“Sitting in the sand, my back against a tire of my tractor trailer, in mid bite of eating another meal from a bag, it happened…”

(What you are about to read entails a summary of events that occurred between February – June 2003 through the eyes of a Marine Lance Corporal, boots in the sand perspective. In brief, this is my story)

I arrived in Kuwait City about a month before the declaration of war was announced in preparation to invade the country of Iraq and remove Saddam from power.  I was as green as they get. First overseas deployment, first taste of action, finally getting a chance to put all of my training to use.  Skilled as a rifleman first, as all marines are, my specialty was in operating heavy equipment. Emplacements needed to be dug, ordnance required offloading, and runways were in dire need of repair. After a few weeks, we got the word at around dusk to pack up our gear and move to the northern border of Kuwait and await further instruction. At around midnight, we were ordered to breach the barriers guarding Iraq’s southern border. The push north had begun.

The sight of this to me was nearly indescribable. Thousands of marines, hundreds of trucks, tanks, choppers, humvee’s, and jets flying over was more epic than any hollywood blockbuster could create. Artillery shells were the first to fire forward, sometimes miles in a single shot. With a distinct sound and flash that could easily be mistaken for an approaching thunderstorm. Passing jets and helicopters were heard, yet not easily seen. An endless rolling cloud of sand and dust was forming from all of us on the ground plowing our way north toward our own specific objectives. My seat for most this 20-30 day long push was riding shotgun in a tractor-trailer that was hauling my bulldozer.

A few days in, we stopped alongside the road for a brief moment of respite. A few bunkers had been readily dug out, in the event of an ariel threat.  Rumored to have chemical weapons at their disposal as we approached the capital city, digging out emplacements for quick shelter was a necessity at each stop. A few hours passed, most of us catching a bit of sleep sitting in the trucks for the first time since we left Kuwait.  I stepped down from the truck, inspected the dozer, tie down chains still tight, fluids not leaking any more than normal. The sound of silence in the desert is quite erie, with nothing along side the road or in the distance capable of reverberating  noise.  I leaned against the trailer and slid my body down to have a seat.  Sitting in the sand, my back against a tire of my tractor-trailer, in mid bite of eating another meal from a bag… it happened. Faint shouts from marines off in the distance peaked my interest. I peered around the back of the trailer to see them, dawning gas masks, giving the universal hand signals for a gas attack, and in full sprint for the recently constructed roadside bunker.  First just a few, then all others following suit. In a state of mind numbing (can this really be happening shock), I sat there momentarily and looked straight up into the sky to see a trail of light overhead and heard a crackling noise. Jumping to my feet and sprinting fifty or so yards to the bunker while wearing a gas mask is a feat in itself. When properly sealed around your face, you possess the breathing capacity of inhaling and exhaling through a bent coffee straw.  Through the foggy lenses of my mask, I witnessed the first of many Scud Missile’s that were launched by the Iraqi’s at southern Iraq and Kuwaiti targets.  Some hitting with deadly accuracy, most however, intercepted by our own Patriot Missile batteries launching a counterattack firing multiples at each scud. Upon impact high in the sky, the blast flash was somewhat shielded by low-level clouds, while the sound could be heard for miles.  After hours on end lying in a bunker, praying to God your mask is fulfilling its intended purpose, we receive word from our instruments that there is no threat of chemical harm in the air.  All clear. We return to our trucks and push north as another sunset is approaching.

The next day, we approach the first major city we must pass through

Most of these cities have erected large sculptures and grand entrances

Statue of Saddam with a dragon submitting at his feet

Passing through any Iraqi city on a military convoy can best be summed up by one phrase “keep moving, don’t stop”.

Of the many tactics developed and widely used, the most effective was rear ending civilian vehicles in your way (slightly) as to warn them we will not be stopping for anything, yes, this means you! Appropriately so, larger the military vehicle, less need for this tactic in the first place.

On the desolate roads connecting Iraq’s cities, I would see families wandering and milling about. Many of them farmers I suppose.

Often children two or three at a time alongside the road begging for food or water.  As gracious as we were initially, our kindness became a known weakness for an enemy who would stop at nothing to take american lives. Yet the danger I most often witnessed in this sense, was simply throwing supplies from a moving vehicle in transit.  In a line of trucks twenty or so long, throwing food and water bottles out the windows would result in children making a blind mad dash for whatever the object, wherever it landed. Usually in traffic, as physics would dictate. This posed an extreme risk and we were ordered to stop assisting in this way, unfortunately after predictable incidents occurred.

End of Part 1. Continued in next post.