Camp MacArthur quickly expanded. Normally a battalion is formed from about four companies, usually from the same location. In our case, we were integrated with army reservists and other National Guard units to form the 541st Maintenance Battalion, with leadership being provided by a major from Fort Riley, Kansas. Although I had been told of administrative problems generated by our association, there was little effect on the troops in their day-to-day operations. Work continued as we made our little place in the sand as fortified and livable as possible.
Still, the objective was to fight a war. We had already established ourselves with KMMC, a distribution center for our supplies located on a major road among other industrial buildings. Inside this vast complex was everything we would need to provide our services. Once inside the small front entrance, we noticed a canary cage. These are swell pets to have when conducting business in a location prone to chemical warfare. The theory is that regardless of other warning devices, should the little fellow appear to be sunning himself with his feet up, it is time to mask. As we worked around the clock throughout the complex, we noted other birds stationed at various spots.
Shortly after returning to camp, Sergeant Allen and Specialist Julio Tobar were going on a field trip. A computer known as the DAS 3 had been located for our use. This was a monster office jammed with high-tech items that rolled inside a trailer identified by the huge air conditioning units mounted at the front. The duet left early one morning and drove to the Air Force base where the trailer was located. They returned a day or two later with the DAS 3 in tow. In the late afternoon, as they dismounted, Specialist Tobar ran over to where I was standing and exclaimed “Hey, you know all those hours of NBC training you had us doing? Thank you.” Sergeant Allen echoed the sentiment, advising that the trip wasn’t without incident. They had arrived to pick up the unit late at night and before they had done all the paperwork they headed toward the trailer. They were given a bad time by those inside the dining facility as they were offending the garrison-based Air Force personnel. They weren’t clean and smelling nice like those who had access to facilities. It soon reached a point where the sergeant who ran the dining apologized to them facility set up an area where they could eat and not be harassed. They were tired and simply wanted to get the 5-ton tractor attached so they could leave.
As they were working, the base NBC alarm went began blaring. Instinctively, both donned their protective masks and, while racing to grab the MOPP gear, managed to open the rear door of the trailer. Once opened, they got inside and closed the door. Here, they stumbled over each other in the total blackness of the walls of the wheeled office. They waited for what seemed forever, until they finally heard a knock on the door, advising them that all was clear. The trip back went without further problems. I am not a paranoid person, but I spent most nights in uniform with my boots on. I noticed that several others had adopted the same practice.
Days were devoted to improving our fighting positions. We had a guard gate at the front entrance to our company area. It was here that we found unique clay that had some type of fossilized impressions. The stuff was thick and hard. At one point, I was trying to fashion chess pieces out of the clay, but it became brittle and turned to dust. We had to play on chessboards that were purchased or provided. I arrived in country with a perfect chess record. I had never won a game in my life. Many nights, we battled it out on the boards. My record remained in tact. We initially had crude showers, but bottle baths were, at times, all that were available. Even after cleaning up, we were back in the same nasty uniform and MOPP gear, which would again cover us in charcoal. Alcohol wipes proved very handy. It was interesting sleeping with a rifle as a bedmate.
Security details were eventually extended to a listening post which had been placed inside a hill, and provided an excellent view of the area. It was from this vantage point that I was sitting one morning, gazing into the hills. I thought we might have been the first people to ever occupy this little spot on the earth. As I continued, I noted movement in the distance. It was a tank, one of the friendly types. Another, and yet another, until it soon looked as though the hills were alive with this ant-like trail of Bradley fighting machines. Other convoys of every size and shape of tank followed. I have no idea how many millions of dollars proceeded on this trail, which lasted a long time, but it was truly impressive. For the first time, I was getting a glimpse at the size of this adventure.
Our company was fairly good sized as a stand-alone unit, but our presence was virtually inconsequential in contrast to the big picture. I had been told that my brother, Jack, was somewhere in country dealing with some of the electronics that guided these machines. Although we never met, we were actually close to each others’ sights.
There was an effort to install trip flares on one perimeter, warning of intruders. One morning, we observed smoke rising from the activated flares. Everyone began running to the perimeter, only to realize that the enemy was a wandering group of Bedouins whose camels found the flares irresistible.
Often, in the pre-dawn hours, we were pulled from our tents and required to perform a battalion-wide stand-to inspection, where we took our places at predesignated locations on the perimeter. We even had our own reaction unit that barreled to their positions in vehicles, ready to reinforce hot spots. Once the inspection was concluded, it was off to chow. One sense of security was visible from an adjacent hill, where a Nike missile battery posed- great neighbors to have. There w