There’s a saying in the Army, “Hurry up and wait.” It basically means we always make a big deal of getting together and moving out as a group as fast as possible, only to end up waiting for hours before we actually get anything done.
It was mid March 2003 when we finally got orders to head to the terminal at Biggs airfield on Fort Bliss. We had been training since November and were eager to finally do our jobs. We woke up extra early so we could move out of the barracks, load our gear on the trucks, and check our weapons out of the arms room.
We got to the terminal before the sun came up. We quickly realized we weren’t going anywhere any time soon once we saw no airplanes on the runway. So we dropped our gear and weapons and waited. Minutes turned to hours. Some of the guys decided to take naps on the floor. Others gathered around the TV, which was showing the initial push into Iraq by the 3rd Infantry Division.
“Shit we’re missing the war,” said one guy. We were going to miss it anyways, unlike the movies were troops seems to have everything they need as soon as they hit the ground, we had all of our vehicles shipped by cargo boats. Which basically meant we would not see our fearsome soft-topped Humvees and our sweet 1960s Deuce and a half trucks for a few months.
It was evening when we heard the familiar sound of an airplane approaching. By now another unit had joined us in the terminal. The terminal staff came out of their office and ordered us to grab all our bags and gear and form a line by them. They had a scale on the floor and asked each person to stand on it with all of their stuff in hand.
I slowly waddled over to the back of the line with a duffle bag in each hand, my rucksack on my back, my pistol in my holster, rifle slung across my chest, gas mask strapped to my leg, body armor and kevlar on, kicking my black gym bag across the floor as the line moved forward.
I could barely fucking stand. How am I supposed to go to war when I could barely keep my balance with all this shit on?
I got up to the scale and managed to stand on it long enough for them to read it, “250” yelled out one of the terminal staff. I don’t really remember the exact amount, in case you are one of those fucks that really want to nitpick all the details, it was over 10 years ago!
Anyway, we must have boarded the plane well after midnight. It was a commercial airliner so I was happy that we would at least have some seats that were somewhat comfortable.
Officers and the poor souls that had to load our bags onto the plane got to sit in first class. The rest of us piled into the economy seats. Overhead compartments were filled with desert patterns and OD green colored gear. We piled our rifles together in groups and stuffed them anywhere we could on the plane.
We, oddly, went through the usual preflight announcement by the flight attendants as we taxied to the main runway. I think, for once, people paid attention since we were probably seeing our last non-military women for a while.
I felt the plane straighten up as if we were ready to take off. I was anticipating the engine noise to grow louder but nothing happened. Then the captain came over the speakers, “We are a little overweight so we need to dump some fuel before taking off.” Dumping the one thing we need to stay in the air seemed pretty bad.
So after what felt like another hour, I finally heard the engines roar to life. The plane started to move forward. I felt the runway below me as we headed off into the night. More runway and more runway. I started to wonder when we were going to actually take off. Then more runway. I’ve flown enough in my lifetime to know something was up. More runway. Holy shit, are we going to take off or run out of runway?! My heart started beating faster and faster as if in rhythm of the “thud thud” sound as the wheels were rolling on the ground.
Finally the nose started to rise and we slowly started to lift off the ground. The plane shook violently as it struggled to break free of the earth. Then we were in the air. I would find out later that we barely took off before we ran out of runway due to the excess weight on board.
Hours later, and a brief stop in Amsterdam, we finally landed in Kuwait. A flight attendant walked down the aisle to thank us for our service as the plane was taxiing. The plane came to a stop and the doors popped open, exposing the cabin with the bright searing light of the desert.
I grabbed my rifle and walked down the ramp. There was a little bus waiting below. An Indian driver greeted us as we boarded. I sat in my seat and scanned my new surroundings. There were other planes and more troops pouring out of them.
All of the sudden a loud siren blaired and a monotoned voice filled the air, “LIGHTNING, LIGHTNING, LIGHTNING!” “What is that?” said one of the guys on the bus. I saw some of the Air force guys on the runway put on their gas masks and protective clothing. Holy shit, it’s a SCUD missile alert!
We all reached for our own mask from our mask carriers on our sides. I never thought I would have to put this thing on for real. I quickly got my mask on and sealed when I noticed half the guys behind me spilling out of the plane, while the other half running back in.
All of our guys managed to get the masks on super quick. To our surprise the flight crew had their own masks, but unfortunately did not have the same training we did. One of the flight attendants started to cry in her fogged up mask. This was usually the sign of an improperly sealed mask.
Our bus driver started to take off without warning, and without putting on his mask. An NCO in our group yelled at him to stop and put on his mask. He just ignored us and kept on driving. Turns out they got at least a few of these alerts everyday and these foreign national workers stopped giving a shit. What a crazy first day.
Soft-top Soldier 