While I don't know what it's like to be a civilian under attack in a hostile land, praying for rescue, I do know what it's like to be in a Mid-Eastern country operating under the highest of threat levels. During Operation Desert Shield and into Operation Desert Storm, while my unit was camped at King Fahd International Airport in Riyadh, we were targeted by terrorists on several occasions. I never thought much about those instances until fairly recently. All these infiltrations of our bases in Afghanistan and killings of our troops that I keep reading about really get me. How the hell does that happen?
I'm writing a book about my experience going through the Persian Gulf War with the 101st Airborne's very last Huey unit. I call it "Riders on the Storm." The story below is my last addition, written about a month ago, before all this craziness erupted.
The Visitors
One night
during Operation Desert Storm, just before my unit deployed north for the
ground invasion, my friend Barstow and I landed guard duty together. Our post
was the main entrance to the compound at King Fahd International Airport in
Riyadh. With the air war going on, we were at DefCon 4, the Army’s highest
threat level. Shit was real. Upon manning our post, we were given orders to not
let any foreign nationals into the compound. Easy enough, I thought.
We started
our shift at 11 p.m. The air was biting cold and it was pitch black. Flood
lights lit the area around us and down the road a bit. We couldn’t see a thing
beyond that. Everything was still and quiet for the most part. So many soldiers
had moved up north towards Iraq already that the area was a virtual ghost town.
At that hour, those who remained were mostly asleep. As one minute seeped into
the next, I thought about everything feeling different again, changing quickly;
countries, temperatures, encampments, threat levels. Within days we would be
moving north, to a whole new environment and situation. What lay ahead, I
couldn’t even begin to imagine.
Armed with a
silly grin and lots of ammo, Barstow was ready for action. He stood behind the
wall of sandbags eagle-eyed and locked and loaded; such a Boy Scout. He was
being goofy, cracking jokes as he scanned the vast darkness beyond. I think he
was trying to amuse himself as much as he was trying to entertain me. Dude was
always cracking me up, no matter where we were or what we were doing. Like randomly
walking by his hooch, he’d call out after me, mimicking a drill sergeant,
“left, left, left riiight left!”
Sometime late into our shift, a small, white
Toyota pick-up truck approached. The driver brought the truck to a slow, dusty
stop as I moved out from behind the barricade. Holding my M-16 tightly, I
flipped the safety off as I neared the driver’s side window. As the glass came
down I got a good look at the driver and his passenger; both slim, young Arab
men in rumpled civilian clothing. They looked to be in their mid-twenties, tops.
Barstow had
my back, standing behind the wall of sandbags with his weapon pointed at the
driver. I could tell the guy was nervous; his eyes darted between me and
Barstow as he gripped the upper steering wheel. His pal riding shotgun sat as
still as a statue, looking straight ahead. I asked the driver what their
business was. He looked up at me with brown saucer eyes and told me in good
English that they were Saudi policeman and they needed to get onto the
compound. I asked him for ID but he said they had none. I smelled a rat. “You
hang tight,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”
Why would
Saudi policemen not have any ID? And wouldn’t they know we had strict orders
about who could enter? It sounded hinky to me. I moved away from the truck and
waved Barstow over. I told him what they said. We agreed that without any ID,
they’d have to see our First Sergeant before they got anywhere near inside our
compound. Our landline was down, of all times, so Barstow had to double-time
back to our area to tell “Top” what was going on and to bring him back. Before
Barstow left, I walked back to the truck and told the driver what was happening
and that they’d have to wait. He acknowledged, nodding sullenly.
I walked
around the truck and stood about three feet in front of it. I raised my weapon
and aimed for the drivers’ head. I held that position for what seemed like
forever. If that guy revs the engine at all, I thought, or makes a move, I’m
taking them both out. No hesitation. No bullshit.
I could see
the driver leaning slightly toward his passenger, lips moving, his eyes locked
on mine. Shotgun guy listened, and then nodded cautiously. They were agreeing
on something. I tickled the trigger of my M-16 with my finger tip, hoping the
guy wasn’t planning to get stupid. I really didn’t want to kill two people that
night; and I didn’t want to see that kind of hideous mess. The fact was,
though, I was absolutely ready to do just that – if I had to. There was no way
I was letting any unauthorized people into our compound and near my unit.
It was a
strange and powerful feeling knowing I literally had someone’s life in my hands;
being a breath away from possibly killing someone. And not just one person, but
two. If the situation called for using deadly force, though, I had absolutely
no problem with it. We were at war and I knew that our enemies were very real.
As real as those who attacked and killed 220 of our Marines in Lebanon back in
’83. There are times when deadly force is the only option; and I was ready.
Suddenly, I
heard the crunch of sand and saw the truck’s front tires slowly turning. The
driver reached out the window with his left hand and motioned to me that they
were leaving. I waved the barrel of my rifle, signaling for him to proceed. I
kept my aim as he made a very slow U-turn, picked up speed and disappeared into
the darkness. Once the truck’s taillights faded from sight, I lowered my weapon
and put the safety back on.
I walked
back around the barricade, leaned up against it and lit a cigarette. I took a
long drag and exhaled, wondering what the hell just happened and who those men
really were. I took another drag and blew a couple smoke rings up into the beam
of light particles floating down from above. It suddenly hit me that I wasn’t even
cold, like I was before our visitors arrived. The adrenaline must’ve jacked up
my body temperature.
Glancing
back toward our unit, I could see Barstow quickly approaching. I finished my
cigarette and put it out as he made his way over to me. Before I could ask him
where “Top” was he said, “What happened? Where’d they go?”
“I have no
idea what all that was about,” I said, shaking my head. “Guess they decided whatever
they came here for wasn’t so important after all.”
“Huh,” he
grunted, staring straight ahead into the darkness. “Seems to me those boys were
up to no good.”
I nodded. “Yah
and they were in such a big hurry, too. They said they were Saudi police. If
they really were Saudi police on some mission, don’t you think they would’ve
waited for the First Sergeant?”
“Damn
skippy.”
