Along the route north, my convoy consisted of fuel tanker trucks, flat-bed semi’s carrying ammo, food, water, etc. and low boy trailers hauling our heavy equipment. We were in support of keeping all entities able and moving forward.  Guarded by a handful of humvees, armed to the teeth yet un-armored in build. Placed at intervals throughout the precession, they were our first line of defense in an attack.  My driver and I, using materials readily available, sandbagged the floor and dash of our cab as to thwart any frag from underneath in the event of an explosion, or rounds coming in at chest level.

Up ahead, a few trucks of ours pulled aside to assist two of our own. One disabled humvee with a blown tire on its trailer in tow. The other a flat-bed truck hauling ordnance that had shifted dangerously off to the side while en route. I was told to get the front end loader tractor with fork attachment down off a trailer and bring it around.

First off, there wasn’t a replacement for the tire that had blown, nor the time to fix it if we had one.  Orders came to lift the entire trailer up, carry it, and place it onto the back of another larger trailer about a hundred yards away….carefully.  Carefully, is what I was “repeatedly” told by the driver who was pulling it when the tire blew out.  As run of the mill as a task like this was to me, I gave him a head nod concurring with what he was stressing to me, just as I did everyone, not even taking the time to make eye contact.  Nothing to it…pick it up…move it over there…set it down…nuff said. Mission accomplished. Upon seeing this task complete, my overly cautious friend climbed up to help tie the trailer down and started to wave at me as I pulled away. At second glance, upon noticing he finally had my attention, he pulled back the canvas cover to the trailer I had haphazardly carried nearly a football field. I literally stopped in my tracks as I read the labels on the wooden crates housed inside the trailer. Caution…High Explosive…No Smoking…etc. The “I told you so” look on his face was all that need to be said. Needless to say, my overconfident attitude was non-existent regarding the next task I faced, “repositioning” a crate of missiles back onto a trailer that had shifted and were left hanging off the passenger side. With much attention to detail and moving at a snail’s pace, I secured the cargo and we were off again.

Many days later we had finally arrived at our objective.  An Iraqi airfield south of Baghdad that was in dire need of repair (due to the U.S. blowing it up back in the first desert storm) that would serve as a re-supply point and medical treatment facility for those injured in the offensive to take the capital city. Pictured below is a portion of the runway before it was repaired.

We set up camp and dug in.

One morning I woke up to a sight I hadn’t expected.  Apparently, a lone U.S. Army tank had become separated from its battalion and had been wandering the desert for days on end, coasting into our camp on fumes with little to no supplies left. I later learned that they were nearly fired upon by our own base defenses after failing to identify themselves on approach in the dark.

“Bathroom Facilities” constructed only of the highest caliber and always with privacy in mind, by US Marines.

Mail Truck!

Interacting with the majority of locals was a friendly event in most cases around our camp. One day, I was working on the grounds of a nearby abandon cement factory and had a chance to meet and interact with a family who lived closely to it. I exchanged waves and smiles with the children many times, but this was the first occasion I had spoken to the adults face to face. After an initial handshake and momentary awkward silence, we were able to communicate through one of his sons, “Hydar” who spoke surprisingly fluent english for an Iraqi ten-year old boy! The conversation that developed between us, would forever change and fortify my personal opinion of the war in Iraq. Toward the end of our conversation, the boy’s father began to tear up slightly… I became confused and didn’t know how to react by his sudden silence. Shortly after, he began to speak, and his sons translation is as follows: “We are so glad that you are here to free us from the rule of Saddam. (tears of joy). My family has lived in fear for so long, I do not wish my family to live under the rule of Saddam any longer…Please do not leave us and let him come back (tears of sadness).” I had no words to say to him at this point, having caught me a bit off guard. I guess I wasn’t expecting him to speak so transparent from his heart. Even to this day, I still recall the hopes and fears he shared with me that afternoon.

In the weeks and months that followed, I witnessed many sights while en route back and forth to Kuwait City assisting convoys of more supplies coming north.

After a few months, my unit was ordered to pack up and head back to the port of Kuwait. More troops were arriving to replace us. This shot was taken at the end of the last convoy I had to make coming out of Iraq. Finally, the vest and helmet were off for good!

All that was left was to load some of our trucks onto the ship before heading home.

It honestly wasn’t until I had returned home for a few months, that I took grasp at what just happened. All the tragedies, close calls, near misses, and so forth.  I thank God every day for protecting me while I was there and comforting me when I needed it most. You can say the war was a glorious success or a place we had no business sticking our nose. But I can rest my head at night knowing I helped give that father a better place to raise his son.

At least…thats how I saw it.

(Below is the official statement from a government website regarding my unit’s actions)

February of 2003 found elements of MWSS-271 returning to SWA in support of Operation Enduring Freedom. As war with Iraq appeared imminent, the Squadron began the year deeply involved in contingency planning and embarkation preparation. The Commanding Officer and other key planners deployed to Al Jaber Air Base, Kuwait, in early February to conduct more detailed operational planning. The Squadron’s advanced party arrived one week later and received the mission to establish an expeditionary camp in the northern Kuwaiti desert. With a few Marines and a host of borrowed equipment, the Squadron created a 31 acre fortified camp, dubbed Camp Workhorse, that would support as many as 3200 Marines and Sailors and become the pre-war staging area for all 3d MAW ground units. Upon commencement of Operation Iraqi Freedom, MWSS-271 crossed into Iraq and established three FARPs and one Tactical Landing Zone (TLZ) enroute to its objective, An Numaniyah. Five kilometers west on An Numaniyah, MWSS-271 established FOB Three Rivers, installing a 440,000 gallon fuel system; airfield lighting for a 9600-foot runway with taxiways; M-21 arresting gear for recovering tail hook aircraft; a mobi-mat MEDEVAC HLZ; and a water production point with over 50,000 gallons of storage capacity. Additionally the squadron coordinated security for the FOB inclusive of an adjoining LSA operated by the 1st FSSG. The Squadron conducted 10 tactical recoveries of downed aircraft, line hauled fuel for 1st FSSG, and conducted resupply convoys to Division and other Wing elements. While continuing to operate Three Rivers, the Squadron established two FARPs IVO Tikrit. On 28 April, the Squadron began retrograding with the final complement of the Squadron arriving home on 17 June 2003.

 

“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.