a river that flowed through the origin of civilization. Before the month ends, the members of the 459th may well bridge it.
Since leaving Hammer, it is hard to measure time in hours and days. There is driving time, which is almost all the time and there is sleep time. In between is the sitting-by-the-side-of-the-road-wondering-if-we-are-going-to-get-any-of-that-sleep time. Before getting six hours sleep, we travel close to15 hours.
March 20: Today, at 5 p.m., the unit got several energy boosting events. The first was the sight of numerous rockets, traveling in clusters northward, sent on their way by Multiple Launch Rocket Systems. The next event was the clear view of what appeared to be a SCUD missile, bright and high in the sky, arching directly over camp before suddenly disintegrating into the desert air. The third event was the word to don our chemical suits.
March 21: The big news of the day is that, surprisingly, no one seems to mind the chemical suits. The charcoal-lined, thick-clothed texture worked well in keeping out the desert's cold night air. At 8 a.m., the convoy moves out again. Creeping northwest at about 10 miles per hour across the desert this day and the next, we snack on sleep, about three hours at a time.
Like the desert path, the day goes on forever. It is a long day spent driving in what could quite arguably be the longest traffic jam in modern history. At 10:15, we arrive at a desert pass. A long fence that warns of electric shock stretch to both sides of the east and west horizon. Thirty meters of the fence is torn away. In case there is doubt, a sign on the near side of the fence is stuck into the dirt and sand. It's message is simple - 'Welcome to Iraq."
On the other side of the fence, down the road, two gentlemen in long flowing robes, tending their sheep, wave to the convoy. About six miles further down the road, a man of about 20 approaches the convoy with three children. A young girl gestures toward her mouth for food. Several soldiers hand over Meals, Ready to Eat, or MREs. About another mile down the road are tents, patched together with various styled cloth. Off to the side of one of the tents are two pick-up vans. As the convoy crawls along, the Bedouins with the MREs head back toward their tents.
This day, a Global Positioning System, or GPS, reveals that our convoy is averaging less than 10 miles per hour. From the short band radio, a reporter from the British Broadcasting System, or BBS, was reported from somewhere in the long convoy that includes the 459th. He spoke of traveling relentlessly through the night. Several soldiers laugh. "Slowly, but relentlessly," someone observes. Also, from the radio, we learn that part of Iraq is in the control of the Marines and that Special Forces units possibly control oil fields in the north.
By afternoon, the immense long line of vehicles has taken a toll on the hard-packed desert dirt. Almost impenetrable with a shovel earlier, now the main road has been ground into a substance almost as fine as talcum powder. At least three vehicles of the unit get stuck, as the convoy continued along. At 6:18, we arrive at a resting position. The vehicles would rejoin the unit days later, welcomed with loud applause.
March 22: Twice during the night the unit prepared to move out, but stood down. At 6:30 a.m., we are underway. We learn from BBC, that Turkey has now allowed military overflights. Also, we learn that Baghdad was bombed hard during the night. By two o'clock in the afternoon, the GPS reveals that we are 50 miles into Iraq.
During the night, the unit received a mission to assist other units stuck in the sand. Following this mission, traveling is slow across the desert. Several times the unit pulls to the side of the road to allow other units to go forward. By 6:30 p.m. we pass through another assembly area that was in the early stage of development. Marine Cobra gunships land and take off while we continue on our way.
March 23: The radio reports today tell of Marine forces heading for a town we are to go through. It is called An Nasiriyah. The convoy reaches a main highway today. The thought of leaving large swirling dust storms that reduce visibility at times to only two feet, boosts morale. However, with all traffic headed north and none going south, the congestion continues.
After 22 hours of on and off driving, the unit gets to sleep at 5:15 a.m. Three hours later, the soldiers are up; some shaving, others heating up MREs.
The commander meets with a Marine element that has just taken operational control of the 459th. Returning from the meeting the commander announces, "We're going south." It is hard for exhausted faces to look stunned, but the faces around the commander's jeep come close.
"Baghdad is north," says one officer. 'What's south - Korea?" asks a soldier.
continued....
Two Weeks in the Desert
By Lt. Col. Gerard F. Healy / U.S. Army Reserve Public Affairs
IN THE PERSIAN GULF — Nothing is easy; not in the desert, not with 20 pounds of gear strapped on. The flak vest goes on top of the Desert Camouflage Uniform. The load bearing equipment, or LBE, goes on top of the vest. The utility belt attached below includes two canteens of water and a nine-millimeter pistol. The protective mask is strapped across the flak vest. The water pouch goes atop all else.
The feeling is not unlike the little boy in "A Christmas Story." Bundled up in wintry clothes so much by mother, the boy falls immobile onto the ground, flailing his arms and legs. But, it is not quite so bad. We haven't had to don our chemical suits – yet.
As a member of an Army Public Affairs team, I am traveling with the 459th Multi-Role Bridge Company. The unit is headquartered at Bridgeport, W. VA. But this day it is in Kuwait, just south of Iraq. It is the early evening of March 19th. Around the camp, fires burn. Darkened figures of soldiers walk to pits and toss wood and trash inside as flames arch high.
Pride and professionalism are evident in the unit. Earlier today, it was heard in the story of how the unit placed 2nd in a field of 22 in a European bridge-building competition. It is also evident in the quietness of the unit's perimeter. Beyond the boats and bridge parts mounted on large vehicles, there are voices. Someone is yelling for a first sergeant. Someone else loudly asks for a Sergeant Brown. In contrast, the quiet within the 459th area is almost unnerving. Soldiers gather in small groups and talk lowly. One figure leaves and meets another small group and information is passed. All soldiers are in full battle gear; no head is without a kevlar helmet, no weapon is more than an arm's length away,
Capt. Timothey Vanderborne moves purposefully around the perimeter of the camp. As the commander, he performs last minute checks and talks often to 1st Sgt.Fred Bell. There is a question of enough water. Bell heads out into the dark to contact a neighboring unit. Later, he reports the water problem resolved.
Vanderborne, at about five feet, seven inches, is not tall. But even in the dark his movements are easily monitored. He moves with a display of energy, propelling himself forward with quick steps. At close range, his M-16 rifle sling at a 45-degree angle across his chest and a rubbery contraption that surrounds and holds his glasses distinguishes him from other soldiers.
"I want to get it done," he says, echoing the comments of many of his soldiers. By "it," he means the war with Iraq. The soldiers have been at Camp Hammer for eight days. They do not look worn down by the field conditions. Surprisingly, they move with energy. Their words and comments reveal impatience.
"I've been waiting 12 years," said one soldier standing by a wooden table outside a field-cooking shelter. "I wasn't at Desert Storm, but I'm here now." He looks around as though speaking for all the surrounding soldiers. "Let's do it." Heads nod in agreement.
As the fires burn the remnants of Camp Hammer, Vanderborne returns to his jeep, looking around the camp. 'I just wish we came here earlier," he says. "At Arifjan, the soldiers were losing their focus a bit. You could see it in their eyes." An earlier staging base, Camp Arifjan had a Post Exchange, fast-food restaurants, and ice cream shops. None of those luxuries visited Camp Hammer. "They're sharp now," adds Vanderborne.
As the commander of the 172-person unit, Vanderborne is responsible for everything the unit does or fails to do in the coming battle. When asked if the current situation or his responsibilities awe him, he flashes a quick smile. His face feigns puzzlement. "This?" he asks looking about. "This is nothing. Back home I manage a chemical plant."
Vanderborne and his entire company are members of the Army Reserve. It was last October when most members of the unit learned of their upcoming deployment. Four months later, they arrived in
Kuwait. With the variety of most Army Reserve units, the soldiers of the 459th include construction workers, college students, truck drivers, a school counselor, a policeman and even a bartender.
Today, around the perimeter of the camp, small bulldozers level dirt berms built only weeks ago. Assembly Area Hammer is being destroyed, erased from the desert landscape. Later, long rows of vehicles snake through departure pints. The immense convoy goes northwest, not yet into enemy territory, but closer to the coming fight.
At 4:31 a.m. this day, it is beyond the President's 48-hour deadline. America is at war and the men and women of the 459th MRB Company move toward Baghdad. Between these soldiers and Saddam Hussein's home is the Euphrates River. It is a river that flowed through the origin of civilization. Before the month ends, the members of the 459th may well bridge it.
Since leaving Hammer, it is hard to measure time in hours and days. There is driving time, which is almost all the time and there is sleep time. In between is the sitting-by-the-side-of-the-road-wondering-if-we-are-going-to-get-any-of-that-sleep time. Before getting six hours sleep, we travel close to15 hours.
March 20: Today, at 5 p.m., the unit got several energy boosting events. The first was the sight of numerous rockets, traveling in clusters northward, sent on their way by Multiple Launch Rocket Systems. The next event was the clear view of what appeared to be a SCUD missile, bright and high in the sky, arching directly over camp before suddenly disintegrating into the desert air. The third event was the word to don our chemical suits.
March 21: The big news of the day is that, surprisingly, no one seems to mind the chemical suits. The charcoal-lined, thick-clothed texture worked well in keeping out the desert's cold night air. At 8 a.m., the convoy moves out again. Creeping northwest at about 10 miles per hour across the desert this day and the next, we snack on sleep, about three hours at a time.
Like the desert path, the day goes on forever. It is a long day spent driving in what could quite arguably be the longest traffic jam in modern history. At 10:15, we arrive at a desert pass. A long fence that warns of electric shock stretch to both sides of the east and west horizon. Thirty meters of the fence is torn away. In case there is doubt, a sign on the near side of the fence is stuck into the dirt and sand. It's message is simple - 'Welcome to Iraq."
On the other side of the fence, down the road, two gentlemen in long flowing robes, tending their sheep, wave to the convoy. About six miles further down the road, a man of about 20 approaches the convoy with three children. A young girl gestures toward her mouth for food. Several soldiers hand over Meals, Ready to Eat, or MREs. About another mile down the road are tents, patched together with various styled cloth. Off to the side of one of the tents are two pick-up vans. As the convoy crawls along, the Bedouins with the MREs head back toward their tents.
This day, a Global Positioning System, or GPS, reveals that our convoy is averaging less than 10 miles per hour. From the short band radio, a reporter from the British Broadcasting System, or BBS, was reported from somewhere in the long convoy that includes the 459th. He spoke of traveling relentlessly through the night. Several soldiers laugh. "Slowly, but relentlessly," someone observes. Also, from the radio, we learn that part of Iraq is in the control of the Marines and that Special Forces units possibly control oil fields in the north.
By afternoon, the immense long line of vehicles has taken a toll on the hard-packed desert dirt. Almost impenetrable with a shovel earlier, now the main road has been ground into a substance almost as fine as talcum powder. At least three vehicles of the unit get stuck, as the convoy continued along. At 6:18, we arrive at a resting position. The vehicles would rejoin the unit days later, welcomed with loud applause.
March 22: Twice during the night the unit prepared to move out, but stood down. At 6:30 a.m., we are underway. We learn from BBC, that Turkey has now allowed military overflights. Also, we learn that Baghdad was bombed hard during the night. By two o'clock in the afternoon, the GPS reveals that we are 50 miles into Iraq.
During the night, the unit received a mission to assist other units stuck in the sand. Following this mission, traveling is slow across the desert. Several times the unit pulls to the side of the road to allow other units to go forward. By 6:30 p.m. we pass through another assembly area that was in the early stage of development. Marine Cobra gunships land and take off while we continue on our way.
March 23: The radio reports today tell of Marine forces heading for a town we are to go through. It is called An Nasiriyah. The convoy reaches a main highway today. The thought of leaving large swirling dust storms that reduce visibility at times to only two feet, boosts morale. However, with all traffic headed north and none going south, the congestion continues.
After 22 hours of on and off driving, the unit gets to sleep at 5:15 a.m. Three hours later, the soldiers are up; some shaving, others heating up MREs.
The commander meets with a Marine element that has just taken operational control of the 459th. Returning from the meeting the commander announces, "We're going south." It is hard for exhausted faces to look stunned, but the faces around the commander's jeep come close.
"Baghdad is north," says one officer. 'What's south - Korea?" asks a soldier.
continued....