Welcome to Kuwait (War Stories 1/?)
After around three months we caught a plane and headed to Kuwait. The plane ride was long, almost twenty hours. I found sleep nearly impossible, too scared I guess. I'd never hated flying before that. We had so much baggage that all the overhead and under-seat storage places were full. Worse was that we had our weapons (M-16s, SAWs, a few M-4s) and no where but under our legs to store them. By the end of the flight I'd developed a claustrophobic hatred of flying. It probably didn't help that the in-flight movies all sucked. I mean, who shows "About Smidt," surely one of the most depressing movies ever, to a group of people heading into a war zone?
My plane set down in Kuwait in June at around two in the morning. The temperature was 99 degrees Fahrenheit. We lugged our bags and our M-16s from tent to tent in-processing and trying get our bearings. I was in a bit of a daze at that point, and oddly cheerful no one was actually shooting at me. After interminable hurry up and wait, a brief nap on the wooden floors of a tent, and a cramped bus ride we arrived at our base. I don't remember the name any more, Victory, Liberty, it was some great virtue that ended in y.
The camp itself was a revelation. It was surrounded as far as the eye could see by sand and the occasional camel. Our tents didn't have air conditioning and after only a short while we learned to wake up at three in the morning so we get everything we needed done before the heat of the day hit. I was the furthest I'd ever been from home and I had no idea what to expect. For the most part I tried to live in the moment.
The tents were great yellow circus affairs. They were soaked in Kerosene to keep out the bugs. Soldiers were warned that one dropped cigarette and the tent would burn completely in less then thirty seconds, taking anything and anyone inside the tent with it. The tents came with wooden floors and two big fans that didn't cool so much as move the hot air around.
We tried to take care of all our business well before the sun came up or in the evening after it set. My favorite job was doing my laundry. We were only issued two desert uniforms so I'd wash one and wear one (I did have a couple woodlands uniforms but I thought they were too warm). There weren't any washing machines available. Every evening after the water truck came by and filled the water tower and a big group of people brought out their five gallon buckets and their laundry. I don't know why I enjoyed washing my clothes by hand. It never got them laundry machine clean, but there was something satisfying about rinsing out the sand and the sweat. When we were done we hung up our clothes outside on the tent ropes overnight. By the time they dried they were usually covered in sand picked up by the wind.
When I think about Iraq it's hard to remember anything except the sun beating down and the sand. No one I knew had a thermometer but rumors flew, the general consensus was that it was 130 degrees or more. All I know was that the mess tents had air conditioning, and when we entered them it felt blessedly cool. One day I checked the thermostat on the A.C. and found out the temperature in the wonderfully cool tent was 97 degrees.
We were there for weeks. First we were waiting for our equipment to arrive; our trucks had been sent ahead by boat. Then we waited for the people planning everything to figure out where to put us. I always pictured those mysterious planners lounging around in some cool office moving little toy soldiers on a giant map.
When we first got there our sole job was to get accustomed to the heat. I drank more water each day then I used to in a week, four or five 32 ounce bottles of every day. The water bottles were produced locally, the labels were in Arabic and they tasted different then American water. But the Arabic bottled water was much better then the stuff the army brought by in water buffaloes. Army water tasted strongly of chlorine and would make you sick anyway. That water we used for bathing and laundry (when the leadership wasn't looking). We needed all the water we could get, no matter how clean our uniforms were at the beginning of the day, by the end we all had visible salt marks on the backs of our shirts from sweating.
My company acquired a Air Force tent which we set up for shade during the day. It was better then our Army tents because it had a double layer wall for insulation and it had plastic windows we could close during sandstorms and still get light. It seemed like the tent was home to never-ending card games. The leadership had to force us out of the tent for lunch and supper. Many of us would have preferred to skip the quarter mile walk to the mess tent. It was too hot to be hungry and our stomachs were usually full of water.
The food was standard Army fare. It wasn't particularly good but it wasn't bad either. The highlight of the meal was the desserts. The mess bought local ice cream and Popsicles. The labels were in Arabic but we quickly learned our favorites. The best was the ice cream cone in the gold wrapping, you usually had to search the bottoms of the freezer, they usually went quickly. Having a cold drink or dessert really helped my morale.
About two weeks after I arrived I got horribly sick. I was throwing up, head aching, and generally feeling crappy. I walked to the Medic's tent feeling like I was going to die. I was halfway there and puking at the side of the road when one of the guys in my unit found me. He was a kid, a carrot top with an Italian name, and we'd never even talked to each other before. But he got me to the med tent and sat with me until they let me in. I don't know if I thanked him but it was pretty much one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.
The medics saw me right away (after I threw up in line the others let me skip ahead) and after a brief examination they had me lie down and wait to get an I.V. It was nice and cold in the medic's tent, I even had to request a blanket. Apparently the day I chose to get sick was the day they were re-certifying combat lifesavers. The nice older gentleman who's hands were shaking as he was attempting to stick my arm kept telling me I reminded him of his daughter. After the fourth attempt he hit a vein. Then they gave me some lovely anti-nausea pills and had me lie still for a while. The medics basically decided that I either had a heat injury or I should avoid the salad bar at meals. I don't like vegetables that much anyway.
The company was assigned several details while waiting to go to Iraq. I spent a day in the guard tower - the most exciting part was an hour or so when a herd of camels was in sight. There were a couple of days picking up trash and cleaning around tents. By this time we were almost accustomed to the weather and the change of pace was nice.
Phone calls home were the biggest thrill. There seemed to be a line for the phones at all times. Each minute I was on the phone cost ten calling card minutes. I went through several cards and learned to buy the really big cards; a sixty minute card was only good for a six minute conversation. When I wasn't waiting for the phones I was usually reading or playing game-boy. The MWR tent had a small library of books and I quickly learned not to be too picky.
But all good things must come to an end. We started gearing up for our convoy into Iraq. In 2003 they hadn't up armored the HMMV's yet - the doors to our vehicles were soft plastic and we mostly rode with the plastic windows left open for a breeze. We scrounged the camp searching the dump for materials to use to protect our vehicles. We attached small squares of plywood to the inside of our doors in an attempt to harden them (yeah I know that doesn't help at all). We put sandbags along the floor of our vehicles and in the wheel wells to try and protect against IEDs. On July 3rd we left Kuwait.
Next
My plane set down in Kuwait in June at around two in the morning. The temperature was 99 degrees Fahrenheit. We lugged our bags and our M-16s from tent to tent in-processing and trying get our bearings. I was in a bit of a daze at that point, and oddly cheerful no one was actually shooting at me. After interminable hurry up and wait, a brief nap on the wooden floors of a tent, and a cramped bus ride we arrived at our base. I don't remember the name any more, Victory, Liberty, it was some great virtue that ended in y.
The camp itself was a revelation. It was surrounded as far as the eye could see by sand and the occasional camel. Our tents didn't have air conditioning and after only a short while we learned to wake up at three in the morning so we get everything we needed done before the heat of the day hit. I was the furthest I'd ever been from home and I had no idea what to expect. For the most part I tried to live in the moment.
The tents were great yellow circus affairs. They were soaked in Kerosene to keep out the bugs. Soldiers were warned that one dropped cigarette and the tent would burn completely in less then thirty seconds, taking anything and anyone inside the tent with it. The tents came with wooden floors and two big fans that didn't cool so much as move the hot air around.
We tried to take care of all our business well before the sun came up or in the evening after it set. My favorite job was doing my laundry. We were only issued two desert uniforms so I'd wash one and wear one (I did have a couple woodlands uniforms but I thought they were too warm). There weren't any washing machines available. Every evening after the water truck came by and filled the water tower and a big group of people brought out their five gallon buckets and their laundry. I don't know why I enjoyed washing my clothes by hand. It never got them laundry machine clean, but there was something satisfying about rinsing out the sand and the sweat. When we were done we hung up our clothes outside on the tent ropes overnight. By the time they dried they were usually covered in sand picked up by the wind.
When I think about Iraq it's hard to remember anything except the sun beating down and the sand. No one I knew had a thermometer but rumors flew, the general consensus was that it was 130 degrees or more. All I know was that the mess tents had air conditioning, and when we entered them it felt blessedly cool. One day I checked the thermostat on the A.C. and found out the temperature in the wonderfully cool tent was 97 degrees.
We were there for weeks. First we were waiting for our equipment to arrive; our trucks had been sent ahead by boat. Then we waited for the people planning everything to figure out where to put us. I always pictured those mysterious planners lounging around in some cool office moving little toy soldiers on a giant map.
When we first got there our sole job was to get accustomed to the heat. I drank more water each day then I used to in a week, four or five 32 ounce bottles of every day. The water bottles were produced locally, the labels were in Arabic and they tasted different then American water. But the Arabic bottled water was much better then the stuff the army brought by in water buffaloes. Army water tasted strongly of chlorine and would make you sick anyway. That water we used for bathing and laundry (when the leadership wasn't looking). We needed all the water we could get, no matter how clean our uniforms were at the beginning of the day, by the end we all had visible salt marks on the backs of our shirts from sweating.
My company acquired a Air Force tent which we set up for shade during the day. It was better then our Army tents because it had a double layer wall for insulation and it had plastic windows we could close during sandstorms and still get light. It seemed like the tent was home to never-ending card games. The leadership had to force us out of the tent for lunch and supper. Many of us would have preferred to skip the quarter mile walk to the mess tent. It was too hot to be hungry and our stomachs were usually full of water.
The food was standard Army fare. It wasn't particularly good but it wasn't bad either. The highlight of the meal was the desserts. The mess bought local ice cream and Popsicles. The labels were in Arabic but we quickly learned our favorites. The best was the ice cream cone in the gold wrapping, you usually had to search the bottoms of the freezer, they usually went quickly. Having a cold drink or dessert really helped my morale.
About two weeks after I arrived I got horribly sick. I was throwing up, head aching, and generally feeling crappy. I walked to the Medic's tent feeling like I was going to die. I was halfway there and puking at the side of the road when one of the guys in my unit found me. He was a kid, a carrot top with an Italian name, and we'd never even talked to each other before. But he got me to the med tent and sat with me until they let me in. I don't know if I thanked him but it was pretty much one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.
The medics saw me right away (after I threw up in line the others let me skip ahead) and after a brief examination they had me lie down and wait to get an I.V. It was nice and cold in the medic's tent, I even had to request a blanket. Apparently the day I chose to get sick was the day they were re-certifying combat lifesavers. The nice older gentleman who's hands were shaking as he was attempting to stick my arm kept telling me I reminded him of his daughter. After the fourth attempt he hit a vein. Then they gave me some lovely anti-nausea pills and had me lie still for a while. The medics basically decided that I either had a heat injury or I should avoid the salad bar at meals. I don't like vegetables that much anyway.
The company was assigned several details while waiting to go to Iraq. I spent a day in the guard tower - the most exciting part was an hour or so when a herd of camels was in sight. There were a couple of days picking up trash and cleaning around tents. By this time we were almost accustomed to the weather and the change of pace was nice.
Phone calls home were the biggest thrill. There seemed to be a line for the phones at all times. Each minute I was on the phone cost ten calling card minutes. I went through several cards and learned to buy the really big cards; a sixty minute card was only good for a six minute conversation. When I wasn't waiting for the phones I was usually reading or playing game-boy. The MWR tent had a small library of books and I quickly learned not to be too picky.
But all good things must come to an end. We started gearing up for our convoy into Iraq. In 2003 they hadn't up armored the HMMV's yet - the doors to our vehicles were soft plastic and we mostly rode with the plastic windows left open for a breeze. We scrounged the camp searching the dump for materials to use to protect our vehicles. We attached small squares of plywood to the inside of our doors in an attempt to harden them (yeah I know that doesn't help at all). We put sandbags along the floor of our vehicles and in the wheel wells to try and protect against IEDs. On July 3rd we left Kuwait.
Next