Twenty Years Ago (Continued)

Letters to and from home were our only connection to the world we once knew. Today things are much different for me. I have daily access to the internet here in Afghanistan and can pick up the phone at a moments notice to call home. It's not that way for the Marines just a short distance from here. Out in the villages Marines are still living in fighting holes or at best on Combat Outposts. Every now and again they get the opportunity to call home on satellite phones, but for the most part, they communicate like we have during wars over the last couple of centuries. So there we sat in the middle of the Saudi desert, a few days removed from our last opportunity to phone home, our last hot meals, and our last showers.
We moved from position to position on a pretty regular basis during those six weeks leading up to the ground war. Each time we moved, the drill was the same: set up camouflage netting, dig fighting positions, clean weapons, and wait. For days on end we waited; we waited for the word that we were moving to border, to stage for the final assault on Saddam's regime. I don't remember exactly how I felt then, but I don't recall being afraid. Maybe anxious is a better word to describe it. We never really talked about it; it's not really normal for guys to talk about our feelings. If we were afraid, it would have been a normal response seeing as how none of us had been to combat before. Most of us weren't even old enough to drink. The only one in our platoon with combat experience was Gunny Clark, my best friend's dad and our platoon sergeant. Gunny Clark spent multiple tours with Mike Force in Vietnam. He knew what he was doing and had trained us well.

When we weren't performing gun drills or participating in Division level manuevers, we sat around and told stories of home. You could tell that it made guys happy to talk about home and that special girl they left behind, happy and homesick at the same time. Everytime I talked about Teresa, it reinforced in my mind what I already knew in my heart, and that was that I loved her with every ounce of my being. I had to get through this war and get back to her. I had to make sure she knew how I felt about her. And just when I thought I would go crazy thinking about her, a package showed up. I remember like it was yesterday. It had been raining for some time and the box was delivered in a battered state, yet still in tact. I recognized Teresa's hand writing right away and immediately tore into the package. I don't remember all the different treats that were in there, but I do rember a tin of white chocolate covered mini pretzels. Underneath it all, there was a letter. I held it to my face and took a deep breath...it smelled like her. In an instant I could see her face and as I read it I could hear her voice in the back of my mind. In the letter were two photos of her in a prom dress taken a couple of years previously. She was absolutely gorgeous. It was one of my most memorable moments of that deployment.

Over the next several weeks, the letters and packages would continue to come in. I would read (and smell) her letters every night until the next one came in. We had our last mail call somewhere around the 20th of April. I remember that because it was the same night we received our operations order for the ground assault to come. The next few days were spent conducting detailed rehearsals on large scale mock ups of the breaching sights. As an attachment to Weapons Company, 1st Battalion, 8th Marines, we got to listen as the Battalion XO told us to "look to your left, and to your right. One of you won't be here tomorrow." We were expecting upwards of 30% casualties. That was when it became real for everyone. We were to cross the line of departure at 0430 24 February 1991. The evening prior we sat around in relative silence. Our thoughts were of home, our families, and our loved ones. Those last few hours passed fairly quickly and before we knew it, the war was on.

The Mother of all Tank Battles lasted only 100 hours and almost immediately we were greated by thousands of Kuwaitis cheering us on and waving American and Kuwaiti flags. It was almost like a scene out of a WWII movie. Within a month we were back at Camp 15 in Saudi Arabia. I was able to make my first phone call home in over two months. I called Teresa and we laughed and cried and chatted for at least an hour if not more. I would call her at least once a week until I got to Camp Lejeune, NC in late April, then I was able to call every day. We finally made it back to Kansas City the first week of May 1991, five months after we left for the war. It seemed like an eternity. The bus rolled into the reserve center parking lot late in the evening. We could see the warm glow of the parking lot lights as we pulled up, and the large crowd of people that awaited our return. Teresa was at school at the time, so I fully expected to see her during the upcoming weekend. I stepped off the bus, and I saw her come running up to greet me. We held each other so tight I didn't think I would be able to let go. I knew I didn't want to let go...not then...not ever.

Where were you 20 years ago today?

Twenty years ago I was sitting in a fighting position just outside of Kuwait City. The cease fire brokered between the coalition and Iraq was only a day old. Major combat operations were declared over after only 100 hours of ground combat. The air campaign conducted during Operations DESERT SHIELD had severely crippled Saddam Hussein's forces. The 4th Marine Expeditionary Brigade's demonstration of the Kuwaiti coast had held several Iraqi divisions in place waiting for what they thought would be a large scale amphibious landing. Mechanized forces of the coalition made short work of what was left of Saddam's Army between the Saudi border and Kuwait City. What was supposed to be the "Mother of all tank battles" turned out to be a four day skirmish.
Saddam's forces invaded Kuwait in August 1990. I had been in the Marine Corps for a mere 7 months at that point and had just checked into my reserve unit just the month prior. The invasion and pending US military response was all we could talk about. This was what we had signed up to do. I was a member of TOW Platoon, 24th Marine Regiment. Our unit existed for the sole purpose of killing enemy tanks. What better place to showcase our skills than in the wide open middle eastern desert? We were mobilized the weekend of Thanksgiving and made preparations to move to Camp Lejeune, NC to conduct predeployment training. It was during my last few weeks in the states that Teresa and I would reconnect.
We had broken up when I went off to college in the summer of 1988, and although we still spoke and saw each other on occasion, we were no longer a couple. I think deep down we both new that we loved each other, but maybe we were just too stubborn to admit it? I'm not sure what it was that kept us apart, but I do know that it was the war that brought us together. While I was training in Camp Lejeune I would call and talk to her frequently. She hated the fact that she didn't get to see me before I left. Neither of us knew what the war would bring, but what we did know was that we didn't want the last time that we saw each other to be the last.
Our platoon got to Saudi Arabia on New Year's Eve, we celebrated by passing out cigars and talking about the great crusade we were embarking on. Preparations continued in earnest over the next two weeks. We unloaded vehicles and weapons from cargo ships. Set up and tested weapon systems designed to kill tanks. We continued to fortify our positions at Camp 15 and conducted physical training to stay in shape. We deployed into the Saudi desert on 14 January and on the 17th the air campaign began. Operation DESERT STORM was in full swing. For days we continued our movement toward our assembly areas on the Saudi/Kuwaiti border. We conducted Division sized maneuvers and small unit battle drills. We trained and we waited. Every night we watched as dozens of planes flew overhead, delivered their ordnance, and returned to base or ship. Every day we looked forward letters and packages from home.


TO BE CONTINUED...