Desert Storm

Hi all,

Thanks for your kind words about my post on my Panama jump. That got me thinking that I had a lot more to share, two manuscripts in fact.

Lemme take a step back, though. After Panama & the Gulf War, nobody, the media, publishing, America in general wanted to hear about it. It was done, quick, painless and so lets get on with life!

I am certain there are thousands of manuscripts (mine included) that lay dusty and forgotten from that time. If I remember correctly there were exactly THREE books published about Desert Shield/Storm between 1992 and 1998. And one was a coffee table picture book.

Anyway, thanks to you all I dug around and found a bit of writing I'd done and I thought I'd share it.

This is straight from my journal in the desert while I was there, sand still in the spine.

Each entry starts out with a quote from somewhere (historical or otherwise) that's important to set the tone of the essay. Read it closely and you will understand the psychological hell I, and my buddies went through at the time. PLEASE do not forget that this is the SAME our soldiers are going through now. The desert never changes.

This is my first journal entry, sometime January 1991, just before the air war started, somewhere near the Kuwaiti broder with Saudi Arabia....

"Try to imagine a country without greenery and without water, a burning sun, a sky always dry, sandy plains, mountains more arid still, over which the eye sweeps in vain and sight is lost without once fixing  upon a living object; a dead land as though stripped bare by the hot wind, offering to the eye only the remnants of bones, scattered stones, outcroppings of rocks upright or fallen, a desert without secrets in which no traveler has drawn a breath in the shade, or found companion, or anything to remind him of of a living nature: absolute solitude, a thousand times more terrifying than that of dense forests, for trees are other beings, other life, to the man who sees himself alone; more isolated more naked, more lost, in these empty and limitless sands, he stares into space, on all sides, space that is like a tomb, the light of day, more melancholy than the shadows of the night, is reborn only to shine upon his nakedness and impotence, to let him see more clearly the horror of his situation, driving back the boundairies of the void, extending around him the abyss of the immensity that separates him from the land of men, an immensity that he will in vain to cross, for hunger , thirst, and the scorching heat press upon every moment that remains between despair and death."

George-Louis LeClerc, (1707-1788)

"Your evaluation reports all perfect, exceptional. there certaily is a problem" First SGT Washington told me as we sat across from each other on the cardtable in the company commander's tent in the middle of the desert.

"I'm not sure it all lays with you, though. Platoon Sergeant Kominsky is ....ah....difficult, he has his own style of leadership. One that I don't necessarily agree with, but he gets the job done".

"First Sergeant" I said, "it's a personality conflict. He won't stay off my back ...won't let me run my squad. He interferes with most of my functions. If he wants my squad he can have it...I'll trade"

"You aren't alone" he replied softly. He sighed a long deep one. Then

"I think I am going to have to move you out of the platoon."

"That's fine" I answered immediately.

Our Company Commander looked up from his papers, holding them down with his palm against the everpresent wind.
"Don't you want the Combat Infantryman's Badge? Leave the company for battalion and you won't get one." he said. This was the first time he'd spoken since the First Sergeant and I had sat down.

"He's staying within the Company" First Sergeant stated "and he already has one."

"Panama?" The Captain shot back, surprisingly quickly. He looked at me for the first time.

"Yes sir. Jumped in with the company"

Our Captain was new. After easy years assigned to a Command Staff position, he was ready to earn his mark- and his badges- at the Company level.

"Ah. You have the JumpStar" he said as he rubbed the jumpwings on his chest, missing the gold star in the center denoting a combat jump.

I hadn't sewn anything on my uniform except my name and US ARMY tags.

"Well, what about Ranger school when we get back to the US?"

"It's a volunteer course sir, I do not wish to volunteer" I replied.

'All my squad leaders have to be Ranger qualified!" he roared over the howling wind.

First Sergeant spoke.

"He already is a squad leader. Sir." Then he looked at me and said "be careful. You're a good troop. I think you can handle the Company Operations Sergeant's job, I can keep you an Kominsky apart.."

"Thanks First Sergeant" I said.

"Let's look at the big picture" he added, "where do you want to be when all this is over, when we get back to the States?"

"A civilian" I replied.











Edited by rivet

Timberghozt wrote: ...Desert Storm took my innocence and changed forever the way I thought about things in life. Great Post brother grunt..

I know what you are talking about, brother. You did the hooah in Medina ridge. Thanks for the post!

I was wondering when someone was gonna reply. Good to know there are former troopers out there on the site!

Hey missed this post....have to check out your website. Thanks for the hooah!

Just registered for the handloaders site but have to wait until I am okayed by the mod staff. No worries, I'm clean  and good to go! Loved the wall of shame I saw there....what a GREAT idea!