Chapter Thirty-Two

 

Thirty-Two

 

“Alea iacta est!”

(The die is cast!)

Julius Caesar

     Saddam Hussein’s Iraq had invaded the nearby nation of Kuwait a couple of weeks after I graduated from Officer Candidate School. As I recovered at the farm from the broken foot, I eagerly watched the news and read the account of the worsening situation. The two countries had long argued over various financial, border, and political issues, but the main sticking point was the Iraqi claim that the Kuwaitis were stealing their oil. They had learned that the Kuwaitis were placing oil wells near the border, and instead of drilling straight down, were slanting their wells under the border, and into the vast oil reserves beneath the Iraqi desert. In his sometimes awkward manner of speech, President Bush had stated that “This will not stand, this aggression against Kuwait.” Iraqi forces quickly overran their smaller neighbor, completely occupying it and then announcing that it was now a permanent part of the Iraqi nation. The entire world became tense, as the expected peace from the end of the Cold War was shattered. As most of the oil that powered the global economy flowed from the region, the disruption was a concern for countries of the entire world, especially the United States. The Iraqis immediately launched a campaign of verbal attacks against Saudi Arabia, which was located just on the other side of Kuwait. It was obvious that the Iraqis were on a land grab in the region, seeking to expand their power, influence, and territory by military force. If not stopped, the Iraqis would have the world economy in a chokehold.

Within hours of the invasion, the United Nations Security Council passed Resolution 660, which condemned the military action and demanded withdrawal of Iraqi troops. Additional resolutions were subsequently passed, authorizing sanctions and a naval blockade. While sanctions are often a tool to bring a recalcitrant nation back into line, a naval blockade amounts to an act of war, and the world steadied itself. Led by the US, the UN passed Resolution 678 which gave Iraq until January 15^th, 1991 to withdraw their military from Kuwait. It also authorized member nations to use "all necessary means" to force Iraq out of Kuwait if they didn’t comply. As I recited the Oath of Office in front of the naval armory in Chapel Hill, an order from the Pentagon directing the largest call up of reservists since Vietnam was being implemented. Our nation braced for war. Iraq at that time was no pushover. In the 80s, they fought a desperate struggle with their neighbor Iran, and their military included competent and combat hardened veterans. Their total military force was thought to be over half a million troops, including 68 ground combat divisions, hundreds of Soviet heavy battle tanks, thousands of long range artillery pieces, and both fixed and rotary wing aircraft. Trained by our Cold War enemies, the Soviet Union, they used a tactic called a “Fire Sack” to channel their enemy into a trap where they could be decimated by mass fires from heavy artillery. They also had large stores of deadly chemicals, which they had used to deadly effect against the Iranians only a few years earlier. To put it in perspective, the entire Marine Corps contains 3 active duty divisions, although our divisions are substantially larger and better equipped. Saddam’s power in the region had made him reckless and arrogant. Much like my old friend Porkchop years earlier at camp, he thought his strength was no match for his smaller neighbors. Just like Donald showed up to put the bully in his place years ago, justice was about to show up in the form of US troops, aircraft, and ships that streamed into Saudi Arabia and the Persian Gulf.

The US deployment to Saudi Arabia, known as Operation Desert Shield, continued and intensified. The eldest son of a Saudi billionaire watched with growing anger as western troops entered the holy land that was home to his religion’s most sacred sites. Osama Bin Laden’s visceral outrage against the US was ignited and would transform into hate, simmering over continued American presence and involvement over the next decade.

Chapter Thirty

 

Thirty

 

“For over 221 years our Corps has done two things for this great Nation. We make Marines and we win battles.”

General Charles C. Krulak

    Back home, I rested and recovered from the high intensity whirlwind of the previous few months. I caught up with friends from high school, but mostly spent the days safely sitting to allow my foot to heal. Those few weeks were the longest I had been home since graduating from high school over four years earlier. Many of my friends that went to college weren’t returning to live in Stanly County. Low cost Aluminum could be purchased from Russia cheaper than it could be made in the US, and the plant in Badin was cutting back operations. Competition from Mexico and Asia forced the textile mills in Albemarle to shut down. They would no longer provide manufacturing jobs or management and executive positions. The nation’s economy overall had slowed, and the boom years of the 80s had been replaced by a general feeling of pessimism that came with higher interest rates. I was glad to have a job waiting for me in the Corps. Most of the college graduates I knew planned to live in Charlotte or Raleigh, where opportunities were more available and salaries were generally higher. There was a since of times changing, and not for the better. Badin now had many low-income residents who depended on government assistance. There were still jobs in the area, but they didn’t have didn’t have the allure of what was available in the metropolitan areas. 

One notable exception was Chris. He had found a promising job with a local manufacturing company where a relative worked and was excited about the future. We caught up and compared notes and stories of the couple of months since graduation. We both missed Chapel Hill, but it was time to start the next chapter of our lives. One late afternoon, he called, said he had something he wanted to show me and was coming over. Sitting in the swing on the front porch, I watched as a brand-new white Ford Thunderbird slowly and carefully pulled into the driveway, with Chris behind the wheel. As much as he loved that orange Camaro, the Thunderbird was a beauty. We talked for a while before he had to go, and we agreed to get together when I returned for Thanksgiving. He climbed in his new ride and rumbled down the gravel drive to the sound of Mötley Crüe.

My foot healed on schedule, the cast was removed, and I was examined and cleared for duty. There was still the formal matter of being commissioned as an officer, so I coordinated with the NROTC unit for Colonel Walls to preside over the ceremony. I later found out that Walls had been instrumental in the decision to let me continue OCS. If not for him, there’s a very strong chance I would never have become and officer. With my whole family, plus Elizabeth in attendance, Mom pinned the gold bars of a Marine Second Lieutenant on my shoulders. From there I was off to Quantico. Elizabeth still had two years left at Chapel Hill, and I promised I would visit as often as I could. 

“The Basic School” (TBS) occupies a large swath of land directly across I-95 from the main Marine Corps Base at Quantico. TBS is where green Lieutenants become officers capable of leading a platoon of Marines into combat. The school is an intense, 26-week program that provides professional education as well as tactical skills and experience in scenarios typical to battlefield environments where Marines operate around the world. Much of the training is outdoors, with long forced marches and weeks of field duty. Where OCS served as a wickedly efficient screening to ensure candidates were qualified and capable of being officers, the focus of TBS was to train lieutenants how to be an effective leader. It was still physically and academically demanding, but it wasn’t the meat grinder of physical and mental harassment that OCS had been. During TBS, most of the lieutenants lived on a long dormitory style hall. It wasn’t uncommon to be awakened during the night by someone yelling from a nightmare about OCS. Even decades later I still occasionally have one.  

One lasting remnant from OCS that became amplified at TBS was the complete neurosis over being late. If the Company Commander called for a 6 AM formation, his subordinate Platoon Commanders would dictate an arrival of 5:50 to ensure timeliness. Squad Leaders, fearful of missing the Platoon Commander’s deadline, would call for us to show up at 5:40. Fireteam leaders would demand a 5:30 arrival. Sometimes it was much worse, with Lieutenants arriving 45 minutes prior to a scheduled formation in a cascade of punctuality. It was laughable and sometimes frustrating as we stood in the cold while we could have been doing something else, but the emphasis on promptness without excuse was understandable. Marines were simply never late. Real-world missions were timed with precision. Other Marines would be depending on you and being late could cost lives. Trust was so important that once a time was set, months or even years could go by with no further communication. A Marine was expected to show up promptly as agreed with no reminder, preferably a few minutes early. It was a matter of keeping one’s word.

Weapons and tactics training in the field training were balanced with formal classroom instruction on topics ranging from land navigation to military law. We studied battles from the dawn of recorded history to the conflict in Vietnam. Each Lieutenant was issued a stack of books that would be read and examined during the course. The wisdom contained still earns many of them a place on my bookshelf today. Among my favorites were, “A Message to Garcia”, by Elbert Hubbard,  “On War” by Prussian General Karl Von Klauswitz, “The Art of War” by Sun Tzu.

The crown jewel on the list was the holy scripture of the Corps, the slim pocket booked designated as “Fleet Marine Force Manual 1 (FMFM1) “Warfighting”, by legendary Vietnam Veteran and current Marine Corps Commandant General Al Gray. Gray had served multiple tours in Vietnam, starting with the 3^rd Marine Division in 1965. Ten years later, he would be the commanding officer in charge of the final American evacuation from Saigon as the North Vietnamese stormed the country. In a vivid scene of desperation that was replayed on the nightly news, terrified Vietnamese embassy staff had clung to the final Marine helicopter to depart the embassy. When the NVA arrived, many of them were slaughtered. In a culture of courage and honor, General Gray was the consummate leader, a warrior king who had earned his way up from lowly private to the highest rank in the Corps. During his long career, he had earned the Silver Star, 2 instances of the Legion of Merit, 4 Bronze Stars, and was awarded 4 purple hearts for injuries sustained in combat. He was universally respected, and his impact and improvement to the defense of our nation is felt to this day.

We learned exactly how to correctly wear every uniform item and insignia with precision, using small transparent rulers to determine the exact placement according to the manual. We also placed orders for the signature historical weapon of Marine Officers, the Mameluke Sword. Swords had long ago given way to pistols, shotguns, and carbine rifles as the close fighting weapon of choice, but they remained an important reminder of the early days of the Corps and were worn for special occasions with the iconic Dress Blue uniform.

The Mameluke Sword’s association with Corps dated to the time of the First Barbary war. In 1805, President Thomas Jefferson had grown increasingly frustrated with pirate attacks against US ships operating off the coast of North Africa. Evidence indicated that many of the attacks originated in Tripoli, then a rebellious province of the sprawling Ottoman Empire. Americans had been captured and were being held as hostages by the local prince.  Jefferson personally travelled to London to negotiate with Tripoli’s ambassador for the release of American hostages and an end to the attacks. He asked the ambassador what grounds the Libyans had to attack the ships of a nation that had done them no injury. The response was simple and clear.

 It was written in their Koran, (that all nations which had not acknowledged the Prophet were sinners, whom it was the right and duty of the faithful to plunder and enslave; and that every mussulman (Muslim) who was slain in this warfare was sure to go to paradise. 

An ally had been found in the rightful heir to the province, Hamet Karamanli. Hamat’s brother Yusuf had forcefully removed Hamet from the throne, and Hamet had promised the Americans that he would help them in their fight against Yusef by providing men and material, and when he was reinstated, he would assist them in their struggle against piracy.

As part of the campaign against Tripoli, First Lieutenant Presley O’Bannon was directed to lead a force to capture the city of Derna in Libya. Accompanied by Hamet, O’Bannon’s expeditionary force was made up of eight Marines and several hundred mercenaries. They set out from my father’s birthplace of Alexandria, Egypt for Derna, which was on the route to the provincial capital of Tripoli. The force of warriors emerged from the North African desert after a 500-mile forced march, attacked the city’s defenders, and secured the city as ordered. For the first time in history, American troops had fought on foreign soil, and the American flag was raised above territory secured in battle. American hostages were returned, and a treaty was negotiated ending the war. As a token of his appreciation and respect, Prince Hamet presented O’Bannon with a distinctive sword. Marine Corps Commandant Archibald Henderson directed that the sword be worn by Marine Officers, and it became a permanent part of an officer’s wardrobe. The war was commemorated in the second line of the Marines Hymn.

 

From the Halls of Montezuma
To the shores of Tripoli;
We fight our country's battles
In the air, on land, and sea;
First to fight for right and freedom
And to keep our honor clean;
We are proud to claim the title
Of United States Marine.

 

In a disturbing footnote to the events, the US State Department’s lead emissary Tobias Lear, in negotiating an end to the war with Yusef, reneged on the deal with Hamet. Yusef was allowed to remain on the throne. (3)

 

Chapter Twenty-Five

 

“On board the GANGES, about 12 months ago, [Marine] Lt. Gale, was struck by an Officer of the Navy, the Captain took no notice of the Business and Gale got no satisfaction on the Cruise; the moment he arrived he called the Lieutenant out and shot him; afterwards Politeness was restored”

Lieutenant Colonel W. W. Burrows, 2^nd Commandant of the Marine Corps

 

Over the next year, I would travel to various Marine Corps and Navy bases for periods of training. The school year flew by and before long I had another set of orders for summertime active duty. In order to broaden our horizons as future officers we would spend time at a series of bases learning different roles available to officers in the naval services. We learned about opportunities with the Navy’s special operations force of Sea, Air, Land teams (SEALS), and got a small taste of their intense training and workouts. We studied careers in aviation, getting to pilot a Navy helicopter and learning basic piloting knowledge. We learned how to evacuate from a helicopter that had crashed into the ocean, first waiting for the rotors to stop, and then finding the openings and swimming to safety without kicking anyone in the head. We loaded into training helicopter fuselage that was dropped into a deep pool and got the practice the movements. When we mastered the technique, the instructors inserted a new challenge by having the simulated helicopter fuselage turn upside after it hit the water. Those of us designated as Marine options conducted a mock amphibious attack, riding inside a metal vehicle that revved its engine before plunging from the lowered ramp of the ship into the ocean. Initially it seemed as though the heavy metal amphibious assault vehicle would drop straight to the bottom like an anchor, but it lazily climbed up through the waves, lumbered through the surf on to the sandy beach where the ramp dropped down and we were disgorged. We rappelled and fast roped from hovering helicopters, simulating activities of an assault or insertion.  We even learned how to repair a hole in the side of a ship that had been damaged by a torpedo, working in a simulator that replicated conditions of a sinking ship, to include a rising water level, broken pipes, and a hold in the bulkhead (wall).

Since the dawn of modern naval conflict between oil and gas-powered ships, sailors had suffered excruciating deaths when they were thrown or jumped into oil covered seas. Any spark would transform the film covering the water into a fiery torment, with skin melting heat and flames for those unlucky enough to be trapped in the burning slick. Men would dive down into the water to escape the flames, but when their air ran out they would emerge, only to be burned again. The US Navy had developed a protocol to help sailors and Marines avoid this fate, and we were taught how to do it. Someone in dangerous or burning water would dive beneath the surface, swim as far as he could towards safe water, and then as he came up for air, extend his arms vertically above him and splash the water away with his hands as he broke the surface, hopefully pushing the oil or gas aside and providing a narrow window of opportunity to suck in a quick breath before continuing the underwater escape. We gained all sorts of knowledge that could eventually be valuable and potentially life saving.  I hoped I never had to use some of the skills, but I was glad I’d learned them just in case.

The development of nuclear weapons and the means to deliver them by the Soviet Union presented the United States with a new threat of destruction by a foreign power. A key concept that successfully prevented the Cold War from turning into a potentially world ending nuclear conflict was Mutually Assured Destruction (MAD) guaranteed a potential belligerent that by launching a strike using nuclear weapons, they would subsequently be destroyed. A ballistic missile could travel between the two countries in less than 30 minutes, so the country being attacked would likely not have time figure out what was happening and launch its own ground-based missiles in response before their country was devastated. Arming submarines with missiles provided countries with a credible ability to deliver a return strike if attacked. The US outfitted a fleet of special submarines, designated as SSBNs (Ship, Submersible, Ballistic Capable, Nuclear Powered). Propelled by an internal nuclear reactor, an SSBN did not need to refuel. This allowed the vessel to remain deep in the ocean for months at a time, serving as a silent, but ever-present reminder of the folly of launching a nuclear attack. Launched in 1966, the Francis Scott Key (SSBN-657) featured 16 launch tubes and dozens of nuclear missiles that could deliver a warhead around the world. It had enough firepower to destroy a small country. Being on a submarine was not for the claustrophobic. I learned how the navigation and sonar worked, and we went out to sea from the port of Charleston. Every precious nook and cranny on the boat was used, and bunks for sleeping were no exception. Mine was right beside a launch silo for a Trident missile.

Semesters passed by, and I found myself in the final stages of preparing for the long-dreaded summer assignment to Officer Candidate School (OCS). Marine Corps OCS is a course that officers must pass before receiving their commission. The length is either 6 or 10 weeks, depending on the program in which you are enrolled. The standard Officer Candidate Course (OCC) is ten weeks long. Naval ROTC students attend a shorter six-week class nicknamed “Bulldog”. Due to the training they receive in the NROTC program, they are expected to report to OCS ready to immediately jump in to the advanced training schedule. Preparation for OCS was intense.  A new Major had replaced the one from my freshman year. When he introduced himself to us, he gave us the standard lineage of all the units he had served with and places he had been. He concluded with a statement I found a bit odd, “I have never had the privilege of serving in combat.” Up to that time, I had thought about service as a lot of things, but privilege wasn’t one of them. He flipped conventional thinking on its head. For him, combat wasn’t some duty you would do if it came to it, it was something he wanted, a higher calling he actively sought out. He seemed to have no compunctions at all about the prospect of what war meant, and even spoke of it with a hint of anticipation. I didn’t think the act of killing someone was a privilege, but I understood his point regarding his enthusiasm and readiness to serve his country. While I respected his eagerness, I questioned his choice of words.

As a Christian, I had wrestled with the idea of war since first seriously considering joining the military. Confederate General Nathan Bedford Forrest had put it simply “War means fighting, and fighting means killing”. Forrest had led men into action on the deadly fields of Shiloh; he understood the seriousness of the endeavor. The carnage of Shiloh had resulted in more than 24,000 men killed and wounded. Union General Grant, who had been at the battle remarked of the scene, “I saw an open field, in our possession on the second day, over which the Confederates had made repeated charges the day before, so covered with dead that it would have been possible to walk across the clearing, in any direction, stepping on dead bodies, without a foot touching the ground.” In addition to his service during the war, Forrest also had the dubious distinction of being the first leader of the Klu Klux Klan (KKK). While his history as a slave owner and association with the KKK is repulsive to me, it shouldn’t prevent us from heeding his grim warning about the nature of war.

Ending the life of another human was a nauseating concept. Dropping a bomb on an enemy position from 30,000 feet seemed horrific enough, but that’s not how Marine battles I knew of went. Engagements often devolved into an intensely personal close fight. After marksmanship training where the Marine adage of “one shot, one kill” is enabled I could reliably put a tight pattern of rounds in a target area the size of someone’s head at 500 yards. I imagined how difficult it would be to pull the trigger knowing the target was a man with hopes, dreams, and a family of his own. As I considered various combat scenarios, the closer the enemy was, the more difficult it was to imagine causing his death. I remembered back to that first deer I had killed years ago, and how I had felt after drawing the knife across his throat. It wasn’t a good feeling, and that was an animal that was going to be a meal for my family. I got cold chills thinking about delivering a fatal blow to a man that God himself had knit in the womb.

 I knew that death could come and would doubtless be delivered in close quarters. Often eye to eye, with knives, pistols, or shotguns, you would have to behold the man you were getting ready to destroy, and he would look at you before you drove the knife or bayonet deep into his chest. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, and I didn’t consider it a privilege. Marines often made light of the gruesome business, but we knew the toll that it would take. First person stories of close combat revealed that when it came right down to the brutal reality, Marines would tenaciously fight for the lives of their friends and comrades as much as for their own. 

The truth of the matter is that no one knows with absolute certainty how they will react in a desperate life-threatening situation. However, I had as much confidence as any Marine could that I would never let anyone down who counted on me, no matter how unpleasant the task. After much prayer and consideration, I felt confident that if the time came I would do my duty without hesitation, but I prayed that I would never have to. I had enough problems without carrying that load the rest of my life. Your mind can be like a house with many rooms. Some rooms are full of happy memories, proud moments, and warm joy. Others contain dark thoughts, fears, and horrific tragedy. Doors to these rooms should only rarely, if ever, be opened, and extended time inside is not a good idea. Staying too long leads down a dark staircase to madness.