The View from Here: Recollections of Desert Storm (Part 2)
(Continued from: The Storm Starts)
After several days of the "air war" (as I believe it was called by the news media), the Brave Rifles received a new mission, and new orders. We were to pack up, HET our vehicles westward up the Tapline road, and occupy a screen line to observe for any possible enemy attempts to penetrate the Saudi border from the west of the old neutral zone between Saudi Arabia and Iraq. Dutifully, we did so, and assumed positions along a line just a few kilometers south of the actual border. Scout platoons were dug into positions where they could overwatch a large valley, with the tank platoons in a more central, hide location with OPs just downslope of the ridgeline, occupied 24/7 in a rotation from tank to tank. Loaders and drivers were the primary occupiers of the OP, with the gunner of the tank currently on rotation stationed in the designated tank on the .50 cal MG. Any activity in the valley was immediately called up to the on-duty tank gunner over a field phone, who then clarified the information and if needed relayed the information with a standard report format up to the troop command net, who did the same up to Squadron. Not much happened, though; the desert out in that part of Saudi Arabia and Iraq is trackless, mostly featureless, and nearly impossible to navigate safely without advanced equipment (like, say, GPS). There were occasional sightings, mostly of Bedouin tribes shepherding their livestock (often goats) through the area, but rarely anything of military value.
An example of the flat, featureless terrain of North-Central Saudi Arabia & South-Central IraqOne night in particular was pretty tense, however. Since the air war had been going on for a few days, it was not unusual to hear (and, rarely, see) aircraft making runs overhead. They occasionally flew with their various lights illuminated until they were almost overhead of us, and then extinguished them as they penetrated northward into Iraqi airspace. On this night, however, one of our sister units to our left or right flank very excitedly reported aircraft circling nearby, and since neither Squadron nor Regiment could identify these aircraft we all lept into action. At first, it was difficult to find them; the directions we were getting from higher headquarters was confused and conflicting, but eventually our gunner, SGT Planter, was able to locate the circling aircraft using the thermal sights. On the thermals, jets can be hard to track even in the widest view due to their speed, but he was able to get it done. After several minutes of watching and waiting, with updated information about their location, SGT Planter identified the aircraft: two F-15s circling a KC-135 fueling aircraft—friendlies. The LT immediately sent up the report to the troop commander, who immediately ordered all units to hold fire (not that we would do much good anyway, at the ranges involved) and repeated the information to Squadron. While I feel reasonably sure the tank crews would not have had much impact from a fratricide perspective—the effective range of the tank main gun is measured in the thousands of meters, and these aircraft were almost certainly well beyond main gun range—there were ADA assets with us as well. I can't prove it, but I think SGT Planter may have saved several AF pilot and crew member lives that day.
The OP duty was usually a few hours at a time, two soldiers in the foxhole with a camo net, fire plan, binoculars, night vision goggles, and both a PRC-77 radio (emergency use only) and a field telephone wired up to the guard tank—one tank, C-22 as I recall, on-station in a turret defilade position that permitted the NCO of the guard to bring the Thermal & Daylight sights of the tank onto anything reported by the OP, as well as use the .50 cal as an immediate action weapon. I never minded the OP (some did), although I'd still rather be on the tank than off.
There were other occasional activities that came up; mail, in particular, was always a welcome one. As I'd mentioned earlier, not too long before Iraq's invasion of Kuwait I had the misfortune of being cheated on by my girlfriend (with whom I broke up on learning this news). Afterward, I had met a few other young women at New Mexico State University in nearby Las Cruces, NM, several of whom maintained contact with me and a few of my troop mates via postal mail. We received letters, and care packages, and occasionally audio tapes, which was very cool (and I wish I still had the tapes even yet!). One of these friends was very clever in writing to me; Saudi Arabia forbade items like "nudie" magazines (Playboy, Penthouse, etc.), so those rarely (if ever) were received by the soldiers, but they didn't often (if ever) seem to worry about individual letters to the soldier. She wrote her letters on the torn-out pages of magazine ads, featuring very seductively posed and clad models (never nude, though!). That kind of morale-booster was always welcome, especially by a 21 year old man stuck in the desert with a bunch of other (mostly) 20-ish year old men!
One other incident sticks out in my memory from this time. We had been on this screen line for at least a couple of weeks, as I recall, and it may even have been close to the middle of February (and, thereby, close to the start of the ground campaign, Operation Desert Sabre). It was nearing dusk, and we'd been hearing a bit of an uptick in air activity overhead for a couple of days. I recall hearing what I though might be an aircraft well overhead, but it was tough to tell, and then we saw the tell-tale signs of an over-the-horizon Iraqi unit using air defense: tracers into the air, and some mid-air explosions. As we tensed up and geared up in case we needed to rapidly remount our tanks, I saw what for all the world looked like a freaking laser beam, from the sky to the ground: Bright red-orange, in a straight line down to the ground just over the horizon, two or three times. As I stood there completely enchanted by the sight, trying to process what happened, I heard the sound: BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP. BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP. BRRRRRRRRRRRRRP. An AC-130! A couple of my platoon mates standing nearby started to whoop & holler, and I joined in with them. Tankers appreciate heavy weaponry, regardless of its source, and the AC-130 ranks right next to the A-10 Warthog as a tanker's second favorite weapon platform (the tank they ride into battle is number 1, naturally).
After several weeks of being in the deep desert, watching our screen line, we were temporarily relieved by another unit (whose identity escapes me). We withdrew back toward the Squadron combat trains and Tactical Operations Center (TOC), where we were rotated onto Deuce-and-a-half trucks and told to bring our personal hygiene kits and a change of uniform. We drove out into the desert a bit, and were delivered to a US Air Force air base of some kind or another, only a few kilometers south of our position, where they had a fully-functioning hot shower for thirty people set up. We took a glorious shower, under tents and with a seemingly unending supply of hot water, shaved, got all together tidied up in a way we hadn't been able to get in many weeks, then changed into clean duds (well, clean Combat Vehicle Crewman (CVC) suits, the fire-retardant Nomex suits worn by tankers in battle), and went back to the Squadron TOC for a hot meal as well. T-Rations were the order of the day for us on the screen line, and today's meal was still T-Rations, but this time we got to eat them sitting at an actual table and actually hot, not just still-warm from the mermites on the front deck of the tank. There was a Class VI supply truck there, and I was able to stock up on batteries, smokes (at the time, I was a smoker), and some pogey bait. We re-mounted the tanks, relieved the unit sent to relieve us, and resumed our screen mission.
Finally, on the evening of the 23rd of February, we struck our site and road marched to our Assembly Area. Although we'd been getting mission briefings and OPORDs continuously through our deployment, tonight's was the final OPORD for our ground attack. We did our PMCS, and ate dinner while the leaders did their prep and meeting with the troop CO, then got our final OPORD: at noon the following day, local time, the Brave Rifles would launch an attack across the Line of Departure and begin moving toward a series of objectives, with the ultimate objective to destroy any enemy forces we encountered, reach a particular objective a dozen or so kilometers south of the Euphrates, and the turn East to cut off the Republican Guard from escaping back into central Iraq. There was a long discussion about how to handle POWs and graves registration, and a whole host of things that are always covered in an OPORD. We executed our guard and sleep plan, and bedded down for the night, knowing that the next day would begin a fundamental change in our lives.
The author atop his tank, just before going to sleep on 23 FEB 1991.(Continued: A Sabre, Drawn)
After several days of the "air war" (as I believe it was called by the news media), the Brave Rifles received a new mission, and new orders. We were to pack up, HET our vehicles westward up the Tapline road, and occupy a screen line to observe for any possible enemy attempts to penetrate the Saudi border from the west of the old neutral zone between Saudi Arabia and Iraq. Dutifully, we did so, and assumed positions along a line just a few kilometers south of the actual border. Scout platoons were dug into positions where they could overwatch a large valley, with the tank platoons in a more central, hide location with OPs just downslope of the ridgeline, occupied 24/7 in a rotation from tank to tank. Loaders and drivers were the primary occupiers of the OP, with the gunner of the tank currently on rotation stationed in the designated tank on the .50 cal MG. Any activity in the valley was immediately called up to the on-duty tank gunner over a field phone, who then clarified the information and if needed relayed the information with a standard report format up to the troop command net, who did the same up to Squadron. Not much happened, though; the desert out in that part of Saudi Arabia and Iraq is trackless, mostly featureless, and nearly impossible to navigate safely without advanced equipment (like, say, GPS). There were occasional sightings, mostly of Bedouin tribes shepherding their livestock (often goats) through the area, but rarely anything of military value.
An example of the flat, featureless terrain of North-Central Saudi Arabia & South-Central IraqOne night in particular was pretty tense, however. Since the air war had been going on for a few days, it was not unusual to hear (and, rarely, see) aircraft making runs overhead. They occasionally flew with their various lights illuminated until they were almost overhead of us, and then extinguished them as they penetrated northward into Iraqi airspace. On this night, however, one of our sister units to our left or right flank very excitedly reported aircraft circling nearby, and since neither Squadron nor Regiment could identify these aircraft we all lept into action. At first, it was difficult to find them; the directions we were getting from higher headquarters was confused and conflicting, but eventually our gunner, SGT Planter, was able to locate the circling aircraft using the thermal sights. On the thermals, jets can be hard to track even in the widest view due to their speed, but he was able to get it done. After several minutes of watching and waiting, with updated information about their location, SGT Planter identified the aircraft: two F-15s circling a KC-135 fueling aircraft—friendlies. The LT immediately sent up the report to the troop commander, who immediately ordered all units to hold fire (not that we would do much good anyway, at the ranges involved) and repeated the information to Squadron. While I feel reasonably sure the tank crews would not have had much impact from a fratricide perspective—the effective range of the tank main gun is measured in the thousands of meters, and these aircraft were almost certainly well beyond main gun range—there were ADA assets with us as well. I can't prove it, but I think SGT Planter may have saved several AF pilot and crew member lives that day.The OP duty was usually a few hours at a time, two soldiers in the foxhole with a camo net, fire plan, binoculars, night vision goggles, and both a PRC-77 radio (emergency use only) and a field telephone wired up to the guard tank—one tank, C-22 as I recall, on-station in a turret defilade position that permitted the NCO of the guard to bring the Thermal & Daylight sights of the tank onto anything reported by the OP, as well as use the .50 cal as an immediate action weapon. I never minded the OP (some did), although I'd still rather be on the tank than off.
There were other occasional activities that came up; mail, in particular, was always a welcome one. As I'd mentioned earlier, not too long before Iraq's invasion of Kuwait I had the misfortune of being cheated on by my girlfriend (with whom I broke up on learning this news). Afterward, I had met a few other young women at New Mexico State University in nearby Las Cruces, NM, several of whom maintained contact with me and a few of my troop mates via postal mail. We received letters, and care packages, and occasionally audio tapes, which was very cool (and I wish I still had the tapes even yet!). One of these friends was very clever in writing to me; Saudi Arabia forbade items like "nudie" magazines (Playboy, Penthouse, etc.), so those rarely (if ever) were received by the soldiers, but they didn't often (if ever) seem to worry about individual letters to the soldier. She wrote her letters on the torn-out pages of magazine ads, featuring very seductively posed and clad models (never nude, though!). That kind of morale-booster was always welcome, especially by a 21 year old man stuck in the desert with a bunch of other (mostly) 20-ish year old men!
One other incident sticks out in my memory from this time. We had been on this screen line for at least a couple of weeks, as I recall, and it may even have been close to the middle of February (and, thereby, close to the start of the ground campaign, Operation Desert Sabre). It was nearing dusk, and we'd been hearing a bit of an uptick in air activity overhead for a couple of days. I recall hearing what I though might be an aircraft well overhead, but it was tough to tell, and then we saw the tell-tale signs of an over-the-horizon Iraqi unit using air defense: tracers into the air, and some mid-air explosions. As we tensed up and geared up in case we needed to rapidly remount our tanks, I saw what for all the world looked like a freaking laser beam, from the sky to the ground: Bright red-orange, in a straight line down to the ground just over the horizon, two or three times. As I stood there completely enchanted by the sight, trying to process what happened, I heard the sound: BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP. BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP. BRRRRRRRRRRRRRP. An AC-130! A couple of my platoon mates standing nearby started to whoop & holler, and I joined in with them. Tankers appreciate heavy weaponry, regardless of its source, and the AC-130 ranks right next to the A-10 Warthog as a tanker's second favorite weapon platform (the tank they ride into battle is number 1, naturally).
After several weeks of being in the deep desert, watching our screen line, we were temporarily relieved by another unit (whose identity escapes me). We withdrew back toward the Squadron combat trains and Tactical Operations Center (TOC), where we were rotated onto Deuce-and-a-half trucks and told to bring our personal hygiene kits and a change of uniform. We drove out into the desert a bit, and were delivered to a US Air Force air base of some kind or another, only a few kilometers south of our position, where they had a fully-functioning hot shower for thirty people set up. We took a glorious shower, under tents and with a seemingly unending supply of hot water, shaved, got all together tidied up in a way we hadn't been able to get in many weeks, then changed into clean duds (well, clean Combat Vehicle Crewman (CVC) suits, the fire-retardant Nomex suits worn by tankers in battle), and went back to the Squadron TOC for a hot meal as well. T-Rations were the order of the day for us on the screen line, and today's meal was still T-Rations, but this time we got to eat them sitting at an actual table and actually hot, not just still-warm from the mermites on the front deck of the tank. There was a Class VI supply truck there, and I was able to stock up on batteries, smokes (at the time, I was a smoker), and some pogey bait. We re-mounted the tanks, relieved the unit sent to relieve us, and resumed our screen mission.
Finally, on the evening of the 23rd of February, we struck our site and road marched to our Assembly Area. Although we'd been getting mission briefings and OPORDs continuously through our deployment, tonight's was the final OPORD for our ground attack. We did our PMCS, and ate dinner while the leaders did their prep and meeting with the troop CO, then got our final OPORD: at noon the following day, local time, the Brave Rifles would launch an attack across the Line of Departure and begin moving toward a series of objectives, with the ultimate objective to destroy any enemy forces we encountered, reach a particular objective a dozen or so kilometers south of the Euphrates, and the turn East to cut off the Republican Guard from escaping back into central Iraq. There was a long discussion about how to handle POWs and graves registration, and a whole host of things that are always covered in an OPORD. We executed our guard and sleep plan, and bedded down for the night, knowing that the next day would begin a fundamental change in our lives.
The author atop his tank, just before going to sleep on 23 FEB 1991.(Continued: A Sabre, Drawn)
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