Invasion (Once In A Blue Moon: Two)

August 2, 1990

My neurotic best friend, roommate and fellow soldier, Melissa, is flipping through TV stations trying to catch the morning news.

“Breaking News. Inside sources indicate that Iraqi soldiers using helicopters and small ships have taken control of Kuwait. Reports are pouring in that Iraqi operations took less than 24 hours …”

“Flory, you might want to watch this.” Melissa calls out.

A young attractive female anchor, with a large CNN sign behind her, continues in clinical fashion. “… Four elite Iraqi Republican Guard Divisions attacked Kuwait City at 2:00 this morning with an estimated 100,000 soldiers and 700 tanks … “

I grab a blueberry bagel from a big woven basket on the counter. “Is this real news? Switch over to a network station.”

“I think it is CNN, 24 hour news or something new. They have reporters in Baghdad. Shhh.” Melissa puts her hand over my mouth. “Listen.”

“Okay.” I mumble while chewing on the bagel. “Great 24 hours of news will give you endless reasons to lose sleep.”

I lean over her shoulder to get a better look at the video footage of Iraqi soldiers running under Kuwait’s landmark Water Towers with their beautiful multi-story spheres and needle tops.

“Iraqi tanks attacked the royal residence, Dasman Palace. A Saudi source indicates that Emir Jaber Al-Ahmad Al-Jaber Al-Sabah safely escaped into the Saudi desert.” The television screen shows Iraqi tanks moving freely down the main streets of Kuwait City.

“The same Saudi source reports that the Emir’s private guard and younger half brother stayed behind to defend the palace. There is poor quality footage and an unconfirmed report that the Sheikh was shot and killed. It appears that his body was placed in front of a tank and run over.”

“That isn’t going to go over well.” Pushing dark wavy hair out of her eyes, Melissa takes a deep breath as the horrifying scene played out in front of us. Her beautiful face reflects the concern we both feel.

On the small television screen I see Iraqi soldiers pulling down the distinctive green, white and red stripes with a black trapezoid of the Kuwaiti flag. Then the screen flashes to Saddam Hussian in Baghdad announcing in Arabic with an English translator that “Kuwait is once again and rightfully the 19th Province of Iraq.”

“When was Kuwait part of Iraq?"

"Maybe Late 1800s, early 1900s? The British pulled some trick after oil was discovered in Kuwait. The leader of Kuwait signed a protection agreement with the British. The Iraqis felt Kuwait was stolen from them."

"How do you remember that stuff? Did you make that up?"

I picked up my latest geo-political novel from the counter. "I read. I read a lot. But honestly, I’ll have to check. Not certain of the dates.”

I tried to remember how the British and French had divided the Middle East through the World Wars but those particular history lessons were not committed to memory.

I put down the half eaten bagel to finish French braiding my messy blonde hair.

“Mel ... “ I tuck the braid high above the collar of my uniform jacket, “I better get to the base for a SITREP. Are you going in today?” I pull the red airborne beret neatly over the platinum braid, the soft wool material falls flat over my head and fold the excess over my right ear. My fingers automatically check that my Lieutenant's bar is correctly positioned over my left eye.

“No, I’m off this weekend. Flory, do you think we will get pulled into this?”

“There is a lot of oil at stake and that was a blatant invasion of a sovereign nation.” I shrug and grimace. “We will know soon.”

“Are you jumping today?”

I respond with a huge smile and lift my big parachute bag from behind the couch and toss it over my shoulder. “It is like going to the amusement park to ride the roller coasters.”

“Just don’t get hurt.” Melissa calls behind me. “It is hard to find a new roommate.”

I close the door as Melissa turns back to watch more footage of the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait.

My car is in the shop and my brother has loaned me his beloved convertible while he is away on military assignment in Panama. As I unlock the 1973 red Ford Mustang, my mind reverts to the TV images. How could anyone get that film footage out of Kuwait so fast? Did this new TV station, CNN actually have reporters in other countries?

I start the car and begin to back out while thinking about the concept of 24 hour news? What a dumb idea. Seriously, what will their anchors talk about all day and night?