Chapter 23: Down in a Hole

October, 1993, I had survived almost two months in Saudi Arabia without much incident; aside, of course, the water gun brigade debacle.  We still had the same routine of clinic and tactical site duties, with a little break here and there, but it seemed a little too easy.  Little did I know, there was a boiling cesspool brewing all over the region.  We would watch jets take off with full compliments of arms loaded on their wings and come back with a missile or two gone all the time.  We really didn't have much outside news that filtered into us at Dhahran, but we did know that military units were operating in the African Nation of Mogadishu and units were still in the north near the Iraqi/Kuwaiti border.  We still had alerts occasionally, but they had become pretty routine.  One day, on Bravo's site, we saw an awesome sight.  Waves of fighter jets took off one right after another, screaming overhead with a purpose.  The few of us that watched this happen stood in awe; wondering what was going on.  I never thought much about immediately afterward, but later on I learned that a battle had taken place in Mogadishu and two Blackhawk helicopters had been shot down.  Even though we were thousands of miles away, the Air Force scrambled fighters as a precaution in case problems arose in our area.
We were told one day that security measures would be bumped up on Khobar and increased security patrols would be walking the beat more often.  Apparently, it was because a suspicious vehicle had been spotted attempting to get into the facility and there was some type of threat to US personnel in the region.  Any unnecessary off post travel was halted, not that it really mattered; I strongly disliked going into town for any reason.  On occasion, we had to transport soldiers to the local military hospital called MODA, which was located on the King Abdul-Aziz Airbase.  This constituted going off post and driving into town, which was a white-knuckle ride to say the least.  Drivers in Saudi Arabia would dart in and out of traffic, no matter how close the gap was.  Another tactic I saw was a driver passing between vehicles that were passing each other.  It made me very nervous driving to MODA, and to make matters worse, one of the vehicles I had to drive had a standard transmission.  Even though I crew up in a farming community and helped on the family farm, I never learned to drive a standard transmission vehicle.  I learned the basic concept, but taking off from a parked position was never easy for me.  For those who had to ride to the hospital with me, I'm sure if they weren't nauseated before the trip, they were once we got there.
One night, I rode into town with Captain Kungys, SFC Bechtel, LT Balser and a member of the Consulate General's staff.  We didn't go to the mall or the usual gold district, but to the carpet district.  Along the streets were shops with brightly adorned rugs and carpets, and Captain Kungys was shopping for a rug.  We walked into a shop and was greeted by a man with a white flowing traditional robe.  He extended his arms and welcomed us into the shop by seemingly kissing each cheek, of which I found was a custom in the region.  The man invited us to a rug on the floor and asked us to sit around it.  Another person came out with some small glasses and a metal pitcher that contained hot tea.  We all were given a glass and the man filled them with the steaming drink.  After that, the shop owner said a blessing and gave a toast.  The tea was scorching hot and tasted nothing like the old fashioned Southern sweet tea I was accustomed to back home.  This was an interesting experience for me; to be a part of the local culture.  After some more hospitality, Captain Kungys began negotiating his purchase and finally decided on a beautiful red and gold floor rug.  While this was going on, I hadn't noticed that i forgot to give the hosts my tea glass and offered it back to him.
"No, you keep it, my American friend," he said, waving away.  I thanked him and placed the small glass in my pocket.  I still have it after all these years.
In mid October, we were given the opportunity to participate in the Air Force's medical evacuation operations in the region.  It was strictly voluntary and would be done on our day off following clinic duty.  I signed up as soon as I found out about it, and was given the go shortly afterward.  Lewis, one of our other medics, and I reported to the Air Force barracks early one morning for an all day trip that would be the most one of the most fascinating parts of my entire deployment.  We were briefed in a hangar near where we first arrived in country.  Outside, a large C-130 plane awaited on the tarmac; the plane was much bigger up close than I ever imagined.  The duty officer gave us a rundown of how the day would go;  we would depart the airbase in Dhahran and fly to Riyadh, then to Kuwait City and finally, Bahrain to pick up patients who would be sent back to Landstuhl, Germany for further treatment.  Where else could you step foot in three countries in the span of 8-10 hours?
The C-130 lumbered down the runway; the engines roaring.  We wore ear phones with a microphone to communicate because the noise was so loud, nothing like what is seen on television where a person can have a normal conversation.  This was nothing like a jet airliner at all; it was rough riding.  The interior of the plane was set up like a giant ambulance with stretchers fastened into supports down the middle of the cargo area.  There were hospital like supplies all around and nurses among us.  The flight took a couple of hours and the view outside the small portal window was so desolate.  We touched down in Riyadh and was met by a bus that had patients in it with various degrees of injuries and ailments.  There were a few in wheelchairs and a couple who were being brought out on stretchers.  I didn't see any major injuries on any of them, but they were assisted on board the plane and into the stretchers.  After a few minutes, we started to taxi down the runway; next stop, Kuwait.

Cockpit view inside a C-130 enroute to Kuwait, October, 1993.

The trip to Kuwait was to be a long one, but there were things to do while on the way.  Lewis and I helped the nurses get proper identification from the patients and any pertinent paperwork they carried.  Since there weren't many on this part of the trip, we finished our assigned work early.  I had my camera with me, but the interior of the plane was a bit too dark to take pictures and I couldn't use flash inside the plane.  En-route, Lewis and I were invited up into the cockpit area to check out the view from the pilot's perspective. The C-130 aircraft is a massive, technological beast.  The cockpit was a vast array of gauges and buttons that I would have never fully understood.  The windows provided a great view of the skies ahead and light tan, barren landscape below.  The pilots explained that we would be veering off over the Persian Gulf and then circling into Kuwaiti airspace soon, and an escort plane would accompany us in. 
I sat back down in my seat down in the cargo area of the plane and looked out the window again.  We were over the Gulf and I could see a jet fighter off in the distance just ahead of us.  I tried to take a picture, but the jet was too far away.  We banked sharply and started our approach into Kuwait.  Out the window, I could see a dark haze I wondered if it was the remnants of the oil fires set by Iraqi troops when they retreated from Kuwait just a couple of years prior.  As we came around again, I could see what appeared to be wrecked and burned vehicles, including a tank, lying in the sand below us.  I think this is when I realized just where exactly I was; the place where Desert Storm played out.  It was an indescribable feeling at that moment, but before I could think any more about it, the C-130 began to descend.
We landed on the airfield and rolled to a stop near a group of buildings.  We were at Kuwait City International Airport, a place I never thought I'd be ever in my life. We had a bit of a layover waiting on the bus bringing the soldiers for transport, so I took the opportunity to visit the restroom and look around a bit.  The area we were in wasn't the normal passenger terminal but a military area.  Armed guards were everywhere and it sort of made me uneasy, but they were very friendly.  Lewis and I stood outside the plane marveling at our surroundings and I posed pr a picture next to the nose of the C-130.  Soon after, the bus with patients arrived and we helped them onto the plane.  These soldiers bore a mix of injuries and ailments; one arrived on a stretcher and his head was bandaged fully and he had tubes protruding from everywhere.  Another had an amputated leg from the knee down and was also bandaged up.  I was told that these guys were part of a team who had been clearing mines from the Iraqi/Kuwaiti border and something had went horribly wrong.  We again took the patients' vital signs and assisted anyway we could, but I couldn't help but look at the guys who were injured so badly.  This was the real result of war, one I could have been easily a part of on the front.

In Kuwait City, October, 1993.

We took off soon after the patients were loaded and headed for our last stop in Bahrain.  Bahrain is an island country off the coast of Saudi Arabia and was home to a naval base used by the United Nations.  It isn't really that far from Dhahran, and it was our area rest and relaxation port, only this trip, there would be no R&R.  The flight took a while, so we settled in and waited.
The coastline of Saudi Arabia came into view near the Port of Damman and we started our descent.  Bahrain was a tiny plot of land off in the distance; the Persian Gulf was so vast.  I had never seen the ocean until we flew to Germany, let alone been close to anything resembling it.  The closest comparison to what I was seeing was when I went to Lake Michigan and visited Stony Point and the sand dunes a few months before I left home.  The C-130 touched down on the airfield and the back loading doors dropped down.  A group of soldiers and sailors met us and hurriedly began off loading the patients.  The plane's engines kept going through the process and in no time, all our sick and injured were off the plane and into the awaiting buses.  We lifted off soon after and headed back across the gulf to Dharahn.  The trip was a great experience for Lewis and me; a real once in a lifetime event.
The downtime at Khobar was so mundane, and my mind constantly wandered back and forth.  I sat and reflected on many aspects of my life to that point.  I didn't have the luxury of alcohol to make Mr. Hyde come out and and make things better.  The worst times were pulling duty at Lucky Base.  I did a few shifts out there and it was like a sort of solitary confinement.  I rarely saw anyone out there because the base was so remote and the tactical site was pretty far down range from the aid station.  Aside from the chow hall, the barracks and the video check out place, there wasn't anything at Lucky Base.  While on duty, we had a check list of chores to do like basic cleaning and checking stocked supplies for expiration dates and such.  Other than that, it was just waiting for someone to get hurt or need something.  At Khobar, clinic duty was mundane, but nothing like Lucky Base.  I basically rented movies and watched them while on the base when I wasn't cleaning.  All that down time plays on a person's soul over time.
There was one place to sort of escape it all nearby; a place called The Oasis.  The Oasis was a recreational area that had two swimming pools, a tiki bar (without the alcohol) and for a fee, camel rides.  The process was we had to get a pass from the Morale, Welfare and Recreation office, then we were authorized to leave Khobar and get onto the facility.  The Oasis wasn't too far from Bravo's TAC site, so I knew how to get there.  It was managed by the Air Force personnel and very clean despite the desert surroundings.  It was a relaxing place to go and forget about things for a while.
Mail was still a little slow by mid-October, but I was still getting letters from home.  I hadn't heard from Moni except for one letter and that concerned me some.  After the Kim ordeal, I was a little numb to the idea of not hearing anything from Moni and kind of accepted the fact that I may not hear back from her.  I wrote her back one more time to let her know I was still thinking of her and waited. After a couple of weeks, I got a brief letter from Moni explaining that her English writing wasn't good and that is why I rarely heard from her.  She also said that Mary had written the previous letter she sent to me.  That numb factor kicked in and I passed the explanation off as an excuse and nothing more.  By this time, the deep, personal reflections and general feeling that I wanted no more of Saudi Arabia brought me down. I felt I was down in a hole of sorts.  Outwardly, I didn't show that I was feeling down, but I kept to myself more and more for a while.  On my off duty days, I either slept or just roamed around Khobar, usually at the music shop or mini-PX we had.  I still did the Monday night DJ gig at the recreational center, so that provided a little bit of an escape.  Even though I was surrounded by people, I just really felt alone and it was hard to shake off.  There was no way to take a break from any of what went on in the desert, and a break is what I wanted so badly.  I was becoming homesick and started the countdown until December, still a month and a half away.
Once a month, we could sign up to go on R&R in Bahrain, and the list was always long.  Bahrain was the only place in the Gulf Region to get a beer, but there was a 'limit' per soldier.  Usually when soldiers would come back from R&R, they were quite hammered.  On Halloween night, Smitty and I rented a video camera from the rec center and filmed ourselves goofing around in the clinic.  Some of the video clips are quite funny; with me doing some type of comedy bit and Smitty doing all these crazy video effects.  A couple of our soldiers had went to Bahrain and came back obliterated.  Cowden and Toole came into the clinic wild eyed and loud, most certainly over their two beer limit.  We filmed their arrival and turned into a farce act.  At one point, Cowden wanted an IV to help sober up.  We did this on occasion in the barracks back in Shipton, so it was no strange request.  Toole was sitting in the kitchen area struggling to eat a gyros and the pita bread just wasn't cooperating.  I did Cowden's IV and resumed filming just as Smitty and I heard Toole's voice over my hand held radio.  We had call signs designated; SFC Bechtel was Med 1, SFC Martin was Med 2, and on down the line. 
"Med 8 to Med 1, over,"  Toole's words slurred across the airwaves.  He repeated the call again with no reply.  It was around 2100 hours or so and suddenly a sleepy voice crackled over the radio.
"Med 8, this is Med 1, over."
"Med 1, I-I-want, I want to come, c-come see you," Toole mumbled.  He had left the clinic and was wandering around drunk, trying to call SFC Bechtel.
"Med 8, I'll talk to you in the morning," SFC Bechtel replied, obviously aggravated by the disturbance of the evening.  Smitty jumped up and ran outside to try to locate Toole before he got himself into trouble.  By this time, Cowden had finished his hangover remedy and retired upstairs.  I went out the back door of the clinic and saw Toole sitting on a step still trying to talk to SFC Bechtel and Smitty was doing his best to coax him back into the clinic.  Eventually, Toole relented and went inside.  Smitty took him upstairs and got him to lie down for the night.  I took the opportunity and went outside with the video camera, filming randomly.  The video of that night is really fun entertainment.

The Khobar Towers Complex and our area of responsibility.

The next morning, several soldiers from the battalion came in to receive flu shots at the clinic.  Smitty and I stayed and helped for a while until the line of soldiers dissipated.  I went upstairs and went to sleep.  After I woke up, I remembered I still had the video camera and plenty of VHS tape to use.  Smitty, Martinez, Kirk and I took the camera and headed out into Khobar to film more shenanigans.  The highlights of the daylight video are us walking around cracking jokes about anything and everything.  One part has Martinez pretending to piss on the side of a building by holding a water bottle in front of him.  Another is Kirk pretending to get high off a Saudi cigarette, even though it did smell a lot like marijuana.  Another rather amusing scene is me struggling to get into the hammock on our balcony.  It looked more like I had been splatted with Spiderman's web.  One thing on the daylight video that is rather ominous though is when the camera pans out to see the entire Khobar facility from the seventh floor.  Off to the right of the balcony in the distance were Air Force occupied buildings that lined part of the perimeter.  One of the buildings in the camera shot is Building 131, which would factor into a historical tragedy a few years later.  We filmed the shops in the underground bunker facility and anything else we could in order to fill up the remaining tape.  Finally, we went to the recreational center and Smitty filmed me getting ready to do my DJ thing.  Maybe one day I will convert that video into a digital format and post it on YouTube, who knows.
We had some new soldiers arrive; one being Specialist Brown, who would become my medic partner from time to time.  Brown was a tall, lanky guy who wore wire frame glasses.  He was a funny guy and fun to be around.  Brown also had a rather interesting personal link to Saudi Arabia; a former uncle by marriage named Moshari lived nearby at the Aramco facility with his family.  The Aramco facility was an area that housed the US and Saudi oil industry employees and was heavily guarded.  I'm not quite sure what negotiations were held, but Brown was granted the opportunity to visit his ex-uncle and I was invited to join.
Brown and I left clinic duty one morning and prepared for the trip across the desert to Aramco.  We had been given special passes signed by the Consulate General to gain entry into the area.  This would be the first interaction I would ever have with a Saudi family in their home environment, so I was a bit nervous.  All those pre-deployment etiquette speeches echoed in my mind as we waited outside Khobar for Moshari to pick us up.  After a short while, a white car pulled up and Moshari exited, approaching us.  He greeted Brown and me and we left for Aramco.  The Aramco area was much different than the rest of Dhahran.  Most of the residents in Dhahran lived in stucco sided homes that were less than anything luxurious.  At Aramco, the homes and streets looked like suburban America; like any hometown street lined with trees, shrubs and grass.  It was a total departure from the barren landscape just outside the area.  We passed through the gate and the guard looked at Moshari's credentials and the passes Brown and I had.  We were waved through without any problems and soon arrived at the home.  Moshari's home was a typical American style house and for once I forgot about where I was.

Bill Brown and I  at Moshari's house, November 1993.

We were welcomed in by Moshari's wife, a pretty dark haired woman who wore a cream and dark colored flowing gown-like dress and surprisingly didn't have her face covered.  The home was decorated much like a home back in the States and was adorned with some exotic looking dishes and gold accessories.  Brown and Moshari talked and caught up on old times while I sat and looked around.  The television was on, showing a US soap opera that was over dubbed with Arabic language.  The Arabic culture doesn't condone the showing of females' excessive skin, even low cut dresses or shirts, so the show was heavily edited.  After a while, Moshari and his wife offered us dinner, a traditional meal that included a soup and some type of stuffed dumpling.  The food wasn't bad, a bit tangy, but not bad.  Moshari's wife told us she was of Iraqi descent and had fled the country in the late 1980's to get away from Saddam Hussein's Iraq.  She talked about the fear she felt during Desert Storm and that she felt she would be sent back.  Moshari had started working for Aramco when he was married to Brown's aunt, but the marriage fell apart when he was sent to Saudi Arabia to work.  He explained that most Saudi men are sent to the United States colleges to get degrees in engineering or other industrial positions, all for little or no cost.  In return, they came back to Saudi Arabia and worked off their debts to benefit the country.  That reminded me of a trip across the airbase one day where I walked into an office and saw a Kentucky Wildcats Basketball poster with Eddie Sutton as coach.  Sutton coached the team around 1986 and left amidst scandal for recruiting violations.  I had asked the man in the office about the poster and he said he had went to the University of Kentucky and that Eddie Sutton was "number one".  I laughed and shook my head when the man said that.  Brown and I were on limited time and had to be back at Khobar at 1800 hours, so soon after we ate, Moshari took us back. It had been a great cultural experience for me, one I will always remember.
The battalion's PT test was in November and the day of, I woke up sick.  I was very nauseated all morning and reported to the PT formation in the brewing heat.  Even though it was fall, the heat wasn't letting up.  I told SFC Bechtel that I wasn't feeling well, but I couldn't really reschedule my PT test.  I did fine with the push-up event, the sit-ups, however, were not so kind.  When it came time for the run, my stomach felt like a churning torrent inside.  It was already 85 degrees out and the smells of Khobar were giving me absolute Hell.  Our running route took us all around the perimeter fence of Khobar for two laps.  I drudged through the first lap, but the elements were starting to work against me.  I felt light headed and weak as I started the second lap.  My pace was far slower than I had ever went in any other PT test; I was in danger of failing my first PT test.
As I rounded the back corner of the course, everything started getting black around me.  I stumbled, then fell, skinning my knee.  As I got back up, I started vomiting to the point I thought I'd pass out.  A group of runners passed me and made sure they were far away from me.  I got back up, ran a few more feet and vomited again.  I had not experienced the infamous 'Khobar Crud' until this moment.  I tried to stand up and was so dizzy I just sat back down.  A sergeant came from between the buildings and asked if I was okay.  I told him I wasn't and he helped me up and we jogged a steady pace back around the buildings.  I had to stop once more but nothing else would come out.  I was the last person to finish the PT test run, and was well past my minimum time.  Not much was said about it thankfully, considering my circumstances.
I went up to the barracks to shower but still felt horrible.  I was going to be tasked out to drive north to Al Jubail and support a firing range on a Marine base that day with Martinez, but didn't know if I could make it.  I skipped breakfast and went to the clinic for an IV in hopes that would make me feel better.  Captain Kungys was already in the clinic and gave me some medicine to help ease my stomach. I started feeling a little better and began packing for the trip to Al Jubail.  Martinez and I reported to formation with all our field gear and aid bags fully stocked.  We looked like we were going out on a combat mission.  My stomach still felt horrible, so Martinez drove the HUMVEE ambulance in the convoy.
The trip would take at least a couple of hours, so I decided to rest on the way.  I fell asleep about thirty minutes into the trip and slept most all the way to the tactical site.  We arrived at a desolate post that was located among large sand dunes.  The sand was a mixture of light tan with salt deposits due to being on the coast.  There was no sign of any buildings or other structures aside from military tents and trailers to be seen.  The Marine sergeant pointed us to the staging area and gave us a safety briefing in case of an incident.  I asked where the nearest medical facility was and he replied, "about two miles off shore, anchored and ready," meaning a Navy hospital ship.  If someone was seriously hurt, a medevac helicopter would be dispatched to carry the wounded soldier and either Martinez or me to the awaiting ship.  Not that I wanted anyone to get hurt but.....
We were on the site all day while the range was active.  The heat was absolutely brutal and I felt horrible.  I tried to eat an MRE, but could only take in about a quarter of it.  I drank water like crazy and basically, just rested inside the ambulance.  The day was uneventful and we wrapped up the operation around 1800 hours.  I had my camera with me and took a few pictures, one being the magnificent sunset over the sand dunes.  The sky was a deep orange and red hue and the stark contrast of the desert just made the scene indescribable.  That picture is somewhere in my vast collection; I will have to try to locate it.
It was a late night getting back to Khobar and I was finally feeling much better.  I stopped in the clinic and snagged some more phenegran to ease my stomach and help me sleep.  I was still having sleep issues; not sleeping well at all and being awakened easily all through the night. I don't know if it was the overall atmosphere, the feeling of imminent danger or just plain insomnia, but it started taking a toll on me.  I retired up to my room and took the medicine after I showered.  I laid in my bunk listening to my Walkman until I drifted off to sleep, which turned out being the best sleep I had up to that point. God bless phenegran.
A few days later, I was told I'd be tasked out again to do range duty at Al Jubail, this time, with Brown.  Since I had went before, I was to be the lead medic and driver in the convoy.  We did the PMCS on the HUMVEE and everything looked okay.  The fuel level was just a little below full, but the log showed the truck had been topped off the day before at the fuel point off the airbase.  The convoy took off from Khobar a little later than scheduled and was a bit more spread out than usual.  We had the usual assortment of vehicles in the line; regular transport HUMVEE's, equipment trucks, a fuel tanker and security vehicles positioned at the front, center and end of the convoy.  We hit a sandstorm north of Dhahran that caused the convoy to slow almost to a standstill for several minutes.  It was an amazing sight to see, but just as quickly as it blew in, the storm was over.  Already behind schedule, we moved along.  The convoy again spread out to a point that I couldn't see the vehicles in front of me.  Halfway to Al Jubail, Brown noticed that the fuel was showing low, so Brown radioed on our designated radio frequency that we needed to catch up to the convoy again.  Somehow, during the sand storm, we had ended up as the rear vehicle.  No one replied to his radio calls, and we were getting concerned over the fuel situation.  All the starting and stopping and rush to catch up had dwindled our supply.  We attempted several times to radio the convoy leader to alert of our situation, but again, no reply.  Brown checked the convoy dispatch to insure we had the right radio frequency, in which we did.  The desert was becoming a very lonely and scary place.  There were no discernible landmarks to tell where we were, not even a road sign.  I pulled off the side of the road in a vain attempt to see if we had any spare fuel cans in the back of the truck.  Since we were an ambulance, we weren't required to carry extra fuel cans like the equipment trucks.  There were none to be found, so we continued forward, all the while trying to make radio contact.  Finally, we saw a small village off the side of the road and a gas station.  I looked at Brown and we both shrugged; what did we have to lose at this point, right?   We pulled in and a Saudi man came out smiling.  He thanked us for being in his country and was almost overly friendly.  I already had an uneasy feeling and knew we were lost.  During the previous trip, I had slept and failed to pay attention to where we were, but also, we Martinez and I were within the convoy line, too.  The man at the gas station gladly pumped fuel into our HUMVEE and told us "no worries, you are American friends. No charge."  The man spoke very little English and understood some of what we said, so I asked where the US military base was at Al Jubail.  He looked at me in some confusion, and I pointed to my truck, saying we needed to find the Army base.  He excitedly pointed up the road and told us to turn at the next road to the right and follow it to another road, which also turned right.  I remembered waking up on the last trip and we indeed were taking a right off the main road.  Brown scribbled down the directions and we thanked the man for his hospitality and trudged on.
A few miles down the road, we saw the sign that said Al Jubail and merged right off the highway.  Brown and I sighed in relief, but knew we were way behind schedule and would surely be in trouble for being so late.  A few more miles down the road, Brown said "turn right here," and pointed to the road that veered off.  We traveled a little ways, and could see a few houses in the distance.  My recollection of Al Jubail didn't include any other structures, but maybe I had slept through this part of the trip last time.  As we approached the small village, we noticed kids running out to line the street and a goat herder moving his herd across the road in front of us.  We slowed down to allow the herder to cross, and the children almost swarmed us.  They yelled and waved at us, all smiling and giving us the peace sign as we moved through.  It reminded me of the troops moving into Italy or France during World War II and the residents welcoming them.  Brown and I just looked at each other, both now having a very uneasy feeling about the unfolding situation.  We moved past the village without incident and continued along the barren landscape.  Off to the left, I could see the Gulf shimmering way out in the distance.  Far up ahead, we noticed what appeared to be a military type facility, but I didn't remember it looking so ominous.  As we approached the gate, two soldiers, who obviously were not American, came out of a guard shack and waved at us to stop.  Both had machine guns strapped to their bodies and at the ready.  The first soldier motioned for us to pull off the road while another soldier emerged out of the gate ahead of us.  I slid my window down and tried to talk to them but the soldier motioned for me to get out of the vehicle.  I told Brown to exit the truck and we both slowly got out.  Another soldier came and asked me what we were doing and what our intentions were.  He spoke decent English and I told him our story and that we needed to get to the Marine post.  All the while, the other soldiers walked around our truck looking every inch over.  I was then told to open the back of the ambulance and show what was inside.  Brown was talking to another soldier and trying to explain our convoy dispatch to him.  I was beyond scared at this point; surrounded by armed Saudi soldiers who obviously weren't too thrilled about us stumbling upon their post.   I was hoping this was just a huge joke being pulled, but it was all too real.  I explained over and over how we had gotten separated from the convoy and needed to be on a firing range.  It was already 1400 hours, and I should have been there long before that. 
The soldiers thoroughly checked the ambulance and waved us away, pointing us the opposite direction.  Brown and I got into the truck and nervously sped away.  We raced through the village and stopped at the intersection that led back to the highway.  We both just looked at each other and Brown finally said, "holy shit, I thought we were dead."  Honestly, I thought the same way.  This was by far the most intense situation I had ever been in before.  With a full tank of fuel and smeared underpants, we got back onto the main highway and stopped again, wondering if we should risk going forward to attempt to locate the marine post or turn back toward Khobar.  Brown tried the radio once more and finally made contact with someone, a welcome American voice.  We were told to head back to Khobar and meet with the first sergeant, a meeting that was sure to be a pleasant one given the circumstances. 
Brown and I made it back to Khobar around dusk and 1SG Banks was waiting for us outside. By the way he was standing, we could tell he was fuming.  Before I got out of the truck, the first sergeant was already at the door, opening it for me and yelling.  Brown and I spilled out onto the parking lot and stood at attention. 
"Soldiers, what in the living hell do you think you are doing here," 1SG Banks bellowed.  Normally, he wasn't too much of a person to get bent out of shape, but this time was an exception.  I attempted to explain what had happened, and was cut off mid sentence.
"So, you didn't properly PMCS your vehicle and ran out of gas?"
"First Sergeant, I'm just saying that we should have had plenty of fuel but the other things made it worse on us," I feebly attempted to explain, but it was of no use.  The first sergeant was livid and in a tirade.  He told us that any off post passes we had were "hereby revoked until I decide when to give them back and that might not be until we get back to Germany."  We were dismissed back to quarters and just collapsed, mentally exhausted from the day's events.
The next day, I was summoned to meet with the commander and first sergeant again over the incident.  Before I went to meet with them, Captain Kungys asked me what had happened and after I told him, he went to the meeting with me.  We arrived in the orderly room about fifteen minutes early and waited.  First Sergeant Banks asked Captain Kungys to come in first, leaving me out in the room with some others who were working in the room.  One of the guys came over and made some idle chat, but then the question of what happened came up.  I was brief and soon it became obvious no one knew about the international incident.  The soldier sat there wide eyed as I recounted the situation and just said, "wow."  Shortly afterward, it was my turn to go talk to the command staff. 
I nervously walked in and it was just the first sergeant and CPT Kungys.  Captain Taylor wasn't present, and I explained what happened all over again to 1SG Banks.  He was much calmer this time, but still quite upset with me.  I was being brought to the carpet because I was considered the lead medic on that mission and it failed miserably.  I was ordered to take the HUMVEE over to the motor pool so the mechanics could see what the problem was with the fuel gauge.  Then, the first sergeant shifted gears and said, "and...and you filled up at a local gas station? What the?"  I said yes, I had and he laughed, saying, "well shit, that's the best thing I've heard all deployment."  I wasn't sure how to take his laughter but it seemed he was being sincere.  As the meeting closed, 1SG Banks told me that I was one of his better medics in the battery and I better shape it up or I'd have a long road ahead.
 I was dismissed to the clinic with CPT Kungys.  This was a harrowing experience all around, and another very close call for me.  The gravity of the situation started being apparent as the captain and I talked back at the clinic.  He told me about how the Saudi government could have held Brown and me and how it would have been a huge international ordeal had that happened.  He did acknowledge that we tried our best to do the right thing and that was all that had saved my hide in the meeting with the first sergeant; what I didn't know until then is that I was going to be recommended an Article 15 over the fiasco and the captain had negotiated to let me tell what happened in an effort to lessen the blow. 
Brown and I took the ambulance to the motor pool for service, but not without some chiding from the others; "Do you need grid coordinates to find the motor pool?"  "Do you need an armed escort?"  Yeah, Yeah...I had created a monster among the clinic.  The truck was pulled in for service and Captain Kungys arrived shortly afterward.  We were told the truck appeared to have a problem with the fuel pump and it would need to be taken out of service.  Finally, a feeling of vindication.  We rode back with the captain and instead of going back to Khobar, we went out to Lucky Base.  I thought that was going to be our punishment, but in reality, we were going to eat at the chow hall that had much better food than Khobar's.  Captain Kungys curiously listened to Brown and me as we told about the village and how the kids had lined the streets waving, and of the hospitality of the Saudi gas station owner who gave us the fuel we needed.  If there was any silver lining to the whole incident, those were two examples.
In the days to follow, I took another PT test and passed it with no problems and tried to stay below the radar more and more.  While doing my DJ gig, I had met a girl named Patty who was an Air Force specialist.  She was a huge Led Zeppelin fan and would always come request songs by them.  We hit it off well, but knew our different jobs and crazy schedules would never make it work in our favor.  We remained friends the whole remaining time I had in Saudi, never doing more than a friendly hug.  I was still unsettled about being at Khobar, and the events at Al Jubail did little to comfort me.  I don't know if I was becoming depressed or just ready to leave country, but it was eating at me inside.  More and more I felt I was slipping down in a hole.  To complicate matters more, I was hearing rumors of Moni and another guy being spotted at the Goose together more and more, and by different sources.  I couldn't wait until the next month to come so I could maybe catch a break and go back home to Kentucky.  I found myself watching those home movies from everyone back home more frequently and had some comfort, but also some sadness.  My grandmother had been in a nursing home for a few years and her health had been on a steady decline.  There is a part on the video where my family was at the nursing home with her and to see her in such a feeble state really got to me.  At the end of that segment, she is shown waving at me from the hospital bed, her wrinkled face managing to give a slight smile as the camera fades.   To this day, it is almost impossible for me to watch that part of the video.
Mid November was approaching and some of the advanced party soldiers had started arriving to get familiarized with the day to day operations.  This was a welcome sight, meaning the time was winding down finally.  The weather was starting to change, meaning the days weren't as hot and the evenings were downright cool...at 75 degrees.  So there was a gleam of light filtering into that hole I had created...and a hint at fresh air blowing in finally.