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| Oblivious...July 1993. |
It was early summer 1993, I was going on field exercises more frequently now that the cold snap of winter/spring had gone. Bravo Battery stayed on the move often, going to places like Erlangen, Kitzingen and Oberdachstetten regularly. We would convoy out to these places, and like a concert production, set up a tactical operations site in the middle of a wide open field in less than a couple of hours. To look at the battery in combat ready stance was quite astonishing. We sat up tents in predesignated areas that supported each area of responsibility. Our medical aid station would always be situated near the command area, the fire control trailers sat up just past the CP, or Command Post, the missile guidance center sat up next to it, followed by the large radar system. The perimeter past there was guarded by what was called the ECP, or Entry Control Point, which was a dug out bunker with two men manning a radio and gun. These two soldiers would be responsible for checking anyone who wanted in or out of the inner operational site. Down range several meters was the Patriot Missile Launchers which were positioned strategically, providing an air defense blanket for the entire area. I never really understood the operational aspect of the Patriot Missile system, other than it was an outstanding weapon during Operation Desert Storm. All of our tents and vehicles were draped in a camouflage netting that blended in with the surroundings if seen from the air or from a distance. When in combat ready status, Martinez and I basically stayed in the aid station and waited until someone needed us.
As medics, we were in charge of the health and welfare of each soldier on the tactical site. We also had responsibilities such as checking the water quality at the drinking point and setting up hand washing stations at the chow trailer. We set up triage points in the event we had a mass casualty situation. Triage basically means sorting out, and our role during a mass casualty situation was just that; to sort out the wounded according to the severity of their injuries and to provide necessary care to the most critical patients. But for now, it was all simulated. It was peace time, remember? Another area we were tasked out to be in charge of was the helicopter landing zone. This area had to be large enough to land an Army Blackhawk or Chinook type helicopter for medical evacuations, and the occasional VIP who may or may not stop in.
Bravo Battery seemed squared away when it came to field operations, and the platoon sergeants always had something for the soldiers to do. Martinez and I would read mostly, or I would take my trusty Walkman with me and listen to music most of the time. Occasionally we would have other soldiers stop in and stay a while chatting with us if it was a down period and more times than often a card game would ensue. I became very familiar with the game Spades. In the field, we were out of the eye of the top command staff so it was a bit more relaxed. First Sergeant Franklin would stop in from time to time to get his cough syrup, which I found had some alcohol content in it. He was pretty laid back and always good to us. I never saw him ever in a rage or threatening mood while I was attached to Bravo. Captain Reynolds, on the other hand, was a different story. She always seemed to me like she had to prove something and her logic at times just didn't seem logical at all. It was always like do a task, then do it all over again three more times for no apparent reason. A prime example of being in ADA, another damned Army.
Back in Shipton, Thursdays were known as Sergeant's Time. We did try to do some type of training during those times, but usually turned into a large goof off session. Sergeant First Class Bechtel would assign one medic to research a topic and present a class to everyone else. It could be anything from how to set up a pot-belly stove to managing a traumatic patient. One Thursday, we went down by Soldier's Lake with some litters, or portable stretchers that were used to put a patient on and carry them, and did casualty evacuation drills. We took turns being patients and medics and simulating proper techniques of loading and carrying. We tried to make the training as challenging as we could, having people lie in between trees and over embankments and such. Eventually, the training turned into the usual antics. Someone secured Smitty to a litter and stood him upside down against a tree, then after that, a group carried Bell upside down the whole way, with Bell yelling great obscenities the whole time. Then, SFC Bechtel got on the litter and told some of the guys to carry her. Just as they got to the embankment, SFC Bechtel rolled off the litter down the hill. The straps on the litter had either failed or not been tight enough. She laid there a minute, then reached around and grabbed her back. A couple of guys closest to her came to her aid and bent down trying to assess the severity of her injury, expecting the worst. Just as they knelt by SFC Bechtel's side, she rolled over and grabbed them, pushing them down the hill into the small stream. She had feigned her injury just to mess with they guys who dropped her off the litter. It was all good nature fun, and good stress relief to break the monotony of garrison life.
Morning PT was the absolute devil in my opinion. Especially during the cold months. We had battalion runs every Monday morning to 'motivate' us for the new week. I personally think it was punishment for the ones of us who partied. On several occasions, there would be a soldier fall out of the run formation and vomit because they still were blitzed from the night or weekend before. During the summer months, it was warm, not ungodly hot, but we did sweat profusely. That sweat would smell like pure liquor sometimes, making things ten times worse on the weak stomachs. Command Sergeant Major Jameson was a PT fanatic. He wanted a top shape battalion under his watch, and rightfully so, but even the seasoned veterans began to question it after so long. We all got used to it, and dealt with the self destructive manor of the hangover run as we called it. In hindsight, maybe if we had taken better care of ourselves, me included, the PT would have been very beneficial.
First Sergeant Moshner had left by summer 1993, his replacement would be SFC Banks, who was the Senior NCO in the battalion's supply section. He was an alright guy, always easy going and not so high strung. He reminded me some of Drill Sergeant Washington from Fort Jackson, just not as volatile. SFC Banks hadn't yet been promoted to First Sergeant, but had the time in service and promotion points. For some reason, it was a while before he was officially promoted. Captain Taylor was still our commander, but he was becoming a short timer. He would do the Saudi deployment with us, then have a few short months after that. In the medic platoon, we were getting ready to lose Anderson and Parker. They would be replaced with some newbies before the deployment, and even though it had only been three months since the bus from Barton Barracks arrived with us on it, Rucker, Smitty, Cowden and I felt like veterans. In the meantime, we were still making preparations for the deployment. Official orders had not been sent for anyone, but the talk was that an advanced party would leave in July to get everything squared away. Other than that, nothing much was said, and we still couldn't openly talk about the mission outside Shipton. One major task we would have to carry out was to set up a clinic to get every one's medical needs and vaccinations in order. We were required to have certain vaccinations before we could be deployed, and we had to have a recent physical exam, including a dental examination. Over the course of three days, we sat up at the gymnasium in Katterbach and painstakingly reviewed every soldier's medical file with that soldier present. It was like in processing at Fort Jackson all over again, except this time, we would be on that other side of the exam booth. One by one, a soldier would come to the stations and one of us medics would check mark a paper and if needed, send that soldier over to a physician's assistant or a doctor from the 526th Medical Detachment which had a booth set up with us. Even though we were the screeners, we too had to be vaccinated along with everyone else. There was one shot everyone had to have called a GG shot, or gamma gobulin and another called ISG, a similar vaccination, which had to be administered in the buttock muscles. The serum looked like petroleum jelly and burned when it went in, leaving a very sore spot on our butt cheeks. Needless to say, there were several soldiers walking around like they had just rode in off the open range via horseback.
One night I was in downtown Ansbach doing my usual rounds. Eventually, it was time to head back but a downpour had begun. I flagged a taxi down and mumbled "Shipton, bitte." The driver was of middle eastern descent and spoke fairly good English, enough that I could understand him pretty well. As we drove toward Shipton, he casually asked, "So, I hear you guys will be leaving soon?" I asked what he meant, he said "you know, uh, going to uh, to Saudi Arabia?" I was astonished how he would know that.
"Not that I know," I replied to the taxi driver.
"Come on, you know you are going to Saudi soon," he retorted, trying to get me to acknowledge. I again played dumb and tried to sidestep the conversation, but he persisted. Finally, I told him I was brand new and hadn't been told anything. The whole discussion made me uneasy and put an end to my beer buzz I was enjoying. I never said anything more to the driver and was more than ready to exit the vehicle at the gate. It still made me uneasy as he drove away, so I mentioned it to the guys at the front gate, who casually said, "yeah those cab drivers know everything. They are afraid they will lose business." Operational security, or OPSEC, at its best.
My personal life was starting to perk up a bit. Monika and I started hanging out more often outside of the barracks parties or at The Goose. She was pretty cool, seemingly care free. Monika was a bit taller than me and had brown/brunette wavy hair that was shoulder length. She drove a motorcycle everywhere she went and always was decked out in leather riding attire. Monika's English wasn't too bad, but she spoke with a heavy accent. She didn't seem to mind my party ways and always laughed at my jokes regardless if they were funny or not. I still didn't want to get seriously involved with anyone, but the platonic company was welcomed. I was still just as party-hearty as always, and as the Fourth of July Holiday approached, it was I was in high gear. Prior to the holiday, there was another fest in downtown Ansbach that was a load of fun. We had just got off a field assignment and everyone was aching to get out and about. We would hit the fest for a while, then meander to the Goose afterward to finish the night off in style. During the Fourth, there would be a long break in the daily life and yet another fest in Katterbach, prime time for a good time.
The Fourth of July Holiday 1993 started with a knock at my door at 0630. Ace was out somewhere and not in the room, so I thought it may be him. I opened the door to the sergeant of the day telling me I had guard duty. Guard duty?? I had checked the guard roster religiously after the missing guard post incident and knew I wasn't on the list. I started to argue with the sergeant and he basically told me to get dressed and report to headquarters no more questions asked. I acknowledged and got dressed to start the duty reluctantly. I reported to headquarters a few minutes later and the sergeant told me that someone who had guard duty didn't report and I was the first to answer the door, a 'knock and grab' kind of deal. I was not at all happy but had no other choice but to nod and agree. I pulled the first shift at the front gate and hardly anyone came into post. My partner spent his time reading and I sat there still fuming over being duped. Finally, the other guard told me the secret; "keep a beer in the fridge and grab it when someone knocks on the door early and unannounced on a weekend or holiday. Crack the beer open and take a quick drink to get the smell on your breath then answer the door, holding the beer. This will thwart any attempt to have unscheduled guard or staff duty assignments." I liked that idea, but really, who cracks open a beer at 0630 on a day off? Well...
First shift was over at 1100 hours and the sergeant of the guard returned with some great news. The soldier who had been scheduled had showed up and I was off the hook the rest of the day. I was glad to hear that and hated to be in that other guy's shoes. I went back upstairs and some of the guys were milling about, talking about having a cookout at the pavilion behind the barracks. I said I would join and left to change. After a quick stop at the shopette for drinks and food to add to the cookout, I joined the others out back. The weather was perfect, cloudless sky, warm day with a slight breeze, what more could anyone ask for? As the cookout wore on and the beer flowed the usual antics were in full swing. I remember there was one guy with us who was gay and everyone knew it. This was during the "don't ask, don't tell era" and it never really mattered. I for one hadn't been around any openly gay people before, but he was one who never made a move toward anyone in our group and no one felt uncomfortable around him...until this day. I had wandered off with one of the guys and two girls we knew from the Goose and had returned with a large bite mark on my neck. Everyone was giving me shit about the mark when suddenly, this guy grabbed my arm and bit it, saying "that's nothing like the blow job I'd love to give you right now." I reacted by drawing my fist back and lunging at him, ready to pummel this fruit cake into the ground. A couple of guys stopped me and I calmed down. The guy was told to leave and he wandered away from us. Until that point in my life, I had never been propositioned by a member of the same sex.
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| Posing with my favorite beer mug at Soldier's Lake, July 1993. |
I walked into the gate with the newly acquired road marker over my shoulder, parading like I was bringing in a war trophy. The gate guard once again just shook his head and waved me on in. I got upstairs and the party was starting to really get going. A ton of people were there and the music was blaring. I topped the stairs and stood there for a minute, then held the road marker over my head in triumph. A roar of applause rang out and everyone walked to me and looked at the marker. I took it in Ruble and Mishler's room and propped it up for all to see. I was proud of my trophy. At some point, I got a marker and wrote on it "July 4th Weekend, 1993 and I am fucked up!!" From there everyone there wanted to sign the newly dubbed 'party marker', eventually there were 200+ names on it. From that night on, whoever opened their room as the 'beer control point' took charge of the party marker and displayed it in sight for all to see.
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| Signing the 'party marker' at the barracks party, July 4th weekend, 1993. |
I actually drank myself sober that night. I never got sick or anything, I guess the walk back from the Goose kind of sobered me up and I wasn't able to get hammered like usual. I'm not sure when the party died down, but I do remember waking up in my own room for once.
That entire weekend was wild, a nonstop party, then it was back to the grind the following Tuesday. Our deployment was approaching and the advanced party group would be leaving soon. We would go through inspections to make sure our gear was ready, and also do room inventories. The reality was starting to set in. Finally, we could tell our families back home about the deployment, so I wrote a letter home explaining what was about to happen. I know it scared mom and dad and everyone else to death when they got that news, but it was the Army and anything could happen at anytime. I can't lie, part of me was scared too. It was bad enough going from back home to the Army then a million miles to Germany, but to go to Saudi Arabia, where the Gulf War began really was unsettling. Through all this time, Monika and I began hanging out more often. There was a spark starting to flicker into something, but I wasn't sure I was ready for it yet. That all came to a head one night when we were downtown. Petty (yes, he is related to The King Richard) and I were at a fest tent with Monika and her friend Mary. Mary came out and asked me why I hadn't asked Monika out yet. I didn't know what to say. Monika ran out embarrassed and I went after her. I found her outside the tent crying and asked what was wrong. She just shook her head and looked at me. It was then I realized that there was a connection.
"You are going away soon," she finally said. I told her yes, but I would be back.
"But what if something happens to you," she asked. That was a hard thing to think of, but a logical concern. I assured her that I would be fine and hugged her. We stopped and looked at each other for a minute, and then kissed. It all made sense...the night she waited for me outside my room, the way we always ended up at the same places and hanging out, it was all pointing to this moment. Monika and I walked back into the tent hand in hand. Alan stood and clapped and yelled out, "finally!". Although I hadn't wanted a relationship or anyone to worry about me, here I was in that exact situation.
The parties continued nonstop during this time. Our group of misfits were tight knit and always looked out for each other. Occasionally, someone would get into some trouble for whatever reason and suffer consequences from the command element, but no one was out to hurt anyone. It was all good times and good fun for us, until one night. I don't know the exact details of what happened over in Echo Battery's barracks on a July night, but the next day, Petty knocked on my door with some shocking news. Sean Allison, the guy who was my first real patient, had been rushed to the hospital in serious condition. Sean had been recently transferred from Charlie Battery to Echo battery due to some issues within his unit. All Petty knew was Sean had been depressed and was facing another Article 15 for something and had drank a lot and took some pills. His room mate had found him unresponsive in the barracks and called for help. Sean was taken to the Ansbach Krankenhaus, and at the time no one knew how serious he was. I was bewildered by the news. Sean was one of the regular Goose Crew guys, one who took up for us if anyone gave us some shit. I told Petty to keep me updated and find out when we could go see Sean. Petty left and I just sat there thinking about Sean and his humor. I thought about all the times I called him our bodyguard and he told how I had "saved his life". Later that day, Petty came back and delivered an update on Sean that I didn't expect; he has passed away at the krankenhaus. I backed up and let Petty in my room and we just slumped in chairs and stared blankly. I couldn't believe what I had heard, it couldn't be real. It just didn't make sense. I stayed in that night and decided not to hit the Goose. Petty came over and we toasted a drink to Sean's memory. A few days later, there was a memorial service for Sean and I was unable to attend due to guard duty. Sean was a good guy and left us entirely too soon. I still think about him to this day.
A few days before the advance party left Ansbach for the desert sands, we had the commander's briefing. Our mission would be to provide air cover for the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. Our Patriot Missile batteries would be split between two areas, Dhahran and Rhiyad. The mission would be called Operation Desert Falcon and be considered a combat/hazardous operation. What I, nor most anyone not associated with the military, realized is that although Desert Storm was over, there was still a very real threat to security in the region. The mission was considered a cease fire contingency operation and still could flare up at any time. My room mate, Ace, left as part of the advanced party in early July. The other phase of the deployment would take place later in the month and the main body would deploy in August. We would be there until December, but promised home before Christmas. It was about game time for 6th Battalion, 43rd Air Defense Artillery. It would be a journey into the unknown, and I was content just being the unknown soldier...under the radar, just doing my thing.
