Twenty-six years ago today ...

[Thumpalumpacus]

... Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait.

Here's my recollections of it, from the book I'm working on:

The air was hot and dry.  It rushed into the old airplane as the cargo door opened, displacing the cold Maine air inside the KC-135, pushing its way into our lungs. After eight hours over the Atlantic in an old crate with a faulty heater, that warm air was welcome, no doubt. We twelve firefighters formed a line from the cargo door to the end of the pallets near the tail of the plane, and started handing luggage up front and loading it onto a carryall.  Twelve men, five bags per man. Only in the military do men carry this much goddamned luggage – a duffel bag, another for our firefighting bunkers, a chemical-warfare bag, a tropical kit, and an Arctic kit, of all things. We handjacked them onto the carryall's elevator and rode down with them.

The inprocessing briefing was held in front of a Spanish Air Force F-5 undergoing an engine change.  The colonel conducting it was Tennessee Air National Guard. His Southern drawl contrasted against his fluent Bureaucratese.

"Welcome to Moron, gentlemen," he said, pronouncing Moron mo-roan, which we soon learned was actually correct. "I'm Colonel Jackson from the 177th Air Refueling Wing. We've been here since the invasion four weeks ago.  Moron is a reserve, bare-base operation tasked with supporting the deployment of coalition forces to Saudi Arabia and points down-range in order to curtail any further Iraqi aggression.We're a vital refueling waypoint for Air Force assets transiting to the Zone of Operations." The canny airman understood what was being said: "It's a shithole here, and no one knows when you can go home, but you're in the rear with the gear, so be happy."    

The colonel droned on for a good piece of time, about aircraft types and chemical warfare procedures and off-limits towns, as if we were going to face sarin or bloodthirsty Communist locals. In the meantime, those Spanish Air Force guys had dollied up a fresh engine under the F-5 and were getting happy spinning wrenches. Then our carryall pulled up and we were relieved of the duty to listen to the good colonel turn a fine Southern accent into drudgery. We turned out, hopping onto the cargo lift for the ride to our quarters.

Said quarters were named the Hotel Floridian. It had apparently had better days some decades ago.  The green trim was peeling, and the beige walls weren't far behind. At Sergeant Calhoun's directive, we met up in the dayroom down the hall from our quarters on the third floor. Twelve men, five rooms – low ranks were gonna triple up.  I was bunked with Cox and Schneider.

Dallas Cox was perhaps my best friend on this deployment.  Soft-spoken and thoughtful guy, no bullshit about him. At the station back home we had enjoyed chess and shooting pool, or just talking about things.  He had  an awkward buzzcut – looking for all the world like a haystack -- overlooking a ruddy complexion, which made it hard sometimes to take him seriously, but only a fool made that mistake often. He was a sharp guy with a good heart.

Schneider, on the other hand, was about as welcome as a fart at a banquet, as far as I was concerned.  Loud and arrogant, coupled with inconsiderate, he had no sense of being the gentleman. He didn't hold doors, he didn't care if his stereo was bothering someone else. He ate noisily; his nickname was "Snarf" for a good reason. And he did like to eat. Majors had said in Maine on the way over here, "If that plane goes down, I'm boating up with Snarf, motherfucker can find food anywhere." Hearing Calhoun assign us to the same room for the duration gave me more than a little heartburn.  

After setting up our room, Dallas and I went for a walk around the base, to get the lay of the land. The base was set on flat land surrounded by hillocks covered in golden straw and dotted with juniper and black oak. It reminded me of Central California where I'd spent my adolescence. Distant in the east, perhaps five or six miles, was a mountain  perhaps three thousand foot high, with a large gouge cut out of one corner exposing pink and grey limestone. It was plenty goddamned hot, and dry. The ground gave up dust with every kick of the breeze.

"So how long do you think we've got?" I asked.
"I don't know, Lou," Dallas answered ["Lou" was one of my nicknames in the service -- Thump]. "Sure as shit it'll be longer than ninety days, they just told us that to keep us happy."
"They won't want to do any fighting there until it cools down, yeah."
"That, and he's got one hell of an army, and that'll take time to beat."
"Took Iran eight years."
"Well, we ain't Iran, and he's gonna learn that," Cox said. "But it won't be a cakewalk. I'm thinking February or so, myself."
"That long? I was figuring December, tops."
"I hope you're right, D."

[abaris]

My main recollection of that particular day was sitting with my parents on the terrace of their home and reading one of our dailies. The title splashed all over the front page was "Der Raubüberfall", which translates to "The Heist". Which, all things considered, was a rather fitting title.

[Banjo]

Thanks Thumpa. That was really great.

Thanks for sharing.

[Thumpalumpacus]

My main recollection of that particular day was sitting with my parents on the terrace of their home and reading one of our dailies. The title splashed all over the front page was "Der Raubüberfall", which translates to "The Heist". Which, all things considered, was a rather fitting title.

Of the day of the invasion itself, I remember sitting in the dayroom at the firehouse during lumch, watching the news break on CNN. All of us in the knew we'd be on the move before long -- our wing maintained a readiness team (of which I was a part) that was on 24-hours notice for international deployment.

That evening I checked through my mobility bag to make sure I had all inventory. The next day I rounded it out with five cartons of Marlboro menthols and two bottles of Raynal.

Thanks Thumpa. That was really great.

Thanks for sharing.

Thanks to you, and everyone else who slogged through it.

[Banjo]

My main recollection of that particular day was sitting with my parents on the terrace of their home and reading one of our dailies. The title splashed all over the front page was "Der Raubüberfall", which translates to "The Heist". Which, all things considered, was a rather fitting title.

Of the day of the invasion itself, I remember sitting in the dayroom at the firehouse during lumch, watching the news break on CNN. All of us in the knew we'd be on the move before long -- our wing maintained a readiness team (of which I was a part) that was on 24-hours notice for international deployment.

That evening I checked through my mobility bag to make sure I had all inventory. The next day I rounded it out with five cartons of Marlboro menthols and two bottles of Raynal.

Thanks Thumpa. That was really great.

Thanks for sharing.

Thanks to you, and everyone else who slogged through it.

It was an honour.

[Minimalist]

Funny.  I have no clear recollection of that.  Just one more middle-eastern dictator acting the way dictators do.

Can't forget that Saddam was our boy when he was fucking with Iran.




But when you fuck with our oil, all bets are off!

[abaris]

I have a very clear recollection. Most of all of my feelings back then. I was 27, but having grown up in the Cold War, I still held the firm belief of us, the West, being the good guys, no matter what. Actually the ensuing war and all the shenanigans involved set me off on a more skeptical path.

[Thumpalumpacus]

Funny.  I have no clear recollection of that.  Just one more middle-eastern dictator acting the way dictators do.

Can't forget that Saddam was our boy when he was fucking with Iran.




But when you fuck with our oil, all bets are off!

By March of 1991, I realized that I was in essence a mercenary, having played a small part in a big killing machine so that gas would stay at $1.50 / gal -- that was the essence of my war, and that was one reason why I didn't stay in and retire.

[Athene]

Quickly captured my interest/got me engaged as a reader. Particularly impressive, considering the length of the excerpt.
I'd be interested in reading more.

No pressure, though.

[Thumpalumpacus]

Thanks for the kind words, hon. It needs more meat on dem bones, though, y'know? Just the trip over there is a story-within-a-story.