As the days progressed, there would be an increase in mission-related activities. While away from home, there were those who had established their squeezing partners and engaged in non-mission related thrills.
Each morning, some of the top brass would stop by my cot and receive a briefing based on short-wave radio information. Although most signals were jammed, I was usually able to find something in English. Most common for me was Radio Australia. In the early days, information was being transmitted, which was later determined to be intentional misinformation. This would probably continue throughout, but something was better than nothing. It was apparent that all was top secret to the troops, or our battalion was out of the information loop; we concluded the former. Only information concerning our activity was passed on. I could only hope that our command wasn’t that ill-informed.
Again, things were gearing up. Activity was increasing and the rumor machine was in the on position. One evening we were told there would be a company briefing in the mess tent. Again, we sat or stood as Captain Grimalda stood before the troops.
He confirmed that we were getting set to move again. His final statement to us was “ be thinking war.”
It was during this period we were issued little white pills that would later become a major controversy. Beyond the realm of the usual shots and pills we had taken, there were two beyond the norm. One was birth control pills. A few of the female troops took them because they feared becoming prisoners of war. The other was something that was a supplement for use in an NBC environment. Questions were asked regarding these pills which, according to several sources, had never been tested on humans. I had already decided that this pill was not going to find its way down my throat. In fact, when we were commanded to ingest them, I allowed mine to drop to the sand. Maybe a scorpion would eat it and become NBC impervious. Most of the soldiers did the same thing, including several officers. One soldier who took the pill began having odd reactions afterwards, and went from sick call to a hospital in Germany, with varied problems, including dehydration.
While the balance of the company began preparing for the big move, I was assigned guard duty at the hilltop listening post. I never realized how cold things got in the desert until this night. Specialist Tony Cook and I were pulling a twelve- hour shift. On top of the hill, we were getting a full dose of the wind. Technically, we were not to step outside, but the interior, unlike our other posts, was so small that we would occasionally have to sneak outside to stretch. I was dressed in my regular uniform with sleeves down, a filed jacket with liner, a second night jacket and MOPP gear, and I was still freezing. We somehow made it, although there was a brief moment that neither Cook or I could account for.
As the day broke, the company was busy packing our tents and forming the convoy, which was scheduled to leave around eight o’clock that night. Even if I wanted to sleep, there was no place left than company headquarters, the mess tent and a few battalion-related administrative tents. The place looked somewhat like a ghost town. Although there were a few civilians who were checking the area for deals that would be left behind, there was one individual who really stood out. She was dressed from head to toe, carrying a blade, which gave her the appearance of the grim reaper. She had a nose that, although covered by veil, stuck out quite a distance, giving her an almost comical appearance, despite her otherwise depressing presence. Nobody in our chain of command knew exactly how to deal with her. In the long run, we simply ignored her.
First Sergeant Obester would remain with a handful of other troops to assist the battalion while the rest of the company would move out. As we were moving out of our living quarters, the battalion was moving in. Our facilities were better than they had imagined. There was talk at one point of leveling our showers and leaving them to restructure but there was always the possibility that we might need the showers again. Besides, there were still a few people of ours to look out for.
As night fell, we had our final meal before hitting the road. The vehicles were up and running. Ours was the last in the lengthy convoy. Behind our office trailer were two generators in tow that could make for interesting fishtail material. Chris Allen, Jennifer Evans and I squished into the cab and on command began rolling. We rolled past the guard gate, now manned by battalion troops and those left behind by our unit. We turned left, proceeding north on MSR Dodge. The idea of the convoy was simply to keep up with the vehicle in front. As I sat on the passenger side of the truck, I looked across the darkness and began to wonder what lay ahead. The answer came when I saw something in the mirror. “Hey, Chris, you may want to pull over.”
Why?”
At that same time, Jennifer glanced over and, noting what I was seeing, announced, “I think the truck’s on fire.”
We pulled to the side of the road as we saw flames shooting out somewhere near the rear and bottom of the trailer. We jumped from the cab, fire extinguishers in hand, and ran to the back of the truck. We saw flames gently licking the generator. This wasn’t good, we concluded, and foamed the area. By now the lead vehicle of the convoy had doubled back and pulled alongside. It was too dark to see who was in the HMMV as far as rank, but I knew it was loaded with folks we didn’t know, mostly battalion officers. They asked us what was wrong and we explained our plight. A second vehicle, containing our unit, had also come to