My New Home in the Desert

My new home is the 18' by 54' olive drab "general purpose" large tent in the middle of our desert outpost.

This enclosed "home" has to be an improvement over the living conditions of the past few weeks. Sleeping on the open port in Dammam and the hood of the HumVee while on the road have lost their very limited appeal.

Pushing the Ray-Bans on top of my head, I pull open the canvas flap and step out of the bright light into the relative darkness. The enveloping smell is a combination of musty canvas and dust.

Does dust have a smell? Maybe I just taste the dust.

The large kerosene heater sitting in the middle of the tent is a welcome sight. The heater vent runs to a hole in the ceiling. Since the daytime temperatures in Saudi Arabia range from the 80s to more than 125 degrees we almost left the heaters back in storage at Fort Sheridan.

The desert does not retain the heat of the day and when temperatures plummet at night the human body finds it difficult to acclimate. We will be thankful for hauling the additional equipment with us.

My eyes scan the rest of the dimly lit tent. There are four neat rows of five cots with large water bottles sitting on nearly every one. Duffel bags, ruck sacks and large black garbage bags are shoved under and around the cots. A few enterprising soldiers have put clothing and personal items in the brown boxes that orginally stored dehydrated Meals Ready to Eat (MRE). Anything to keep out the dust.

The big red kerosene cans sit by the back doorflap of the tent. Trash bags and a half pallet of water bottles sit in the back corners.

I turn around to find a combination of mosquito netting and large camouflage blankets hanging from the ceiling to the floor just left of the door. The netting and blankets create the "walls" of a tiny room.

Alvarez pops his head in the tent, "Like your new room, LT?" He throws my ruck sack at me from the door.

"You really know how to decorate. I love the way the green and brown color palette complete the atmosphere." I grimace and drop the ruck in my space quickly turning to catch my duffel bag which comes flying through the air next. The folded components of the cot are tied firmly to the duffel.

"We are stuck with you so might as well make the best of it by putting you in the corner." Alvarez returns my banter.

"Didn't you say that when I came to the Airborne unit?"

In just seconds the metal cot frame is locked into shape and I am pressing the X shaped legs firmly in the sand. The green nylon sheet slides through the header bar.

"No. I wasn't this nice. Have to be extra nasty to new Lieutenants. Helps toughen you up."

The action of pulling hard on the footer bar stretches the green nylon sheet taut.

Ouch! I pinch my fingers every time putting the last bar in place. I shake my fingers silently.

My sleeping bag is on the cot, zipped shut and rolled tightly to keep out the creepy crawlies. Everything else is sealed in my gear and stacked in the corner.

Smiling like the Cheshire cat, I spin my legs up on top of the rolled sleeping bag, take off my gas mask and put the green carrier case under my head like a pillow. An uncomfortable pillow but I like having the mask close.

I close my eyes remembering, "You told me I would never survive the Airborne unit. I was too small and too weak. I would get hurt parachuting and no one would carry my gear... or something like that."

Alvarez is sprawled on his cot about 20 feet from my room. "You know, I said the exact same thing to the two previous commanders. Well, just the weak comment because they were both pretty tall."

"They at least listened to me." I can hear him laughing softly, "But you just ignore me and do whatever the hell you want to do. Worse than my teenage daughter!"

"Yea, yea, yea. Three years of misery working with me."

I survey the rest of the tent from my cot. There are two familiar looking boxes by the front door flap. Did I walk past these coming into the tent?

Lieutenant Hart stored the care gifts from my mom: a miniature Christmas tree, a plastic blow up Easter Bunny and a huge pile of letters. She must have brought them over for me. Nice.

Alvarez follows my look and walks over to the boxes. "Does your mom think we are living in a hotel?" He pulls out the Easter Bunny. "Is there a teddy bear in all that stuff?"

"Do you need one?" I'm glad Alvarez is here. The banter has the familiar tone of my brother's endless teasing.

For now, this is home.

Iraqi Missile Attack

I lay down on top of my sleeping bag feeling too tired to take off my boots or even remove my camouflage uniform jacket.

There is a stupid metal rod running right through the middle of the cot. No matter which way I turn the rod is jamming into the middle of my back, side or stomach. Sleeping on the ground would be infinitely more comfortable.

My tired mind turns to the morning equipment trade. Maybe I should think through accepting 18 miles of fuel assault hose more carefully. Seriously who is going to want …

I feel a warm salty breeze across my face and twisting my hair. The peaceful gulf water fills my sight line just a hundred yards away from my cot. A shooting star in the corner of my vision suddenly catches my attention.

It is a subconscious reaction that brings me to my feet. A second flash, from the Patriot missile battery, appears before I can utter a single word.

The explosion overhead as the Patriot missile smashes into the Iraqi SCUD ballistic missile is deafening. All the warning sirens go off.

“Gas Attack!!” A dozen or more voices sound off at the same time across the port.

No panic. Just pure adrenaline floods my body.

We have trained for this attack since the day I entered the military. It is a pavlovian response to pull the protective mask out of my hip bag and slide it over my head.

I inhale as much air as possible, collapsing the mask around my face, tightening the straps behind my head for a tight seal and pulling the hood over the back of my neck.

My charcoal laden protective suit is in the bottom of my sleeping bag. Yanking it out and pulling it on over my uniform is hard in the dark and with the protective mask on. I feel for the zippers since I can’t see anything.

The last zipper slides up from my waist to my neck easily. I pull the rubber boots on over my combat boots with a feeling of elation. That had to be record reaction time.

My adrenaline is still pumping but my mind focuses on the biggest question. Is this a chemical or biological attack? I pull the rubber gloves on over the white cotton insert gloves.

What do I feel? No burning, no shortness of breath, no pain and no nausea. No physical symptoms from an attack.

Breathing a sigh of relief I hear the air exit the filters. As I breathe back in the mask contracts around my face. I fight the feeling of claustrophobia.

Focus on other things. I look around and see if anyone is in trouble or needs help.

My eyes struggle to focus on the people around me. It is hard to tell if anyone is in pain or panicking. We all look like aliens with giant bug eyes, breathing ventilators, matching earth tone chemical suits and black rubber gloves and boots. The sight would be comical if the situation weren't so serious.

All I can hear is my labored breathing; the sound is like Darth Vadar in Star Wars or an asthmatic gasping for air with every breath through the mask filters.

Concentrate!

I snap out of my internal focus and look carefully at the soldiers around me. Everyone around me appears to be safely in their protective gear. Buck, or the person standing near Buck’s cot, gives me the thumbs up. I return the signal and turn towards the rows of cots behind me.

My smile is hidden inside the hideous mask as I watch the giant wave soldiers across the port giving the thumbs up to their buddies.

Welcome to the Adventure

January 1991
Dear Mom,

You told me to be careful what I ask for and you were right.

I came to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia to find a great adventure.

Our “first class accommodations” are in the northern Arabian Desert bordering Iraq and Kuwait. The living conditions can be summed up with five words: sand, cots, tents, dehydrated food.

The SCUD missiles explode overhead and the big MI Abrams tanks fly across the open desert with their turrets spinning. It is both amazing and frightening.

I’m enclosing several rolls of film to help you envision this barren and desolate landscape. Hopefully you can still develop the pictures. The sand grit invades and ruins everything here.
When you look at the pictures, please don’t be upset when you see my hair. It looks like I got a haircut with a hacksaw but it is starting to grow back.

Sometimes I wear my Army camouflage uniform. Other times I attempt to go native to work with the Saudi contractors and local peoples. My Arab style outfit is complete with veils to cover my hair which looks terrible anyway. BUT I absolutely refuse to cover my face.

The guys in my unit started calling me “Florence of Arabia” when we first got here. The name caught on and now people from other units are using it too.

If I had any free time, finding a date would be statistically in my favor. There are more than 10,000 men to every female. One of the guys pulled an amusing prank on me. He is clever and handsome but completely off limits.

I’ll tell you about it later.

Private moments are rare now. The time for the ground war is coming.

Love you,
Flory

First Lieutenant Florence Maxton
Log Base Echo, Kingdom of Saudi Arabia

PS. Are you keeping all my letters? I have not had time to write in my journal.

Airborne (Once In A Blue Moon:Three)

My adrenaline is pumping as I wait.

For three years now I’ve been the only female in this army airborne unit. It never bothers me. I grew up with two absolutely merciless brothers so frankly it is just like being at home.

I have more than 50 combat ready jumps with full equipment including ruck sack, gas mask and M-16 rifle all strapped to my waist and legs.

It takes an athletic person to pull off a combat jump. But today is a pure thrill ride, a short Hollywood jump. Hollywood just means that we have no extra equipment and don’t even have to pop our own chutes on this jump. The chute release is hooked to the helicopter by a static line.

Suddenly the Jumpmaster’s big hand slaps my shoulder. I can barely hear him over the deafening whop, whop, whop of the Huey helicopter rotor blades. “Go Lieutenant!”

Careful not to catch my feet in the long, thin helicopter skids, I launch my 5’3” body into the bright blue sky. The sound of the helicopter fades away as the hot summer wind rushes across my sun kissed face.

Every time I make the leap out of an aircraft I get the same rush of adrenaline and that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. The dread never goes away no matter how many times I parachute but with experience I get more accustomed to the sensation.

I push myself away from the chopper and immediately begin to count, “one one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand…”

There is a phenomenal rush of wind as I fall.

At the sixth count the static line pops my chute open and my body is yanked back up into the sky becoming part of the wind. Suddenly I am floating as the parachute fully opens.

In seconds, Meyers, Kolton and Brigg’s chutes open in the clear blue sky behind me. I pull the left toggle on my risers turning toward the three young jumpers.

Instead of creating air space, Meyers is turning towards the other two. What is he thinking? He is suddenly right above Kolton and tries to walk across the top of Kolton’s chute.

Kolton is so focused Meyers that he drifts too close to Briggs.

We jump at just 1200 feet above the ground and now we are too low for a safe opening of the reserve chutes now. I hold my breath.