Chapter Thirty-Three

             Thirty-Three

 

“There’s always one more thing you can do to influence any situation in your favor—and after that one more thing, and after that…. The more you do the more opportunities arise.” 
-  Moore -

     At our base in Quantico, the young lieutenants followed the news with occasional interest, but mainly focused on becoming experts in our new profession. Instruction progressed from hand-to-hand combat training using Pugil sticks, knives, and “weapons of opportunity”, to more advanced topics designed to prepare us to lead men in combat situations. We progressed from controlling small fire teams, to squads of 16 men, and on to platoons of 43. We learned tactics for offense and defense. We patrolled for hours through the dense Quantico forests, and spent sleepless nights developing operational orders, planning missions, and checking defensive positions. We learned how to employ claymore mines, grenades, and C4 explosives. We spent more and more time outside, and external factors became a small inconvenience to be dealt with and incorporated into planning and operations. Rain, snow, ice, heat, cold, bugs, poison plants, snakes, spiders and other nuisances and distractions were eclipsed by completing the mission and taking care of the Marines in our charge. We learned very simply that “leaders are responsible for everything that happens or fails to happen.” Excuses, reasons, or explanations for nonperformance were not to be accepted, as lives would depend on our every decision and action. I remembered back to my earliest experience as a leader at the railroad cut.

Most our field training occurred during the late Fall and Winter months, when the Northern Virginia forests were cold and wet to varying degrees. I came to appreciate the value of the useful and well-made equipment we had been issued, and I especially cherished the heavy overcoat known as a field jacket. It was made of tightly woven cotton that had been treated to repel rain, with a soft warm inner liner and an additional thicker removable liner for added comfort. It came with a rain hood that could be quickly extracted from its normal position in a pocket behind the neck, and there was even an optional cold weather hood that could be snapped on to the collar. Spacious pockets on the outside could hold gloves or a snack, and inner pockets could hold papers or even a hand warmer. It didn’t take long for me to think of someone who needed one badly. Before my next break, I went to the “cash sales” store on base where uniform items could be purchased and bought a new field jacket for Damps. I proudly presented it to him when I arrived, and he loved it. I hoped the fact that it was a gift from me would override his stubbornness about braving the elements, and it would keep him from catching a deadly chill while he roamed the land of the farm.

Our training at TBS continued with intensity. We learned to operate weapons commonly used in Marine combat units, from small machine guns to shoulder fired missiles. Instruction was given on calling in air strikes from jets far overhead, artillery rounds from supporting units, and fire from naval guns far offshore. The concept of combined arms was stressed, where enemies are presented with deadly fire from multiple directions and methods, shattering their will to fight. A successful graduate of TBS had the knowledge to serve as the conductor in a symphony of destruction.

The most valuable skill developed at TBS wasn’t a single course though, and it wasn’t provided by a period of formal instruction with a neat class outline. The mountain of books and articles we had been issued contained treasures of wisdom and experience from men who had been through what we would face. They became our instructors as we assimilated the hard-won lessons they had learned in the trenches, forests, and jungles. From our time in the field, we gained experience operating in stressful conditions resembling those of wartime, we learned to work through and solve problems. The technical knowledge provided more tools for the process, but the true lesson was how to engage one’s mind. It was to be innovative where most would have been intimidated. We learned to think clearly and rationally even when we were stressed from being short on sleep, frustrated, or sick. We learned how to deal with “friction”, which was defined as that invisible force that makes things you thought would be easy, difficult. Those situations you knew were going to be tough, friction would render seemingly impossible. The invisible force was anticipated and accepted, as its influence would be felt by the enemy as well. The challenge was learning to operate effectively in a fluid environment where friction was not only present, but often ruled supreme. It was the sneering demon who laughed when your radio wouldn’t work or your vehicle wouldn’t start. It would chuckle when weapons jammed, ankles twisted, or grid coordinate were written down wrong. We learned that even when we thought we were adequately prepared and confidently believed we had it under control, there was always “one more thing” that could be done to influence the situation, or to provide a small advantage that might make the difference between success and failure. Rifles and grenades were important implements of our craft, but our most valuable weapon was our brain.

We were issued manuals with pictures and descriptions of the weapons and vehicles used by the Iraqis.  I bought a book of Arabic phrases and listened to lessons on tape during my intermittent weekend road trips to Chapel Hill to see Elizabeth. Over a long weekend for Christmas, I visited home for a welcome break with my family. We talked about how things were going and the situation and speculated on how it would play out. Before I left, Grandmother and Damps told me how proud they were of me and gave me some money to get anything I needed. On the drive back, I considered many things, one of which was about the best use for the money. It didn’t take long to decide. The day after arriving back in Quantico, I walked to the small equipment store on base where I had ordered my Mameluke sword, and bought a brand new Marine Corps fighting knife, known as a K-Bar. The knife had a 7’ blade with a menacing point. From the tip down, the blade featured a convex curve that gently sloped into the flat main cutting surface and continued down from there to the grip. The other side of the blade sloped upward in a concave manner from the tip for about two inches, then the sharp edge turned into a bunt square top. Designed for close personal interaction, both sides of the blade sported shallow “blood grooves” to allow rapid drainage of fluids resulting from a jab.  Short but sturdy flanges stuck out above the richly dark wooden grip to protect the hand from a deflected enemy blade sliding down, and USMC had been cleanly stamped into the metal right above the handle, perpendicular to the blade. The butt end of the knife was a hard cylinder of steed with rounded edges ending in a flat bottom. More so than a rifle or other long range implement of death, this was a man’s weapon that would have brought an approving smile to the grizzled face of the Spartan king Leonidas himself. I honed the blade to razor sharp perfection as I had learned in Scouts, treated the leather sheath with a generous coating of mink oil, and proudly strapped it on my web belt.

As the January 15^th deadline approached, the mood at TBS became increasingly serious. Now over four months into our six-month training schedule, we were told that the expected allied invasion to expel the Iraqis from Kuwait would result in heavy losses for the first units to slam into the Iraqis. Hundreds of casualties were expected, many of them would be Marine Lieutenants. A likely scenario briefed was that we would graduate early and be assigned as infantry officers to fill in the gaps. A few of the Lieutenants dropped out, others simply disappeared with no explanation, but most stayed. I was haunted by grim visions of Marines under my care bleeding, blown apart, or choking on poison gas.

 

“Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon in front of them

Volleyed and thundered;

Stormed at with shot and shell,

Boldly they rode and well,

Into the jaws of Death,

Into the mouth of hell

Rode the six hundred”

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

 

When the deadline expired, and Saddam’s troops were still entrenched in Kuwait, military action by the US and coalition partners began. First with air strikes, then with massive artillery barrages and naval gunfire, the Iraqis were pummeled hard as coalition ground units moved into their assault positions. A series of small actions began across the border, and President Bush issued a 24-hours ultimatum for the Iraqis to leave Kuwait. The ultimatum was ignored, and on February 22^nd, large scale combat operations were initiated by coalition troops as Operation Desert Shield transitioned to Operation Desert Storm. The ground war kicked into high gear, with Army and Marine units rapidly surging across the border and into Kuwait and Iraq. Some of the largest tank battles in history resulted in overwhelming US victories as US leadership, expertise, advanced weapons systems routed the Iraqis. On February 27^th, the Marine Corps fought its largest tank battle ever as the First and Second Marine divisions and a US Army Brigade slammed into 14 Iraqi divisions in the area. Retreating Iraqi vehicles streamed by the thousands out of Kuwait for the expected safety of the Iraqi borders. US airpower pounded them from above, leading to the road being called the “Highway of Death”

The overwhelming US victory led to immediate calls for a halt to the fighting on humanitarian grounds. World opinion quickly turned against the US for what was perceived as piling on. Negotiations began as the Iraqis regrouped, and US combat operations ended 100 hours from when they began. Saddam had lost, but he was not beaten and would cause trouble in the region until his death in 2006. Within months, he began a campaign of extermination and terror against various groups inside the country that he believed didn’t support his rule. Deep in the bowels of the Pentagon, planners began working on scenarios to finish the job completely.