A month into the deployment to Saudi Arabia several things had changed. For one, the operation now had a name, something it didn't have when we deployed. The operation was now known as Operation DESERT SHIELD, and as soon as the name was released the troops began speculating on what the operation was going to be named when the fighting started. (And we all knew in our hearts that it was "when" and not "if" the fighting started.) My guess was "Operation DESERT SWORD," figuring it was only natural since the first operation was named "Shield." You know, shield/sword, that kind of thing. In reality we had no idea, so we played the guessing game for a few weeks after that, but none of us guessed right in the long run.
The other thing that changed, and not for the better in my humble opinion, was the attitude of the people. The longer we stayed there the more relaxed everyone got, and the sense of urgency and alertness to impending attack dissipated. The constant 24 hour a day flow of troops and equipment flooding into the country from the States, Great Britain, and France helped this attitude change a great deal, and after a while people started to think that Saddam would have to be nuts to attack us. So the longer we stayed there the more relaxed things got, and the more relaxed things got the more "organized" things got. Those of us in Security Police and Intelligence knew different, but as for the rest of the base, well, they stopped concentrating on preparing for the attack and started concentrating on getting comfortable.
It got so bad after a while that we started calling Dhahran "Langley East."
The first sign that things were changing for the worse was when the Wing Commander reinstated military customs and courtesies base-wide. That meant that we were back to saluting officers again, and they were back to wearing their insignia. Then the Wing Commander decreed that everyone would have to remain in proper uniform at all times - no more taking off your outer shirt and running around in your t-shirt. And the water bottles sticking out of the cargo pockets on the side of your pants legs had to go, too. You wanted water, carry a canteen or carry the water bottle in your hand. But no more sticking out of the pocket.
"Ranger rags" were the next thing to go. At first the "Wing King" (slang for the Wing Commander, but you figured that one out, I know) said that NO "Ranger rags" were allowed to be worn, period, but the unit commanders got to him and pointed out that they were being used to absorb sweat around people's necks and were used almost constantly, so the Wing King relented and let us wear them - as long as the tails were tucked into the neck of our shirt, that is. And wearing them wrapped around your skull was an absolute "no-no."
The final act of lunacy and "normalization" that came down were the instructions regarding the wear of "boonie hats" and the hat's drawstrings. Each of us had been issued a brimmed floppy hat called a "boonie hat", and the hat had a neck cord or drawstring attached. Some people - like me, for instance - would fold the sides of the hat up and flip the drawstring up so it was sitting on top of the hat, cinching it down so it was holding the sides up. Others would just let the drawstring hang down below their chin so they could let the had hang down behind them if they needed to. The variations of wear were many and varied, and after a month the Wing King got tired of seeing it and issued the decree that boonie hats were to be worn with the brims down all the way around, and the strings were to be either tucked up inside the crown of the hat so they couldn't be seen or cut off altogether.
Kinda defeats the purpose of the drawstrings to begin with, huh? But in any event, that was the decree that came down and we had no choice but to follow it. We weren't happy about it because it was just one more "normalization" of the operation, which did nothing but make it harder to get things done quickly and make people think they were "safe." Which we weren't, but you couldn't get the Wing King and his staff to realize that.
Al that would come to a screeching halt at 0415 hours on January 18, 1991. But that's for later.
In the mean time, the wing was getting comfortable - REALLY comfortable. People were sending their uniforms out to the local Saudi dry cleaners (which the OSI screamed about because they started disappearing, and what easier way to infiltrate the base than in a stolen American uniform), the command staff started going off-base to the local restaurants for meetings and meals, the majority of the Wing settled down into a Monday-Friday, 0700-1600 hour work day (except for us poor souls working the line in Security Police, that is - the Security Police commander and his staff went to 8 hour shifts with the rest of the wing), and the MWR services started arranging off-base tours to local attractions. We also hired hundreds of TCNs (Third Country Nationals, meaning Saudis, Phillipinos, etc) to work on base, and the wing started buying goods from the TCNs - things like food, for example.
And what easier way to kill a couple dozen Americans than to poison the food, right? That's the main reason I ate MREs three times a day for the majority of the time I was there. Until the shooting started and all of the TCNs were banned from the base, I think I ate in the dining hall maybe four times. Maybe.
Just about that time the Tent City that was being built for the deployed troops next to the flight line was finished, and the majority of the Wing moved out of the Saudi barracks and into the new compound. That relieved some of the crowding in the rooms, but that was short-lived because as more Air Force troops arrived at the base they would be billeted in the rooms that had just been vacated. And because "Wambo" wanted his troops to remain in a solid, concrete-fortified building, we stayed in the Saudi barracks while the rest of the Wing moved. And I can't say that I disagree with that decision, either; if I had my druthers, I think I druther stay in a concrete building that gave me some protection from shrapnel during an attack than in a canvas-sided tent surrounded by 50 gallon drums filled with sand.
But that's just me.
So life went on, MUCH more comfortable than it was at first, and the level of comfort gradually increased with each passing week. Did I mention that the MWR services actually found, revamped, and placed into operation a swimming pool and recreation area? It was called "The Oasis," naturally, and became the off-duty hangout for every REMF there. (That's "Rear Echelon Mother Fucker" for you civilians out there.)
And the more comfortable everyone got, the more they forgot why we were there in the first place.
More later.
IHC
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