Tactical site duty had become pretty routine the first month in country. I would trek out to the site in my ambulance and go through the usual routine of the wet bulb reading, setting up the aid station area and checking drinking water. I would get bored by mid morning and wander around on site. I always went to check the guys on sandbag duty and made sure they had water to drink, then I would go around to the ready platoon areas and make sure no one needed anything. Usually, there was no activity, so all of us made the best of our time as we could. Sometimes, SFC Taylor would do some type of soldier training or task out people for other duties to stay busy. I rarely went into the CP unless I was summoned there or to give the wet bulb readings. The thing about tac site duty is we all tried to find some way to stay cool and comfortable.
When there was absolutely nothing going on, some of us would catch the scorpions that crawled about and have scorpion fights. The scorpions in Saudi Arabia were basically two types; a large, black scorpion with a stinger on the tail about the size of a hypodermic needle and a tiny brown one. The big black scorpions were aggressive, but their stings weren't deadly. The little brown ones, however, had a nerve agent type venom and could kill a human. We would get the bigger scorpions and keep them in a water bottle that was cut off about midway. When it was time to fight, we dropped the two competitors in a makeshift ring and prodded them to fight. Yes, it was cruel entertainment, but my scorpion was considered 'king of the ring' and won many bouts until we eventually were told to knock it off and cease the activity.
On the days off duty, I, along with anyone else who would tag along, would wander out into the Khobar complex and see what was there. There was a weight gym in a bunker facility that was accessible to us, a small post exchange store, and not much else. Most of the time I browsed the market where the bootleg tapes were located. Everything at Khobar Towers looked the same and there were areas we didn't have access to, not that I would personally want to anyway. The area was just so foreign to me. During a security briefing, we were told that some of the local people really didn't want us there and would try to get us out of country by any means possible. Wandering into an unfamiliar or restricted area of Khobar was probably a recipe for disaster. If we went into town, which was a rarity, we had to travel in numbers, but wear our military uniforms. We were told that should a mob of people be moving our direction shouting, we should do all we could to go the opposite way in a hurry. According to what we were told, these type of scenarios could play out anytime if a crowd became angry over just about anything...and they wouldn't think twice about taking out vengeance on outsiders, especially military types.
Things were just so different than in Germany; not only due to location, but due to our overall mission and daily routine. We weren't just doing PMCS on our vehicles then trying to find a place to hide until chow. We had a purpose for once. Clinic duty was always interesting for me. I wanted to learn more about my role as a medic, beyond just patching up a laceration or doctoring a broken nose. Captain Kungys was always great about including us when it came to patient care, and explaining the entire process. Like one particular day, we had a female patient that came into sick call complaining of back pain and was having trouble sitting down. After examining her, Captain Kungys gathered us up and explained that the patient had a large cyst that had formed on her lower back that was causing the pain. He showed wrote a diagram on a dry erase board of how the cyst was formed in the patient's back and then what he planned to do to treat the problem. Donnelly was the only female medic there that day, so she was asked to prepare for a surgical procedure and assist. I had never got to see anything like this in person, but Captain Kungys wanted to keep the surgery to the bare minimum of staff to avoid complications. After several minutes, Donnelly emerged from the back room with her surgical mask still on. I could see the doctor painstakingly stitching up the patient's back through the open door. I followed Donnelly into the other room, and she told me about the operation in some detail. It was fascinating, because this kind of stuff is what I had signed up for. After the patient left, Captain Kungys presented a small metal basin pan with an object that looked like a large, bloody grape. That was the cyst, he said, and the smell was rather disgusting, but it was still exciting to learn about the whole ordeal.
My medic skills were tested on Bravo's site early one afternoon, and was the one incident that I felt focused me more than anything. I was in the ready trailer reading one afternoon when someone came in and yelled, "Doc, there's a guy that's hurt out here and he's passed out!". I grabbed by medic bag and raced out to find a person partially under a truck near the CP. I thought he had been hit by the truck, so immediately I started to think to myself, "crap...now what?". Luckily, the guy started waking up and was very disoriented at first. He had a large place on his forehead that was bruised and protruding outward. Several other soldiers were standing by, so I asked one to go to my ambulance and grab a supply bag I had in it. While he was doing that, I asked the injured soldier what happened. He was under the truck trying to secure a spare tire in the stowage area when the tire slipped and fell, hitting him in the head. By this time, SFC Taylor and the duty officer arrived and asked what was wrong. I was knelt beside the soldier looking at his injuries and never looked up, only stating that I felt he needed to go to the clinic to be evaluated. I felt totally in control of the situation for once, and it was like my training from Fort Sam had kicked up subconsciously. The other soldier arrived with the bigger bag of supplies from the ambulance and asked what to do. I knew the injured guy had a head injury, and my training said to immobilize the neck in case of a more severe injury. I told my new medic assistant to get me a collar so I could place it around the other's neck. Once that was on, I had another soldier who was standing by hold my patient's head to prevent it from moving. The skills just kept clicking and flowing from me, like nothing before. I then asked my assistant to grab the long wooden board from the ambulance and bring it over. Once it was in place, we gently rolled the patient onto the wooden board and secured him with strapping. Now came the moment of "what now." I had just secured my patient, who was now fully aware of what was going on, onto a board and knew he needed to go to the clinic. I told the soldier who had assisted me that he would need to drive us into Khobar. After taking the patient's blood pressure and other vital signs, the group of soldiers helped load him into the ambulance and my assistant hopped into the cab of the truck. I never asked for permission to leave site or to take the other soldier with me, I just took charge and did it. The only other times I felt this in control of a situation was when I was fighting fire or playing guitar, and it felt great.
I had a portable radio on me that was linked in with Khobar Clinic. As my assistant drove down the road, I tried to call the clinic several times, but was too far out of range. Eventually, I got through and reached SFC Bechtel, telling her I was bringing a patient to the clinic and reported his vital signs and current condition. It was like an episode of Emergency! where Roy and Johnny got on the radio and told about the dire situation and got direction from the waiting doctor. By the time we got to the barricades at Khobar, my patient was fully alert and not complaining of anything, but the mark on his head was impressive and looked like it had grown. I really didn't have to do much more than what I had already done, and I was starting to think, "did I overreact and cause a big scene for nothing?"
We arrived at the clinic and had SFC Becthel, Lt Balser and two other medics waiting on us outside. We took the patient into the clinic and Lt Balser started his assessment. The two medics on duty, Bruce and Martinez, I think it was, started putting oxygen on my patient, who's name by the way was Reyes, and helped the lieutenant anyway they could.
"What's the vitals," Lieutenant Balser asked. I couldn't remember so I stood there with a blank look I guess until he said, "your hand. Look at your hand." I had written down the blood pressure, pulse and respiratory rate on my hand and luckily it hadn't worn off. The adrenaline was starting to ease by that point and I wandered away to get some water. Bruce came into the kitchen area and patted me on the back and said, "that was high speed the way you had that guy all bundled up." I thanked him and really didn't pay anymore mind to the comment. A couple of minutes later, Lt Balser came in and said, "So, did you work as an EMT before?"
"No, just a firefighter is all," I replied.
"Well, great job there. He's gonna be fine."
That little boost really made my day....my year even. My new assistant and I drove back out to the tac site and finished out the day with no more incidents. For the first time, I felt like I was a true medic.
We were technically under peace time operations; Desert Storm had ended in a cease fire and there wasn't any nightly SCUD raids or threats...or so I thought. I was on site one day and summoned to the CP trailer for a soldier who was overheated. While assessing him, an alarm went off and the room began buzzing with activity. I had been on field exercises before where simulated attacks came across and the same excitement was generated, so I really didn't pay any mind to it. I started to get up to move the dehydrated soldier to the ready trailer and was stopped at the door.
"You guys aren't going anywhere," the lieutenant barked.
"Sir, I need to get him to the trailer and get an IV in him, then he will be ok," I replied.
"Negative, we are under an alert and you are staying put. When we tell you, grab him and go to the bunker." An alert? Come on this was an exercise...wasn't it? A few minutes later, we received an all clear order and the alert was over as quickly as it began. I protested the order to stay put, and was quickly told that we were "in the real world Army now." The alert was in fact a real incoming threat that the Patriot radar system had picked up and started the targeting sequence. Holy Hell...this was real. Needless to say, I was very uneasy and the sergeant inside with us picked up on it. We walked outside and he told me that there were things going on that was need to know and that I shouldn't write home about. Meanwhile, my patient I had been treating suddenly felt well and needed no further intervention from me. That was another epiphanious day for me...the day I realized the threat was indeed real. There would be more alerts as the months went on. For the most part, they were treated routinely and we were never in any direct danger. But it was still very unnerving.
Another stark possibility was the threat of car bombs. Over the years, and to this day, the preferred method of widespread chaos in the region has been detonating a car bomb in a populated area. It first off kills and maims scores of people, and, secondly, creates an instant worldwide attention grabbing moment for the responsible group and its cause. Our presence in the region meant we were prime targets for such incidents. That is the key reason the zig-zag barricades were in place at the Khobar entrance gate. We were told that if we ever saw any vehicles left unattended that appeared out of the ordinary or a group of people fleeing from a parked vehicle to report it. So the threats were very real for us. I hadn't seen any direct evidence until one evening when we went into town.
We were allowed to go into town occasionally to shop at the mall and gold shops in Dhahran. We had to be in our uniforms and be in a group. There were strict rules of etiquette we had to follow; like don't directly stare down anyone, don't flash symbols of Christianity, and especially don't eye the women. Even though Saudi Arabia is one of the richest countries in the world, it still has an aura of third world country to it with some customs and the ways people live. The women are looked upon as a man's servant. They must be completely covered from head to toe with a black robe and veil and never show themselves in public. They must also remain silent and not spoken to unless it is through their men. So for a group of US Army soldiers to go into town and have a woman with them who is not covered from head to toe and openly conversing within the group was not looked upon favorably.
Several of us went into town one evening and were walking near the mall. A few people would walk up to us and speak to us, telling us things like, "thank you, USA," and, "you are our friends." Then others would walk by and stop in front of us, holding their hands up and saying something in Arabic that I'm sure was derogatory from the expressions they made. Then others would simply tell us to leave their country and not come back before spitting on the ground in front of us. This was totally bizarre to me. The most uncomfortable I ever felt was when we walked into the mall and the people stared and pointed at us. Sergeant First Class Bechtel and Donnelly was with us that night and the locals made it very apparent we were not welcomed with the two women with us. One shop owner even made Donnelly stand outside the door when we went inside to browse. That was definitely one of those times where you watched every single person around you and stayed very keen to the surroundings. To this day, in a large group of people, I find myself 'scanning' for anyone who may be a threat. I was very glad to get out of town after that night.
There was one other night I went into town out of sheer boredom, this time with all guys. We were in the gold district browsing the shops that lined the market area, taking in all the sights. The market area was a narrow street with vendors all over the place and shops built right next to each other in rows. Gold was unbelievably cheap in Saudi and we scooped it up, especially since one US Dollar equaled 3.75 Riyals. This night, which would be my last visit into town, we were in a shop and across the road there were two Saudi women staring at us. Of course they were covered and resembled ninjas or 'Jawas' as Peschke once called them. One of the guys said, "man those chicks are staring us down aren't they?" Etiquette dictated that we didn't return the stares directly but passing glances while scanning couldn't hurt, right? Suddenly, while 'scanning' one of the women dropped her veil enough we could see her face, she was smiling back at us. This lady was gorgeous! One of the guys with us, nudged me and said, "aww man we gotta go!" And we left the area quickly. Lord knows what would have happened had we been the typical GI's and approached these ladies. "Dear family, your son was beheaded in the town square in Dhahran for insulting Mohammed...."
Eventually, mail started trickling into Khobar. I finally heard from Moni and the letter was brief, but still welcomed. Of course mom wrote me and due to the mail, I would usually get two or three letters at a time, dated usually a week or so behind the other. It was good to hear from everyone and my usual replies were very vague, just talking about how life at Khobar was at the moment. I couldn't really discuss anything going on there because our mail was subject to random interception by military intelligence and could be read at any time. The same went for us sending pictures back home. We couldn't take pictures of the tactical sites and send them home, nor could we discuss the locations or activities on site. That also went with incoming mail. We couldn't be sent anything that would be found offensive to the locals. One of the guys found this out the hard way when his wife sent some revealing pictures that were intercepted. Not only did his mail get opened and confiscated, but anyone in the S2 section got a good look at his wife in all her glory.
Overall life on at Khobar wasn't all that bad. I spent a lot of my down time at the recreational center. I usually rented out a bass guitar and amplifier and just jammed. Occasionally, someone would grab a guitar and join me, but for the most part it was just me jamming along with the music in my Walkman. During weeknights, the center had a DJ and themed nights of entertainment. Monday was rock night, Tuesday was dance night, Wednesday was country night. Country night was always crowded and the new dance fad was line dancing. This was the Garth Brooks King of Radio era and nearly every other song was by him. People would line up, wearing their colorful southwestern style shirts, jeans and boots, some with white or black cowboy hats, and do what I accustomed to a country version of a chorus line. To me, it looked absolutely ridiculous, but people went mad over it. One song that was played to no end was the Brooks and Dunn song Boot Scootin' Boogie. I really got tired of hearing that song over and over, but since this was the country night was the busiest night and an opportunity to mingle with other people for a while, it would have to do. Eventually, I noticed on rock night, no one would show up to DJ, so I took the opportunity to ask the desk sergeant if I could take a stab at it. She handed me a box of CD's and said, "here ya go". Thus, started my weekly DJ gig when I wasn't on clinic duty. I familiarized myself with the control board and got the hang of it all rather quickly. I could play all my favorite rock genre songs from 2000-2200 hours with free reign, and since I owned quite an assortment of CD's and tapes, I had a broad spectrum to choose from. As my time in Saudi went on, the Monday night rock show generated a bit of a crowd and gave me the chance to escape for a while.
There was one night, a group of musicians came in and did a concert event at the recreational center. The band consisted of 5 Philipino guys who played classic rock and weren't actually that bad. They had a keyboard player and I remember the first song they came on with was The Final Countdown, a song made popular by the band Europe. It was fun to watch and musically, not bad at all. On break, I approached the guys and mentioned I played bass. The bass player told me they would have me come do some songs with them, and I got instantly excited. When they called me up, I plugged in, a little nervous since it had been since the talent show at Fort Sam since I had actually played in a live setting. The room was crowded, but not filled, and several of the folks from 6/43 were there cheering me on. We started out with a rendition of the song Mony, Mony and it was solid, considering I hadn't really ever played that song before. Next, we did the Cream song Sunshine of Your Love, which went really smoothly. I got a rousing round of applause from everyone there and saw some from the clinic cheering me on. It was a good feeling, and the first time anyone from 6/43 had really seen me play.
September arrived with no fancy fanfare or great turn of events, but for me it meant two things. For one, it was my birth month, and secondly, it meant I had survived one year in the Army...just three more to go. I started receiving some birthday cards from back home early in the month, including one from everyone at Owingsville Fire Department. I really appreciated every card I got and hung them up on my wall locker proudly. For me, that was my link to those back home. I could look at those cards and see the names inside them and feel instantly better when I was down. And trust me, there were those times I was down. We could only call once a week for a limited time, and one particular evening, I called home to catch up with mom and everyone. It had been a particularly long and stressful week for me, and I was for once feeling a bit homesick and down. The phone rang, then rang, then rang again before the answering machine picked up. No one was home...great. I tried again with no luck. I tried calling for a third time, hoping they were just outside, but again, no luck. I tried to call Jason, then Jeff, then Chris, again, no answers. So I went through my little red book, desperately looking for someone to talk to from home. I was running low on time for the phone, so I chose to call Shawna, a friend I had known for years. When the ringing went on for three or four times, her answering machine picked up. Dejected, I left a message something like, "hey it's Rob, calling from the desert, guess you aren't home either. Don't guess anyone else in Owingsville is home, so I'll catch you later." I left the phone area and went upstairs to my room and just put my Walkman on, disappearing into my music. There comes a time where a simple familiar voice can do so much good, and later on, I got more than an answer on the other line of a phone. I received a box from home that had some VHS video tapes in it. A couple were some of my bootleg KISS concert tapes, but there was one that mom and Dee Dee made of things like Casey's kindergarten graduation, my cousin Ashley learning to swim, the fire department meeting and more everyday life from back home. I teared up the first time I watched the video. On that tape, mom and everyone had a cookout at the old Slate Furnace Park where it looked more like a family reunion. Then, they brought out a large birthday cake and held it up to the camera, signing Happy Birthday to me. That was probably one of the best things I ever saw and meant so much to me, and still does after all these years. Here I was thousands of miles away in a desert with God knows what hostility awaiting, and they had a party for me anyway. That boosted me so much, and I will always cherish that video...and yes, I still have it. For my twentieth birthday, the clinic had a small party for me with a cake and decorations. Everyone signed a single card for me and I got a couple of CD's and a shirt. If I couldn't be back home with family, I was glad to be among good friends and colleagues.
As with any situation, boredom crept in at Khobar, usually giving a prime opportunity to mischief. We occupied the top floor of a seven-story building with a balcony overlook which had a commanding view. At night, we could see the lights far off in town and at the airfield. Closer, we got a good overhead view of the volleyball games that the Air Force guys and gals constantly played. One night while on clinic duty, Smith and I found some glow sticks in a supply closet that were expired. They still lit up just as brightly as if they were new, but we were told to throw them out or simply get them out of the clinic. The next evening, while on the balcony, someone took an ink pen and tied a plastic bag to it. They tossed the pen and makeshift parachute off the balcony and the wind carried it far out away from our building. Smith and I became inspired and grabbed the glow sticks, securing plastic bags to several and tossing them out into the wind. Soon, there were red, yellow and green lights floating all across the Khobar facility and we marveled at our ingenuity. We also found it rather amusing when one of the glow sticks gracefully fell into the volleyball pit during a match and the airmen scattered away, not knowing what exactly they were seeing. This kind of thing went on for a while, until one day, Kirk and someone else felt brave enough to toss some parachuted glow sticks off the balcony in daylight to antagonize the local workers doing landscaping. Someone tossed a handful of the little chutes at the same time, just about the moment the base commander and commanding general rounded the corner of the adjacent building...right into the path of a falling glow stick. I'm not sure what was said to Kirk and his cohort, but all I know is we were sent a command directive to cease any further glow stick bombardments from the seventh floor balcony.
Another activity that eased the boredom was the water gun fights, which also had a rather hasty, and nearly fatal, ending. We went to the PX and bought several water guns and water balloon grenades, along with black t-shirts and headbands, creating the Khobar Water Gun Brigade. Obviously, we really didn't think this idea through properly. So the scenario went like this; we would split into teams and spread out into the area, establishing 'bases', like the playground that was on top of a bunker, open breezeways or anything else. From those locations, we would either do a capture the flag operation or try to take over the opposing base in an assault. We recruited some of the soldiers from the ordnance company and a couple of Air Force guys to be on our teams so there would be a good force to deal with. The first night, we were spread out and my team saw the opposing team, thus taking chase through Khobar, wildly firing our water guns. The group split up and my team split also, taking one man each. I saw a couple of the other team members run inside the building which housed the clinic. Smith and I gave chase in after them, but the other guys were ahead of us by a good distance. We got in the lobby just as the elevator door closed. Smith and I raced up the staircase to try and intercept the opposition when they exited the elevator. A seemingly cut and dry offensive, right? Not hardly. We reached the third floor just as the bell rang to open the doors and Smith and I unleashed a water barrage into the elevator...all over the wrong people. The pair inside the elevator was a lieutenant and a sergeant from another unit who were 'collateral damage', but they really didn't find the humor in it what so ever. So after a long chastising from a superior officer and NCO, we ducked tail and retreated back to the upstairs. Luckily, that incident didn't go any further than that, or at least no one from the battalion reprimanded us.
The next time we did the war games, we set rules that no one was to run into a building in an attempt to elude capture or a watery death. We were in patrol mode when we caught sight of the opposition force ahead of us. It was a perfect opportunity to ambush them from our position, so my team eased slowly up into the playground area, ready to take up a position when suddenly, a security officer on real patrol, accompanied by two other armed soldiers drew weapons on the other team we were watching. This was not good. They were ordered to drop their weapons and put their hands up while the armed security patrol surrounded them. The team was patted down and ordered to identify themselves and unit they belonged to. At this time, I had a couple of options; either hide and wait until the security patrol left, or surrender to them. My team opted the best possible solution and came out of hiding with our hands up and weapons down. After being properly identified, the security patrol, now with weapons at ease, told us that someone had reported what they thought were 'terrorists' running around the complex. The security detail had been mobilized to find the threat, which was actually us. We were all escorted back to a building where an Air Force security patrol sergeant was waiting. The chastising we endured by the lieutenant and sergeant a few nights before was nothing on what we got that particular night. We were told that we could have been shot on the spot and those weapons had real bullets in them.
"What the Hell is wrong with you soldiers? Do you think this is one big game?" the sergeant barked at us. All we could do is apologize and hope for the best. Unlike the previous incident, this was reported to our commander, with our names, and we were reprimanded for our actions. Our water gun brigade was deactivated and rendered undeployable indefinitely.
One evening while on duty in the clinic, I started playing around on a computer. These days, computers are a common necessity, but in 1993, they were brand new to me. I had an old Commodore 64 with a cassette drive back home that I dabbled with as a kid, but I never had any formal computer training. Donnelly showed me some features, one being the paint accessory. I could draw or make signs using this feature and it was awesome. I started drawing random things, then made a red cross with a caduceus, or two snakes crossing each other on a staff, in the middle of it. Above it, I wrote Khobar Army Clinic in large bold letters, and below, Dhahran, Saudi Arabia. The logo looked really good, so I printed it off to keep. When I saved the picture, somehow, I made it the screen saver and didn't realize it. The next day, LT Balser came in, logged onto the computer and saw my logo on the screen. He asked who did it and I was notified that he liked it and wanted to use it as the 'official' logo for the clinic. My next shift, I found some clear transparency sheets and a light projector. I printed my logo onto a clear sheet and used the projector to project the image of the logo on a wall in the waiting room in the clinic. The image looked great there and I thought to myself, "that would look cool." The next morning, I waited for Captain Kungys to arrive and showed him my idea. After about a minute, he said, "let me do some calling around and see if we can make this happen." I was very excited about him liking the idea of my logo I had designed being put on the wall in the clinic. By the next shift, Captain Kungys told me he had got permission from the base commander for me to do the painting, and he would go buy anything I needed to do it. I wrote a list of the materials I needed and within about a week, I began the project.
I projected the design onto the wall and traced it with a pencil, which took me two days to complete. Then, I started the painting, which all together took about a week to do. I was very proud of the end result, as was everyone else. A couple of days later, Captain Kungys told me that a representative from the Commander of Army Central Command wanted to stop by and see the painting. The morning of the visit, Colonel Gault and his staff came into the clinic and made some small talk with everyone and toured the area. He commended Captain Kungys and SFC Becthel on the clinic and how well it looked and then asked where the artist was. Captain Kungys introduced me to the colonel and he shook my hand firmly. The door to the waiting area was closed and when we opened it up, the smell of paint was very strong. Someone turned the lights on and the logo on the wall stood out in the room, looking better than the night I had finished it. The colonel and his staff walked over and looked at the painting, nodding in approval. I followed behind with Captain Kungys and the colonel turned to me and said, "fine work, soldier, very fine work." He reached into his pocket and handed me a large coin, the commander's challenge coin.
"Here, son, you have earned this," Colonel Gault said as he again shook my hand. I thanked him and he told Captain Kungys and SFC Becthel that the painting would be a lasting part of the clinic and he would make sure no one ever painted over it. After another round of thank you's and hand shakes, the entourage left. I looked at the coin that was given to me and Captain Kungys explained that it was a true honor to receive it. Not bad for a creative mood spawned from boredom.
As the month of September merged into October, not much had changed. On the calendar, it was apparent that summer was almost gone. Back home, normally the trees would be starting to change color and the air would start becoming a bit cooler. Not in Saudi; it was still 100 degrees during the day and around 85 at night. Things had become rather routine at Khobar by that point, sometimes it seemed too routine. There would be changes coming in the near future, some positive, some negative, and some very tense moments. I counted down each day while I was in Saudi Arabia, each day forward was a day closer to getting back to the real world...a world that seemed so far away.
