December 29, 1990

The Christmas holidays were over, and now we were in the lull between Christmas and New Year's. By now everyone had long since gotten over the "no rotation" bombshell that the DoD had dropped on us on November 10, and we had all resigned ourselves to the fact that we were going to be there "until" and we might as well make the best of it. As for creature comforts, there wasn't much else we could do; most of the process was simply getting your mind wrapped around the fact that you were there and didn't know when you were going home.

Actually, the past 30 days right before Christmas were the least strenuous days we had experienced, since the day before Thanksgiving "Wambo" finally decided to take us out of 12 hour shifts and put us in a normal work schedule of 8 hours. We had been in 12's for so long that we literally didn't know what to do with all of the free time. The opportunities for recreation were really limited considering where we were, although the REMFs and the BOW-WOWs were still taking their jaunts downtown to the TCN mall and crap like that. But as for us line troops who were still taking the threat seriously, the LAST thing we were gonna do would be to go downtown in a civilian area and expose ourselves to kidnapping or attack. I guess the REMFs never thought of this. So we made do with the Rec Tent and the Oasis, the old swimming pool that we found and the nice folks from MWR fixed up for us. It was cold as hell at night but the temps during the day were still hitting the high 90's, so the pool was getting a pretty good workout.

Just about the time we were all getting used to working like a "normal" person again who worked only 8 hours a day, "Wambo" suddenly decided for whatever reason that the threat around Christmas required us to go back into 12 hour shifts, so on Christmas Eve we went back into 12's. Ho, ho, fuckin' ho, Merry Christmas. And we stayed in 12 hour shifts until the day we worked our last shift on March 8, 1991. I'd like to give the man the benefit of the doubt and say that the OSI had given him a threat briefing which led to the decision to throw us back into 12's, but I can't do that. I ran into an OSI agent I knew at the chow hall a few days after we went back into 12's and asked him about that, and he said that there was "no significant increase in the threat level" that he was aware of.

Knowing "Wambo," I think he did it just because he thought it was a good idea and just because he could.

I had also been paying attention to the news from back home, specifically CNN, and was keeping track of the way things were going in Kuwait and the UN attempts to get Saddam to leave Kuwait. What I was seeing and hearing from the news agencies pretty much mirrored what we were getting told on the base, only we were getting told much more than the news agencies were (for obvious reasons). The storm clouds were building, and I just knew that shortly after the first of the year the shooting was gonna start. We were about as prepared for it as we could have been, so it was simply a matter of just waiting for the balloon to go up.

By this time the remnants of the Kuwaiti Air Force had been rounded up and assembled at Dhahran, and the parking area for their aircraft was in my patrol zone. I got to know the Kuwaiti Wing Commander pretty good, and from what he was telling me he and the rest of his pilots couldn't wait for President Bush (the first one) to give them the word so they could climb in their planes and go bomb the crap outta Baghdad. All of the aircraft had "FREE KUWAIT" written on the sides in big, bold, black letters, and all of the pilots wore a "FREE KUWAIT" patch on their flight suits. These guys were ready for some serious payback, and were just chomping at the bit to go dish it out.

I had a feeling they were going to get their chance before long.

IHC

December 25, 1990

The desert night air was clear and cold, belying the myth that it never gets cold in the desert. The stars were shining in the night Arabian sky, clear and bright, and the only other light that could be seen was the glow from the tip of my cigarette. It was 0005 hours (five minutes after midnight) on 25 December 1990, and my Hummer was parked out in The Middle of Nowhere, the 13 miles of lonely road behind me and about two clicks off to the left. It was Christmas Day in Saudi Arabia, the absolutel last place I ever thought I'd be spending this Christmas or any other, for that matter.

I sat on the roof of my Hummer, smoking my cigarette and thinking about Christmas the year before when I was in Korea. I spent that Christmas away from my family as well, being assigned to a base that was considered a "remote" assignment in that you couldn't take your family with you. I was remembering how I was sitting out on the flightline in my truck that year, looking up at the stars and thinking about how much I missed my family and how lucky I was that it had been ten years since I had missed a Christmas with them. And that first Christmas away from my home and family had also been in Korea, this time in 1979, and it was a tough one because it was the first. I didn't think it could get any tougher than that, and ten years later I thought the same thing - the first one was the toughest, and it couldn't get any worse than that.

I was wrong. Sitting on the roof of my Hummer eleven years after my first Christmas away from home and family, with war only weeks away, it was clear to me I was wrong. This Christmas was the toughest yet, and I consoled myself with the thoughts that what I was doing in that foreign land was a good thing and the right thing, and that next year I'd most certainly be home with my family.

At least I hoped so.

To all of my family, friends, and fans I wish you a most merry and joyful Christmas, and ask that you please take a moment out of your day to remember and pray for our men and women in uniform who are spending this Christmas away from their family and friends in the service of our nation, and especially for those who are in harm's way.

IHC