Remember the Individual.
As I sit and watch a television show of the War with Iraq, I am in awe of the circus-type atmosphere. Reporters are dissappointed that the war is not starting whey THEY think it should. The first Gulf War, I was there. I did not get to see it on T.V. In fact, I didn't know much of anything except that I was in the desert.
Not getting into to politics of the moment, I would like to relate to everyone what it is like for our military men and women on the brink of war. My perspective comes from being a U.S. Marine Corp infantryman during Operation Desert Storm (a “grunt”), in 1990.
I can tell you the ground troops are not thinking politics. They are thinking war. They are living on, or more likely, in the earth. The Marines are not living in air-conditioned buildings or even well-made tents. If they are lucky they have a small “hooch”- each Marine carries half of a tent and buddies up with another to form a full tent. They are about 3 feet high and just enough to keep room to house to people. They are little more than token shelter.
I was flown in with my company from Camp Lejeune, NC to Saudi Arabia. We spent 1 week in what I believe was an old school house and then loaded onto trucks to head into the desert. After driving for 4 hours or so, we stopped and unloaded. I didn’t know at the time, but that school would be the last time I would be under a roof for 5 months.
I was a low-level E-3 Lance Corporal (later to be promoted to E-4 Corporal midway through the conflict). The troops get very little information. They don’t know where they are going, how long they will be there or why they are doing it. Marines are taught to follow orders first and ask questions later. I didn’t really see the “big picture” or even know what part of the country we were in until years later when I read it in history books. All I knew for sure is that we flew into Saudi Arabia and ended up 5 months later is Kuwait City. The only thing I knew in between is that I was in the desert.
Our troops are battling boredom in between training sessions. We would pack up our gear and move about every 2 weeks. When I say move, I mean on foot.........for hours and sometimes days at a time. Word was passed down that it was time to stop and “dig in”. At every stop, we had to dig into the sand. Some parts of the deserts were hard enough to dig a neat hole. In other parts it was like digging water. With every shovel full of liquidy sand a flow of sand would roll back into the hole. A shovel (called an E-Tool or entrenchment tool) is part of every Marines gear. It is carried everywhere they go. It became a friend. Because of the threat of attack, it was imperative to have a hole to jump into within each reach. Also we had to have a hole to sleep in in case of attack at night.
The desert gets cold at night......sometimes below freezing. In the day it gets brutally hot with no shelter to protect the skin. I didn’t know it before but there ARE rats in the middle of the desert and they are hungry and brave. We woke up many a nights with some “friends” going through our stuff searching for food.
Mail-call is the highlight of every Marines week. We typically got mail once and if we were lucky, twice per week. Some was from family. A lot was from school children or Vietnam veterans addressed to “Any Marine” or “ Any Serviceman”. On a few occasions I got a crumbled box with 4 week-old, broken, stale cookies from home. They were delicious.
I does rain in the desert also. 4 days and 4 nights one time. We had nothing but a poncho to keep us dry. The rain and the cold made for a very miserable time.
During the day, we were allowed to light fires in large pits to burn our trash. At dusk, all lights had to go out..... No fires, no flashlights, no matches or cigarettes.
I had an old walkman radio and was able to get only one station, the British BBC. I learned what our fellow troops were doing from the BBC and passed it on to my platoon.
When we dug in, we were place in 2-man teams (sorry no women in USMC combat positions) and placed about 50-100 yards apart in a circular perimeter. My M-16 was always by my side and NEVER out of arms reach. *This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My rifle is my best friend. It is my life. My rifle without me is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless. I must fire my rifle true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me...............* So goes the creed. I still remember it. It drives home the message that a Marine is a rifleman before anything else. The weapon becomes your third arm.
One of the many things that are different than what you see on war movies is the huge amount of gear that the individual soldier must carry. I went into the war with the images of my favorite movie heroes charging into battle with a rifle and little else. In reality, the individual soldier has much more. There is the Kelvar helmet (which probably weighs 5 .lbs by itself), a flack jacket on top of camouflage utilities. Desert boots with one dog tag tied into the laces and the other around your neck in case your head is blown off, they can still identify you by your boots. We had to carry weapons of course, and a bunch of ammunition (that isn’t light). In my case, I carried a SAW (squad automatic weapon - a mini machine gun). It would fire so many rounds that the barrel would melt so it had to be replaced after a few minutes of firing to keep it intact. So I had to carry an extra barrel around my neck. In the desert, you need a lot of water. Each troop carried 2 canteens full of water on their web-belts. Additionally, every 4 person would rotate to carry a 5-gallon can of water to refill our canteens.
With the oil fields on fire, the day was dark. The sun was sometimes seen as a slight, glimmering light through the dust and smut. We looked like coal miners with dark clothes and faces. We didn’t eat for days because no one thought of food.
I did not sense fear on my fellow Marines faces and I didn’t feel fear myself. We were way past that by the time the ground war started. The worse that could happen was that we would be killed.
War, for me, is summed up in one word.......Confusion! There is no script and there are very few rules. You play it by ear and hope your shooting the right thing. You also learn very quickly that your immediate superiors no little more than you do (contrary to your earlier thinking). On one occasion, we were awaken by a mild grumbling of the Earth. It took everyone about 10 seconds to recognize the unmistakable sound of a column of tanks moving in our direction. We did not know if they were “ours” or the enemy. We were stuck out there with nothing but small arms fire..........might as well have been throwing rocks at a tank. Our platoon sergeant frantically radioed HQ to try to find out whose tanks they were. Word was passed down the line from hole to hole, “ HQ has no record of friendly tanks in our area”. For 3 minutes that I can assure you felt like 2 hours, there was complete silence except for the strengthening sound of tank tracks coming closer. FINALLY, word came over the radio, “they are U.S. tanks”. Whewwww!
Our troops today are well-trained. They are well-lead. They are hungry but not thinking about it. They are scared, but not thinking about it. They are confused. War, no matter how technological, is still, at best, organized CONFUSION!
Tom Miller, OD
USMC 1987-1991
A Co. 1/8 2nd Marine Div.
SCO 2000
As I sit and watch a television show of the War with Iraq, I am in awe of the circus-type atmosphere. Reporters are dissappointed that the war is not starting whey THEY think it should. The first Gulf War, I was there. I did not get to see it on T.V. In fact, I didn't know much of anything except that I was in the desert.
Not getting into to politics of the moment, I would like to relate to everyone what it is like for our military men and women on the brink of war. My perspective comes from being a U.S. Marine Corp infantryman during Operation Desert Storm (a “grunt”), in 1990.
I can tell you the ground troops are not thinking politics. They are thinking war. They are living on, or more likely, in the earth. The Marines are not living in air-conditioned buildings or even well-made tents. If they are lucky they have a small “hooch”- each Marine carries half of a tent and buddies up with another to form a full tent. They are about 3 feet high and just enough to keep room to house to people. They are little more than token shelter.
I was flown in with my company from Camp Lejeune, NC to Saudi Arabia. We spent 1 week in what I believe was an old school house and then loaded onto trucks to head into the desert. After driving for 4 hours or so, we stopped and unloaded. I didn’t know at the time, but that school would be the last time I would be under a roof for 5 months.
I was a low-level E-3 Lance Corporal (later to be promoted to E-4 Corporal midway through the conflict). The troops get very little information. They don’t know where they are going, how long they will be there or why they are doing it. Marines are taught to follow orders first and ask questions later. I didn’t really see the “big picture” or even know what part of the country we were in until years later when I read it in history books. All I knew for sure is that we flew into Saudi Arabia and ended up 5 months later is Kuwait City. The only thing I knew in between is that I was in the desert.
Our troops are battling boredom in between training sessions. We would pack up our gear and move about every 2 weeks. When I say move, I mean on foot.........for hours and sometimes days at a time. Word was passed down that it was time to stop and “dig in”. At every stop, we had to dig into the sand. Some parts of the deserts were hard enough to dig a neat hole. In other parts it was like digging water. With every shovel full of liquidy sand a flow of sand would roll back into the hole. A shovel (called an E-Tool or entrenchment tool) is part of every Marines gear. It is carried everywhere they go. It became a friend. Because of the threat of attack, it was imperative to have a hole to jump into within each reach. Also we had to have a hole to sleep in in case of attack at night.
The desert gets cold at night......sometimes below freezing. In the day it gets brutally hot with no shelter to protect the skin. I didn’t know it before but there ARE rats in the middle of the desert and they are hungry and brave. We woke up many a nights with some “friends” going through our stuff searching for food.
Mail-call is the highlight of every Marines week. We typically got mail once and if we were lucky, twice per week. Some was from family. A lot was from school children or Vietnam veterans addressed to “Any Marine” or “ Any Serviceman”. On a few occasions I got a crumbled box with 4 week-old, broken, stale cookies from home. They were delicious.
I does rain in the desert also. 4 days and 4 nights one time. We had nothing but a poncho to keep us dry. The rain and the cold made for a very miserable time.
During the day, we were allowed to light fires in large pits to burn our trash. At dusk, all lights had to go out..... No fires, no flashlights, no matches or cigarettes.
I had an old walkman radio and was able to get only one station, the British BBC. I learned what our fellow troops were doing from the BBC and passed it on to my platoon.
When we dug in, we were place in 2-man teams (sorry no women in USMC combat positions) and placed about 50-100 yards apart in a circular perimeter. My M-16 was always by my side and NEVER out of arms reach. *This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My rifle is my best friend. It is my life. My rifle without me is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless. I must fire my rifle true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me...............* So goes the creed. I still remember it. It drives home the message that a Marine is a rifleman before anything else. The weapon becomes your third arm.
One of the many things that are different than what you see on war movies is the huge amount of gear that the individual soldier must carry. I went into the war with the images of my favorite movie heroes charging into battle with a rifle and little else. In reality, the individual soldier has much more. There is the Kelvar helmet (which probably weighs 5 .lbs by itself), a flack jacket on top of camouflage utilities. Desert boots with one dog tag tied into the laces and the other around your neck in case your head is blown off, they can still identify you by your boots. We had to carry weapons of course, and a bunch of ammunition (that isn’t light). In my case, I carried a SAW (squad automatic weapon - a mini machine gun). It would fire so many rounds that the barrel would melt so it had to be replaced after a few minutes of firing to keep it intact. So I had to carry an extra barrel around my neck. In the desert, you need a lot of water. Each troop carried 2 canteens full of water on their web-belts. Additionally, every 4 person would rotate to carry a 5-gallon can of water to refill our canteens.
With the oil fields on fire, the day was dark. The sun was sometimes seen as a slight, glimmering light through the dust and smut. We looked like coal miners with dark clothes and faces. We didn’t eat for days because no one thought of food.
I did not sense fear on my fellow Marines faces and I didn’t feel fear myself. We were way past that by the time the ground war started. The worse that could happen was that we would be killed.
War, for me, is summed up in one word.......Confusion! There is no script and there are very few rules. You play it by ear and hope your shooting the right thing. You also learn very quickly that your immediate superiors no little more than you do (contrary to your earlier thinking). On one occasion, we were awaken by a mild grumbling of the Earth. It took everyone about 10 seconds to recognize the unmistakable sound of a column of tanks moving in our direction. We did not know if they were “ours” or the enemy. We were stuck out there with nothing but small arms fire..........might as well have been throwing rocks at a tank. Our platoon sergeant frantically radioed HQ to try to find out whose tanks they were. Word was passed down the line from hole to hole, “ HQ has no record of friendly tanks in our area”. For 3 minutes that I can assure you felt like 2 hours, there was complete silence except for the strengthening sound of tank tracks coming closer. FINALLY, word came over the radio, “they are U.S. tanks”. Whewwww!
Our troops today are well-trained. They are well-lead. They are hungry but not thinking about it. They are scared, but not thinking about it. They are confused. War, no matter how technological, is still, at best, organized CONFUSION!
Tom Miller, OD
USMC 1987-1991
A Co. 1/8 2nd Marine Div.
SCO 2000
