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"Kuwait
Series" - by Gaylan King
Contents:
Most people hate to stand in line. I'm one of those people, that is until this last month during which I've met some of the most interesting people in and around the ever-present queues on our crowded base, Camp Doha. R---- is a gray-headed, 55 year-old male in civilian clothes amidst the sea of desert-cammie-clad troops. I asked to join him for lunch, as there seemed to be no other available seat in the large food court. The Sub Shop tuna salad sandwich is worth the 30-minute wait. Roland, a placid man, is contentedly devouring a large banana split and looks like a bank teller. We start out with the normal chitchat and I find that he's a Civil Servant electronics specialist and has been traveling with a U.S. Army unit for the last six weeks. They saw combat and had just come down from Baghdad. His unit was among the first Coalition Forces to enter that capitol city and arrived at one of Saddam's many palaces, first. No one else joined them so they moved in for several days. This palace featured golden fixtures, expensive art works and Saddam Glitz (read very expensive bad taste) everywhere. There was a separate house apparently just for visiting girlfriends (plural) that was particularly gaudy- Ah, Love! Just in from the field and weeks of eating only the venerable MRE field-rations and being good G.I.s, the first (or perhaps the second) thing they looked for was food. This palace had mammoth freezers filled with enough food to feed large groups. The power had been off for days but they found a freezer filled with chickens and a variety of vegetables that were still safely frozen. Viola! They liberated a large pot, built a fire outdoors, and proceeded to cook the best meal anyone could ever remember. To top it off, someone found literally thousands of expensive Cuban cigars and bottles of special-quality brandy. R---- said that he'd never smoked before, but started that night. He still had, "a couple of hundred left", and produced a packet of Cuban cigars. We each smoked one while enjoying the strong local coffee. I usually don't smoke but I now understand the worldwide desire for Cuban cigars. Their aroma and taste are remarkable! R---- was waiting on an airplane back to the states and had been on Doha for 3 days. He was probably "important" and a civilian. The base is so crowded (I live in town) that I asked where he was staying. He replied that he had" found" a cot and just moved, on his own, into one of the large, open-bay barracks with the hundreds of regular troops. He slept, showered, and shaved there. The rest of the time, he lived out of his rental car, where he kept all of his equipment and valuables, without a complaint! His parting remarks described the thousands of Iraqi men, women and children who lined the roads back to Kuwait to cheer and wave flags at them- many times coming out of seemingly nowhere in the vast desert. Children touched them in awe; they wept; we wept. R---- said that he would never forget that scene or the gratitude in their eyes and the feeling in his heart of having done the right thing, regardless! We both wondered aloud why CNN or the BBC couldn't manage coverage of such a triumphant event. Next day, and in the same line, I stood behind a young Brit troopie in a dark-green beret with a rather magnificent, 6 inch green plume in the front. This young man was poster material; clear blue eyes, lean and hard, the look of a proud soldier. We started the inevitable chat and I remarked about that great plume and asked him what it should tell me about his unit. He was from Southern Ireland (therefore, a Brit subject) in a Brit Infantry Brigade. He dashed all of my notions about great looking, see-from-anywhere plumes when he said, "It's a bloody pain in the backside, Mate. It gets dirty the minute you go out and looks sort of sissyboy to me! I only wear it when I have to!" He further explained that his brigade had been all of the way to Baghdad as a backup for our 3rd Armored Division but was never called into battle. He was hand wringing disappointed by this outcome and complained, "You Yanks didn't leave any of the bastards for us!" You have to love these young men! I am privileged to work at the end of a hall. I was told early on the company didn't have an office ready for me, so I happily moved into the very end of a narrow hall with a door immediately behind me and to my right. I've come to like my privacy there and have asked to never be moved. The seldom-used door leads to the Army half (HQ) of our floor and occasionally yields interesting people. Recently, a dusty young Army troopie, fresh from Iraq, came into our side, mistakenly, looking for the Army side of the building. He came down my hall, looked at the door and asked me if it led to the Army side. I told him it did. He then said, "But, Sir, it says, 'Exit'!" I replied, "To me it is an exit, while to you it is the entrance to the Army side you seek." He grinned shyly and remarked, "I was hoping it was some kind of a portal to Ohio!" The real war is over now. We're sending fresh troops to replace the warriors and Camp Doha is suddenly filling with clean troopies in the wrong color cammie fatigues with brand new patches dedicated to the triumphs of their predecessors. Therefore, maybe the days of constantly meeting real characters here are past, but I doubt it. That never-ending stream of brave, bright kids have performed magnificently for their country. We should be proud of them and acknowledge them as they return home, victorious!
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Iraq
4 - May 23, 2003 -
The temperature is still relatively
cool here; I walked 3-4 blocks each way to lunch today
and barely noticed the heat. The very hot weather is
out there, we all know that it's coming but, so far,
it's been very nice. The Brits continue to provide the
best entertainment through the bi-weekly musical get
together and the Hash House Harriers (an amazing
international group), weekly. Next week I'm attending
the British Dart Club's yearly dinner and evening out.
