Finally, the big day arrived. All of the preparation was now going to be put to the test. It was off to chow, where we engaged the 325th Maintenance Company unit in some last minute jousting. Sergeant First Class Steele ended up in a shouting match at the front of the chow line as both units jockeyed for pole position. Hey, we could have saved the government many dollars and simply had the war at the dining facility. For the record, we won the duel and the other troops were sent to a second door. Everyone was talking about going first in line, as they had a plane to catch. I suppose no one anybody that we were all headed for the same location, on the same plane. Then there was the task of cleaning the barracks. Usually this is an event where the inspectors can delay departure by finding candy wrappers jammed into the bunk bed tubing. And usually this is the forethought when you really want to leave. There was a final mail call where I was presented with, among other things, my sixfoot tall birthday card. I had nowhere to pack the thing, so I eventually folded it and placed it in my backpack until I could find storage for it. It was early afternoon before all items set outside the barracks were being loaded onto transport trucks. The inspectors arrived and conducted an unusually cursory glance at what had been home and quickly gave us a thumbs-up. Then it was time to board the bus. The accountability aspect that is beat into every soldier during the non-commissioned officer’s academy was featured as we loaded the bus alphabetically. Once we were on, we were on. While this process took time, we knew that from this point on this routine would play out for virtually all occasions.
The bus pulled out from the housing areas, passing the theater, bowling alley, fast food restaurants, laundry, tailor, base exchange, commissary, holding and work area and the weapons ranges with which we had become so familiar. We saw the “Welcome to Fort Stewart” signs in the rear-view mirror as we rolled down a two- lane of sparse traffic. The next welcome mat was displayed on arrival at Hunter Army Air Field, which is also the home of the Airborne Rangers. There was excitement that one can imagine similar to any adventurous undertaking. We were looking sharp in our new battle dress uniforms (BDUs) which were sand colored. There were Jewish soldiers in our numbers. As a precaution, they were given the option of changing their names on their uniforms. We even had the freedom to wear our hats in any style we chose. Several of us chose the Australian lift of the flatbrim hats. Although desert boots, fabric and sand colored, were available, the soldier paid for them. There was a rumor that there would be an issue of these boots once we were in country, so I chose to wait.
We were moved off the bus and routed into a huge hangar where we were divided by rank. We ate and then ambled about for a while as the jumbo jet was serviced. We were given water and told to start drinking as much as we could consume, which we did. The troops were formed up as the boarding call was given. We stepped from the hangar and climbed the ramp, accepting the smiles of the crew, and found seats on Tower Air’s military specification 747. The biggest difference between this and civilian models is room- there is simply less of it. The seats are smaller and less wide than regular seats. This normally wouldn’t be a problem, except for all our gear, including all our battle issue, plus our weapons. After all, we were headed directly to war.
Once on board, more bottles of water started down the aisles. Our evil sister unit sat in a different section, but as we went airborne, we all walked around the cabin getting acquainted. This was a movie flight, and there were magazines, card games and competitive water drinking to keep us occupied. Most of the activity revolved around the bathrooms. All of the water we drank had to go somewhere, so there was a reason for standing in lines. At times, there was a one-hour wait. This would become a problem as we touched down in Bangor, Maine. Although the aircraft was stopped, the troops were still going. There was no getting off the plane for fear someone would not return, so everyone on the plane paid the price. There was a rumor that a warrant officer from another unit had engaged one of the female flight crew members during the flight. If this was fact, someone must have been using a hidden bathroom. Despite this, water continued to be wheeled down the aisles. The second stop of the journey occurred at Brussels, Belgium. Once again, the same situation arose with the bathrooms. There were some things to see as the flight continued. For me, the most impressive sight was that of the French and Italian Alps- actually more Italian than French. Although I was afforded a fleeting glance at the Matterhorn that became Disneyland’s visual landmark, the French refused their airspace to American flights. This was to be the case until Iraq said something bad about the French, at which time they too became involved.
It was during the last hours of the flight when fighter aircraft planes became visible on both sides of our aircraft. Not to worry, says the pilot. This is an escort accompanying us until we touch down.
In the dark morning hours, as the plane was descending on final approach, we could see military aircraft sitting on the tarmac near hangars that bore the rather distinctive markings of the Saudi Arabian Air Force. As we taxied to our final stop, we passed garbage bags around, quickly filling them with empty water bottles. The ramp was wheeled up after the customary delays, and we exited the aircraft. There are those who claim that we never traveled to the moon and that the entire event was staged by the media. If that were the case