29
DESERT STORM DIARY
I landed in Saudi Arabia on 12 January 1991. For the next 40 days and nights I battled a military bureaucracy intent upon denying SOF access to front-line combat troops, or any troops for that matter. I also had to contend with the Banana Republic Brigade—scores of pseudo “war cor respondents” whose closest brush with combat was filing expense account forms with the head office. Watching these would-be journalists making fools of themselves at the daily 1700 hrs U.S. military briefing was both sad and amusing. Typical question was
“Why did they bomb the bridge?”
“To destroy it.”
One of the most egregious examples of the media phonies was a “talk ing head” who was doing a “standup” before the 1700 hrs briefing began. I was idly watching him when it suddenly hit me. He was holding a gas mask. I surveyed the room. No one else was! The phony bastard! I had left my camera in my room so I turned to Melinda Liu from Newsweek and asked her to get a photo of that dork with the gas mask.” Unfortunately she couldn’t get it out of her purse before the NBC dork quit babbling.
As I was quoted in the Wall Street Journal and Newsweek, “I thought I’d be riding the lead tank into Baghdad by now. Instead, I’m stuck in a briefing room with the biggest bunch of boobs and dorks I’ve ever met.”
However, it was the lopsided treatment of the press corps that finally forced me to break all the rules and make my own way to the front. Media “barking dogs” the brass courted—the major television networks, newspa pers and newsweeklies— while the rest, SOF included, were left out in the cold. I had had enough.
Packing up my cameras and trusty tape recorder I headed north, em ploying “smoke and mirrors” tactics to circumvent the rules and avoid rov ing military police anti-journalist patrols. The following is a diary of my infiltration into the war zone taken from my hours of taped notes.
21 FEBRUARY, 1745 HOURS
I find myself at a construction site near the Saudi Arabian National Guard (SANG) compound in the desert northeast of Hafar Al Batin. Bedouin troops here provide security for the oil pipeline lay in the early years of the Iran-Iraq War. There is also a U.S. Army compound, mission unknown, and an Egyptian compound, where I had lunch with Colonel Zagloul Mo-hammed Fathey, chief of staff of the Egyptian 3rd Mechanized Division and veteran of the ‘67 and ‘73 wars with Israel. In the background, outgo ing 15 5 mm rounds could be heard. There were also what appeared to be B-52 arc lights, or what the media now calls “carpet bombing.”
It is interesting to see the way Fathey lives. He has a large tent, probably 30 feet long and 15 feet wide, which is carpeted and furnished with a full-size wooden desk, and chairs with upholstered pillows.
I am out here with Tim Lambon, a Rhodesian who used to work in a special intelligence unit. He drifted into TV work and met Soldier of For tune’s African correspondent, Al Venter. The two worked on a project in Afghanistan. Since then, Lambon has been working for an independent British TV firm. He and I decided it was useless to stay in Riyadh as we were sick of being stonewalled by the joint information bureau (JIB). It was apparent that the only journalists who were getting access to the troops on the front lines were those with a lot of clout, i.e., the major “barking dogs” on major TV stations.
I met a young hotshot from the Wall Street Journal last week, Steve Horowitz, who contacted me regarding an interview. His intention was to interview people from the press for a Journal piece on press attitudes about the war. After spending some time with me and SOF associates Mike Williams and Paul Fanshaw, who were along with me, he decided that SOF’s trials and tribulations were of sufficient interest for a story.
He wanted something unusual, some color, and he wasn’t particularly overjoyed with what he was finding on the walk from the Riyadh Hyatt Regency to the Riyadh Wendy’s. He wanted to come out here to Hafar Al Batin, and I figured if we accompanied him it was more likely his story would make the front page of his paper. I rationalized that a large percent age of the cost of this so far unproductive trip could be justified by the P.R. value of a favorable article in the Journal. (Horowitz’s article on SOF’s frus trations appeared on the front page of the Journal on 21 February, 1991.)
Mike Williams and I decided we would take Horowitz’s car and drive back the next morning. I was expecting to get approval to interview some of the Marine recon troops that had been trapped in the battle for Khafji to supplement Mike’s article.
It was Marine recon that called in Marine air and artillery support, sig nificantly affecting the outcome of that battle. I had submitted a written request and subsequently discussed the request with Major Keith Oliver, the Marine Corps representative on the JIB. Oliver said he was enthusiastic about the concept, that the Riyadh JIB was enthusiastic and that he would be contacting his counterpart in Dhahran to see how my interview could be arranged. This was a unilateral request; in other words, it was a request that only I be allowed to conduct the specially arranged interview.
Upon our return, I contacted Oliver, who said he was now very pes simistic about the request after having contacted Dhahran. No explanation was forthcoming. It became clear that I was not going to get anything by going through normal channels or following the rules.
1804 HOURS
Our options were limited. We could continue to piss and moan in Riyadh or throw the dice and try and tag onto a column of somebody’s troops dur ing the confusion expected when the ground offensive kicked off. Lambon and I decided we had no choice but to exercise the latter option. The worst that the Saudis or U.S. forces could do would be to throw us out of the world’s greatest kitty litter box.
Lambon, who is in his early 30s and slim, with a GI haircut, definitely had a good military appearance. He also had leased a brand new four-door Nissan Safari four-wheel-drive vehicle, which happened to be scarcer than pigs in Mecca. (Apparently, the U.S. military leased all the four-wheel-drive vehicles for staff and administrative types so that all the Humvees would be available for more vital tasks.)
Lambon painted the Nissan a desert tan, taped inverted “V” shapes on the doors (which all the Coalition vehicles were running around with), and slapped an orange panel on top. Our basic plan was to bamboozle our way through the Saudi checkpoints on the road from Riyadh to Hafar Al Batin by appearing as U.S. military.
When I pointed out that the rental agency might be upset about the new poly-vinyl acrylic paint job, which wouldn’t wash off, Lambon said, “Ah, screw ‘em. We’ll deal with that when I turn it in. The mission comes first.”
We put on outfits that could be mistaken for U.S. uniforms by the Saudis, who were as unfamiliar with our uniforms as we were with theirs. I wore desert cammie pants; desert boots, an olive drab “wooly pully” and a desert cammie boonie hat with jump wings. Lambon wore a crewcut and desert cammies.
We had found earlier that as long as we appeared to be military, the Saudis would wave us by without asking for I.D. Our disguises worked ef fectively to get us to Hafar Al Batin. Upon arriving, we reconned the Al Fao hotel to see if any journalists were inside.
My plan was to link up with a Saudi sheik, Mubarek, since I had es tablished rapport with him on an earlier trip to Hafar, and see how he could help us. We met Mubarek and indicated we were having difficulty getting rooms—the hotel was booked. Mubarek offered to put us up in his suite, which meant we were in two drab, dingy rooms instead of one. But the price was right, so we accepted. Lambon decided to go on to Rafha. My gut feeling was that I should play my cards with Mubarek and see what might develop. I laid an Al Mar “Desert Shield” knife on him last night and he seemed to really appreciate it. A little low-key bribery often helps.
1818 HOURS
I find myself thinking about how this whole situation has developed. It has been a classic case of extreme frustration. Since the military and the Saudis work to make it impossible for the average reporter to cover this war, the only way anything can be achieved is by cheating, lying and vio lating the rules and regulations.
Certainly the stories that I need do not include going out and doing a piece on a combat support unit . . . no matter how important a part they play. I picked up a technique from an experienced magazine journalist, Malcom McConnell, who was representing Readers Digest as its Defense Correspondent for creating phony documents, which we utilized prior to our last trip up here. Using a Saudi Ministry of Information request sheet, we made up a line of bullshit saying that we were authorized to come up here to visit the Kuwaiti armored brigade. We simply typed in the minister of information’s name and had an Arab friend sign it in Arabic. He then wrote an additional bullshit message at the bottom in Arabic. The idea was to confuse anyone we might run into, be they Saudi or American, who would give us a difficult time. It is important to always forge documents that are so vague they never can be traced back to anyone in the combat area.
Prior to our departure, the Saudi Minister of Information had pub lished a directive denying all journalists travel to anywhere in the general AO where we have been operating. The memo also said no journalists were allowed to wear military uniforms. Of course, no one was following the minister’s directives. There were about 40 correspondents in the area. When I came up there with Mike Williams a week ago, we ran into a journalist who said he had a contact in one of the military units who said that all journalists were going to be swept up and sent back. It hasn’t happened yet.
We theorized that a number of journalists create rumors of this nature to serve their own purposes, for example to scare off other journalists. This certainly could be true. In any case, the old adage that all is fair in love and war could also be twisted to say all is fair in love and journalism. This was a “cut-throat, screw your buddy, look out for yourself” scenario. Rules are for suckers who will never get to where the action is.
1829 HOURS
The Sheik is on a trip where he is apparently arranging to move a lot of heavy equipment up to the Kuwaiti border. For whatever reason, he said he couldn’t take me with him tonight, but would tomorrow. At least I’m slowly getting closer to where the action is. One of the reasons for my camping here in the desert is the hope that Mubarek can get me in with the Egyptians. If that happens, I can hook up with recon units and get across the border and perhaps observe some of the fighting. This is obvi ously the best shot I’ve had to date.
2016 HOURS
I have just come back from having tea and dates with the Bedouins. The city Arabs whom I met in Riyadh simply didn’t do much for me. They seemed rather soft and effete. The Bedouins, however, are Saudi Arabia’s cowboys or mountain men—down to earth and solid with a sense of humor. They were a pleasure to be around, even though communication was primitive.
I find myself reflecting on the “smoke and mirrors,” tactics used to get here. Said tactics were used not only to bamboozle American and Saudi authorities, but also editors. Lambon, who got permission from his home office to drive up here on this op, did so only after he told his editor that he was coming up here with an American colonel. Now that wasn’t a total lie, but certainly some omissions were made, e.g., that I was a Lieutenant Colonel and retired from the Reserves! Whatever gets the job done!
Another amusing scam I remember hearing about was pulled off by a group of British reporters. They drove up to a British installation with a military-looking vehicle where a young guard asked for the password. An authoritarian voice in the back of the vehicle responded with vigor and started chewing out the young trooper’s ass, telling him that he wanted to see the general. The kid was quaking when the tirade finished. The Brit journalist then asked the trooper if he knew the password. The soldier told him not only the password, but also the response. The journalists pro ceeded on into headquarters. “Smoke and mirrors.”
I still haven’t completely figured out the story on Sheik Mubarek. He is apparently wealthy and claims to own a 100-square kilometer farm be tween Dhahran and Riyadh. He is not in the army, but is apparently in the construction business and is in charge of building support facilities and roads. He claims to be from one of the 10 most powerful tribes in Saudi Arabia and that his tribe supported whichever Arab king was responsible for unifying the country around 1920. Mubarek’s aide, Faisel, told me that Mubarek is highly regarded because he assumed his position to help the government for no salary, and that when the war is over he will assume a very significant position in the regime.
He also mentioned something I heard from two other Saudi sources: that this whole war has disturbed the Saudi psyche considerably. They’re puzzled and upset that they’ve spent so much money on defense and yet in this time of crisis they have been so impotent and had to rely on infidels for their defense.
The feeling is that the Saudis are going to seriously reevaluate their military capabilities, which undoubtedly will result in a much more pow erful military machine.
22 FEBRUARY, 0745 HOURS
An Egyptian mechanized unit has been moving past my tent for the last two hours, and another unit’s coming in to the east now with a full brigade. The vehicles are well spaced so it’s hard to get a count on how many there are. I’m by the side of the road looking like George Patton giving them the thumbs up. They appear to be in good spirits, with some motioning for me to get on.
1012 HOURS
It looks like most of the Egyptians have passed. The armored vehicles led the way followed by armored personnel carriers (APCs), self-propelled guns (SPs) and trucks. I can hear B-52 strikes in the background. We heard them thumping through most of last night. I was contemplating hitchhiking. However, if I did that, it might put Mubarek in the shits. Since he has been my host, I guess I’ll be a nice guy and pass. It’s hard to know what other correspondents are accessing so I decide to hang around and when Mu barek comes back, see if he can get me with the Egyptians on the way up front.
1100 HOURS
I just chatted with an Egyptian Lieutenant Colonel engineer who told me that he thought it’s going to be about two days before the main Coalition thrust. What we’ve been seeing today is the movement of the 3rd Egyptian Mechanized Division to their attack positions.
I am now on a berm located a few klicks south of the Kuwaiti border. We saw a large explosion maybe 20 klicks away, a large black cloud rising into the sky. I have no way of determining what kind of ordnance made the hit. The Egyptians have been placed forward so we are moving along the route they apparently used this morning. We’re now pulling into a con struction area about 5 klicks from the border and 18 klicks from the main Iraqi defensive line. Apparently, this was as good a decision as I have made to date. Had the following conversation with Faisel:
Faisel: This is a very dangerous area here.
Brown: And, Faisel, why do you say that it is very dangerous?
Faisel: Because we are within the range of the Iraqi artillery. There was one rocket that landed just up the road about a half an hour ago.
Brown: Maybe the Iraqis will shoot some artillery and it will be very exciting. What do you think about that?
Faisel: I don’t think that it would be very exciting for me! (Laughter).
1313 HOURS
We are moving up with the dozer, directly to the berm. Now the question is whether or not they will let me drive the dozer to breach the berm, which will allow support vehicles to follow the tracked vehicles. That would truly be a magnificent accomplishment, and this is truly a high. The last 48 hours make it all worthwhile—the waiting, the B.S., the putting up with stupid people. Now it’s all worthwhile.
1320 HOURS
Suddenly, it is all not worthwhile. There are some asshole journalists there, with a pool. So much for my visions of a great scoop.
The Egyptians have moved their armor up behind the berm. There are two APCs or trucks between each M-60 tank and their tanks are about 75 yards apart. I examine the interior of one of their M-i13s. They are cer tainly well used but in very good condition. Things look neat and orderly; obviously a professional operation here.
Behind the line of vehicles and tanks are individual foxholes, which provide shelter from incoming. To the rear we have a number of tents spread out over at least 400 yards back from the berm. Trucks and support vehicles are dispersed in case of artillery attack. It appears from the way they’re positioned that they’ll make a linear frontal attack. Once they cross the berm that could well change depending on their op plans, which I am not privy to. We are following one of the bulldozers through a gap in the wall. Exciting! As we go through, we can see a large black cloud down range, probably 20 klicks away. Anyhow, we are through the berm.
23 FEBRUARY, 0823 HOURS
According to Hassan, one of Sheik Mubarek’s workers, Bush has given Sad dam until “noon today” to get out. I don’t know whether that is our time or Washington time. More Egyptian troops have been moving through. It’s difficult to determine what unit they’re from, but obviously the one Egyptian brigade is not all that’s been deployed.
Rain has brought up a fine coating of grass all over the desert. Looking at it from afar you would think you were looking at Kansas wheat fields in early spring. Coalition forces have sprinkled vehicle revetments all over the desert, which almost appear as sailing ships on a green sea from a distance. Flies are still everywhere, of course. I actually saw three or four dogs out here. Normally the Arabs, for reasons unbeknownst to me, don’t like dogs.
It clears my mind staying out here in the desert. I could have gone into Hafar Al Batin last night, and maybe I should have, in order to contact Lambon and see what success he was having in accessing American units. I’m still hoping that I’ll be able to tag along with Mubarek and the Egypt ian troops.
The Egyptians are still moving. You can read in a military manual about an armored division’s table of organization, but until you actually see it, it simply doesn’t have an impact on you. They have been moving here now, off and on, since a little after 0700.
1004 HOURS
I have developed my amusement for the day: a field-expedient flytrap, con sisting of a two-inch-high glass cylinder teacup, one-fourth full of tea heav ily laced with sugar and milk. Flies occasionally fall into the mixture and I have found a way to accelerate the process. Heh, heh. When the flies walk on the inside of the cup, I slap my book down on the rim and the flies fall into the tea and drown. How satisfying. Right now there are about 15 ca sualties. This is a very gratifying experience and the most amusing thing I’ve done in the last five weeks.
To most effectively use this flytrap, one has to develop certain skills. Once the fly is on the inside of the cup, one brings the palm of the hand down firmly and jolts the fly down into the mass of other squirming and obnoxious sons-of-bitches. Another technique is to wait until there are four or five on the inside, then clamp your palm over the cup. Then you get the tea swirling around up along the sides and have them all fighting for their lives (evil laughter). Also, when you bring your palm down firmly on the top of the rim, the force will often shake the little creature loose from the side and plop him down into the gooey mass. In my experiments, not a single fly has escaped after becoming stuck in the tea. What a pleas ure. Oh yes, it’s teatime again. I do not care if I never see another cup of Lipton tea. The Bedouin serving the tea thinks I’m crazy. At this point, I wouldn’t argue the point.
More B-52 strikes. The remainder of the Egyptian division keeps mov ing north, mostly all combat and combat support. Occasionally, a Black Hawk in desert cammie scuttles overhead. Faisel told me three Scuds were fired at the Bahrain airport last night, but doesn’t know for certain whether or not Patriots shot them down. In the latest issue of Newsweek, it was sug gested that a lot of Coalition flights had to be altered to deal with the Scud threat, so the Scuds are not only a psychological terror weapon, but are also having an impact on our air campaign.
A reporter from some paper based in Cairo just showed up in a flight suit, a leather vest and patent-leather shoes. God save us from news boobs! I asked him if he was going with the Egyptians if they made a ground at tack, to which he replied he would if he could. I mentioned that I would like to go with them, too. He asked if I wanted to see Kuwait and of course, I said yes, so we will see if he could help arrange something. I believe one should develop new options whenever possible and pursue them all con currently.
With the Egyptian APCs on line in attack position behind the berm and the movement of combat support this morning, I surmise the ground offensive will kick off tomorrow, on the 24th (unless political B.S. is thrown into the picture). I think I’ll go into Hafar Al Batin tonight to see how the other journalists are doing. I will be talking to Mubarek later this afternoon, so can check to see if there is any way he can get me locked in with the Egyptians when they move. I should have made an effort yesterday when I was up on the front line B.S.-ing with the Egyptian M-113 squad ron commander, but I didn’t think of it at the time.
1643 HOURS
We’ve been heading down the road northeast of Ruqi, a border checkpoint between Iraq and Saudi. It has been eerie driving on this road with no other traffic, but now we’re starting to encounter some Egyptian units. We just passed all the dug-in Egyptian 155mm SPs. I saw an American unit with them, but didn’t have a chance to talk to them. I guess the Americans would be forward air controllers.
We’ve been watching the sun gradually sink in the west. There is an aura of excitement in the air that only war can bring. A desert sunset is pretty, but it is much more intriguing when there is a background of smoke from a B-52 strike rising into the air 20 klicks to the north.
24 FEBRUARY, 0853 HOURS
We are on our way to the front. Sheik Mubarek has just informed me that he has arranged for me to ride with the Egyptians. As we bounce along, I still have my fingers crossed. We moved from Hafar Al Batin to his con struction base camp positioned near the SANG compound. We brought along Forrest Sawyer from ABC-TV News, with his crew. We left instruc tions that when the crew with the satellite and ancillary equipment showed up, they should be guided to a rendezvous point up near the front. The weather is overcast and a light rain is falling. Onward!
0913 HOURS
Mubarek just told me he’s arranged for the ABC News crew to go on a tank with the Saudis and for me to go with the Egyptians. That makes me more than satisfied, as I think the Egyptians are combat tested and prob ably will see more action. Besides that, I would rather be with the com bat-tested unit.
We’re getting seriously close to the front. On the right, about 20 tanker trucks, both military and civilian, are moving toward the front. We can see rear echelon units under cammie netting, probably about 500 meters away.
Sawyer says that the military slapped a 48-hour embargo on all TV pool broadcasts. Being out here, Sawyer and his men will have a superb chance to scoop other TV networks if they can get their satellite dish to feed.
0940 HOURS
We are moving forward with rear echelon units, mostly ambulances and vehicle retrieval systems. Clouds are starting to part so it’s clearing up, and visibility has increased. Out of the right window, I can see what appears to be smoke rising from the front lines. We’re getting closer.
We just stopped where there was an American team attaching mine plows on four Saudi M-60s to explode mines. The Marine Lieutenant Colonel putting them on said that plows have to be used instead of line-exploding charges, as the Iraqis have Italian mines with three baffles. Con tact will knock out the first baffle, but the other two baffles can only be exploded by actual pressure. The Egyptians have not moved out yet; their armor is still behind the berm, which incidentally was built some years ago as an anti-smuggling barrier.
I finally got a fix on our location. To our north is the Kuwaiti border, not the Iraqi border. We are barreling into the Egyptian rear now, appar ently looking for the HQ so we can liaise with whoever is going to put who with who here. It is amazing the amount of equipment a division has— columns stretch out as far as the eye can see. We are hearing some explosions now, rather large stuff, as the blasts have to be at least 18 klicks away.
1210 HOURS
We are now trying to find the ABC News crew with the satellite dish, gen erator and ancillary items. More air strikes rumble in the distance. Above the length of the berm is this linear column of smoke, which comes from hundreds of fires in the Kuwaiti oil fields. Apparently, the attack is not going to kick off with the Egyptians until 0400, which means I’ll have to wait around here for another 16 hours and get up early in the morning, which doesn’t make me a happy camper. The adrenaline level has dropped way, way down and I’m getting bored.
I explained to Sawyer that I thought he’d be better off going with the Egyptians. It didn’t seem likely that the untested Saudi units were going to play any major role in the ground offensive. He had an obligation to the Saudis, however, and his major objective was to beat out the competi tion. He now has about 36 hours to do that with the 48-hour news em bargo in place. If he can’t get a satellite feed set up, he’ll still be able to get some footage of the Saudis and have the tape driven back to Riyadh.
1327 HOURS
We’re still looking for the missing vehicle with the satellite dish. We have a problem with communication out here. The satellite crew and Saudi driv ers were directed to go to the Bedouin compound; somebody else told them to go to the “water point.” At any rate, they’ve disappeared. . . perhaps never to be seen again. Mubarek is most unhappy with the world at this point.
Egyptians are breaking ammo out of packing crates and stacking it around their long-range 122mm guns; troops are being issued web gear with ammo. The time grows near.
1527 HOURS
Helter-skelter, the ABC crew finally located their satellite equipment and vehicles. It seems there was some problem with one of the vehicles using contaminated fuel. Now they are trying to make a decision as to where to place the satellite station.
We have two stories at this time: One from the Saudis that the offen sive is going to launch from this area and is going to kick off at 0400 to morrow, another from Mubarek, who says the Egyptians are going to kick it off at 1600 this evening. What I am going to do remains to be seen. I’ll continue to go with the flow.
After a couple of interesting adventures with Sawyer, I spent the night camped out with his ABC crew. Earlier in the evening, I was riding with him in his 4x4 trying to find the Saudi HQ. As we were driving through the Egyptian encampment, I remarked to Sawyer, “Smells like skunk. They got any skunks around here?” He didn’t know. A hundred meters later, we were halted by a rather nervous group of young Egyptian troops wearing gas masks with AK-47s pointed directly at us. They wanted to know just who in the hell we were. It was “open the door verry slowly,” “get out of the car verrry slowly” and “raise your hands verry slowly” time.
We convinced them we weren’t terrorists, but decided since we weren’t communicating real well, it would be best if we did an about face. Obvi ously the gas alert had been sounded, and recollecting the “skunk” smell, we put on our gas masks. We didn’t die, however, so it was a false alarm.
25 FEBRUARY 0832 HOURS
I looked over the shoulder of the ABC News production chief as he read a note from Sawyer, who by this time was several klicks closer to the front. On the note, I found the phrase “lose Brown” somewhat disconcerting, but clear. I told the producer I saw the note, and would bow out with no hassles. He mumbled some shit about Sawyer having to suck up to the Saudis so much he was getting scabs on his lips.
Mubarek had disappeared and I was 70 miles out in the desert with no ride. Watching the last of the Arab forces move through the gap in the berm, I was faced with beginning the long and unpleasant hike back to Hafar Al Batin. Then the last Saudi jeep going through the berm stopped. A Saudi MP first lieutenant got out.
Saudi MP: Do you have a ride?
Brown: No.
Saudi MP: Would you like one? Brown: Boy, howdy!
My fortunes had been radically reversed. I jumped in and we raced off. I was through the berm and on my way to Kuwait. We soon caught up with the column, which had halted for reasons unknown. The Saudi MP said we might be stopped here for six or seven hours, maybe less. Then he was talking to another Saudi. The paranoia set in. Was he talking to his commanding officer? Were they talking about the gringo with the Soldier of Fortune cap?
Fortunately, nothing came of the conversation. We were far enough to the rear of the column that no command elements could see me. The far ther back, the better. The unidentified Saudi took off his glasses. He and the MP studied them. Apparently, they were talking about glasses. Great. Now one was laughing and the other wasn’t. More paranoia began to build.
1214 HOURS
Every time a vehicle goes by, I lower my head. Every time the Saudi MP starts up our jeep, I wonder where we’re going and who might see me. Getting closer to the command element, I’m hoping no one feels it their duty to let the generals know I’m around. Next thing I know, I’ve been dumped out of the jeep. The Saudi MP says he’ll be back for me in about an hour. I hide behind a Nissan patrol vehicle. If he doesn’t come back, I’ll have some real fancy humping to do. At least I have a compass. The question now is do I attempt to get another ride, or sit here hoping he returns?
And then who magically appears? Mubarek, who says I’m a very impa tient person. He adds I must not be able to fish, as I move around all the time. In any case, he says he has permission for me to go in any of the ve hicles, as long as there is room, but he doesn’t designate any specific vehicle.
The last few days have been some of the most unusual days I’ve had in a long time. My interest increases proportionally to my proximity to the front—my interest was way up when I was thinking of hiking the damned road through this miserable desert.
Three choppers just landed. Looks like American advisers on board.
1500 HOURS
I just finished chatting with an American major from one of the choppers. He’s flying as an adviser to the Saudi scouts. They’re screening the right flank. His associate told me they took fire from a couple of bunkers. They took them out, and the Iraqis who were left all surrendered—not in ones or twos, but 30 and 40 at a time. Then the major came back and said we would be moving out of here in about an hour.
I just met a Saudi prince. The major’s associate said I ought to get him to see if he could get me a ride, but the conversation never quite developed that way. Maybe if I lay an SOF patch on him he might assist me. If he comes back, I’ll make the request.
Finally, I’m in a vehicle. Out of nowhere, an American contractor I know shows up. He gets me a seat in a 4x4. The “contractor” was long time acquaintance Don North, a TV producer who had a contract with the Saudi Defense Ministry to produce a documentary on the war. North was traveling with a Saudi Prince, name unknown, who he convinced to give me a ride to Kuwait City.
26 FEBRUARY, 0615 HOURS
Last night was tolerable. We borrowed a poncho, three stakes and some parachute cord from an American liaison, then rigged a lean-to on the side of our vehicle. I quickly found that sleeping with one’s head under the frame of a vehicle doesn’t work very well. Looks like we’ll be deploying shortly.
0758 HOURS
We started moving at 0750. Heading north is a convoy of school buses, which I assume are going to pick up the many thousands of EPWs (enemy prisoners of war). As of this morning word is that there are 20,000 in hand, and there’s trouble in moving them. We move on, hopefully farther than we went in the last displacement.
0809 HOURS
We’ve now caught up with the main body. Temporary hold here. The other column to our right is continuing to move forward. I’ve never seen so many military vehicles in my entire life. You get a good feel for the scope of this operation, because the land is flat and there’s no undergrowth or any other type of vegetation.
0829 HOURS
North, who got me a ride, remarked, “I identify with your situation, so much because I’ve been a hitchhiker to wars so often . . . and damn it, any body who wants to work as bad as you shouldn’t have to cover the war with briefings in Riyadh.” Amen. I will always owe this dude. I invited him to the SOF Convention in September. He accepted. Anyhow, we are finally inside Kuwait.
HOURS
We are in the third defensive belt of the Iraqi position. We just finished looting some bunkers.
1015 HOURS
Approaching another Iraqi bunker. My goodness, what do we have here? A Russian radio would be a superb item to auction off for Refugee Relief at the SOF convention, but it’s too heavy.
Iraqi defensive positions are not impressive. I wonder if they are representative of the vaunted Republican Guard fortifications. The bunker I’m looking at here has a light framework over it, maybe 6 or 8 inches of dirt or sand; another one with some logs across it, maybe three 8-inch logs, some galvanized iron and another 8 inches of sand on it.
Last night a source explained to me how Forrest Sawyer and ABC got permission to circumvent the press pool regulations and broadcast with the vanguard of the Saudi division. Sawyer sent personal letters to Lieu tenant General Kalid bin Sultan, the Saudi commander-in-chief, and sub sequently got an interview with him. Kalid was favorably disposed toward ABC and Sawyer because Kalid was on Nightline and apparently Sawyer does Nightline a fair number of times. Sawyer told me he couldn’t tell me how he got the deal.
1115 HOURS
The battalion is moving out. We are following the command track. This is a most impressive sight. Being up on top of the vehicle gives you a far greater impression of the scope and magnitude of this whole operation. It is easy to envision oneself being with Rommel or Montgomery rumbling back and forth across the Libyan desert in ‘41 and ‘42. It is a truly awesome sight. The weather is cool, the sky overcast, a great day for a desert offen sive. It’s stopped raining, too. This is like going to a massive, motorized picnic. No enemy contact yet.
1142 HOURS
It is starting to drizzle as we continue to advance. My adrenaline pump roars right along with the growl of the scores of tanks and APCs barreling across the billiard table-like desert. Lawrence of Arabia, Attila the Hun, “Jeb” Stuart and George Patton must be smiling. I am.
1151 HOURS
We are again approaching the lead element of the vanguard of this column. Apparently, there is some action going on. We don’t know what. Some of the people dismounted but there’s no incoming.
We are going through another defensive position, we see occasional craters from CBUs (cluster bomb units). We are now in the Iraqi artillery positions. Some Saudi vehicles stop and look quickly through the artillery bunkers for loot. Looks like we are all racing along to hit the Iraqi com mand post about 500 meters up ahead. There seems to be neither rhyme nor reason as to why the Saudis are moving, but the tracks are moving fast.
1207 HOURS
We are now about 75 meters behind the lead tank and we want to get up about 50 feet behind it. We are approaching the lead tank from the left rear and the lead tank has stopped. The lead tank has just traversed his gun; maybe we will get some boom-booms. To the left of the lead tank, probably at 2,000 meters, it looks like there are some antennae, probably some kind of Iraqi commo position and/or headquarters.
This is not as gratifying as being a member of the U.S. armed forces, but on the other hand I have a greater opportunity to be at the sharp end of the sword. Splitting with ABC has been to my advantage, as had I stayed with them I would have had to stay with their support satellite unit.
We are now following about 18 Kuwaiti tanks that are on line. On the left is a column running for tens of klicks—supply vehicles and more ar mored vehicles and more supply vehicles. We are moving with the tanks. It is difficult to make an estimate of the situation; the fog of battle has en veloped us. Sawyer deserves a punch in the mouth for dumping me in the desert.
1231 HOURS
There’s nobody between the bad guys and us, except for one tank. We are headed almost due north toward our ultimate objective, Kuwait City!
Alright!
1254 HOURS
We stop. We’re turning around? Going back? For prayers? These Muslims pray five times a day, and with a three-hour lunch they truly test one’s patience.
1317 HOURS
Have turned around, again facing the front.
1450 HOURS
We are now linked up with a column of APCs, the same battalion we were with before. On our left we see a column of Kuwaiti APCs buzzing along, about 200 meters away. the compass shows we are going east.
1520 HOURS
We are now pulling onto an asphalt road, a high-speed route of approach. Now we are hearing the rattle of small arms; no one seems concerned be cause the troops are all giving us the victory sign as we go by the Kuwaiti units. Saudis and Kuwaitis are shooting their FNs and machine guns in the air. Everybody is a happy camper. Every time we drive by the Kuwaitis with a Tv camera they think that it is fitting to sound off with their FALs on full auto. my God, there is a driver shooting without his hands on the wheel! twenty-four hours ago this time, I was looking at playing Bedouin-in-the-desert by my lonesome.
1547 HOURS
We continue to explode through the desert. the question is how soon we will be in Kuwait City. of course, I have no way of knowing what the in telligence picture is. We have heard no news since early this morning. No briefings for the troops, much less for an SOF journalist. the Iraqis are out there about 3,000 meters; they could pop one in our vehicle just as well as they could into one of these lead tanks. Another tank destroyed off to the left. We are making about 60 klicks an hour. Not too shabby. Once again the weather is overcast this morning. It’s cool, a little bit of wind, a light smattering of rain. On the right we are passing a column of Kuwaiti Humvees, quarter-tons and deuce-and-a-halfs. We come to a road sign: Kuwait City, 49 kilometers. All right!
1616 HOURS
the route is like a thousand-lane highway with vehicles weaving in and out with no apparent order of march. these guys have been in too many camel charges. Most vehicles stay 200—300 meters behind the lead tank, but not us. No sir, we are right up there about 100 meters behind the lead echelon, which, of course, is gratifying. Isn’t this fun! It’s a very strange day and visibility is limited to 1,000 meters at best. No sun; it looks like we are going into very low cloud cover. Maybe the plan is to allow the Kuwaitis to enter the city first because, after all, it is their homeland.
At this point, I finally believe that I am going to get to Kuwait City. Maybe not the first journalist but certainly sure as hell not the last, and I’m one of the few journalists with one of the attacking columns. I think that the observation Joe Galloway, senior editor from U.S. News, made is correct, that once the ground offensive began, control of the press would break down. This is certainly true of the Saudis.
27 FEBRUARY, 0710 HOURS
We are now starting to pass destroyed enemy vehicles: two or three tanks out there, a large transport truck, a tracked missile launcher.
0757 HOURS
Just talked to a trooper from the 2nd Armored Division, and when I was done, a Colonel Sylvester informed me that I just walked through a mine field. Subsequently, a sergeant told me that it was primarily anti-tank and not many anti-personnel mines. Little comfort. I had failed to follow the old dictum of walking where vehicles had tread. The sergeant major said the Abrams (tank) has proved its worth and had been taking out Iraqi tanks far beyond published maximum ranges. The 2nd Armored has not lost a tank yet.
0839 HOURS
We’re getting ready to move out again: “Gentleman, start your engines.”
1003 HOURS
We are on the move into the outskirts of Kuwait City again. Ernie Cox, photographer for the Chicago Tribune, told me that the plan was to let the American forces punch a hole through the Iraqis and then let Kuwaiti and Saudi forces make the triumphal entry into Kuwait City. 2nd Armored units are positioned on our left flank and Marines on the right flank as we move forward. This is a thoroughly amazing experience: honking horns, stopping, jumping out, taking pictures; everybody giving the “V for victory” sign, cel ebration time; and along the road a variety of burned out, shot up, bombed-out Iraqi vehicles. It’s a good place to be, and the right time to be there.
1102 HOURS
I am sure that this is the first time in history that journalists in 4x4 com mercial vehicles have accompanied an armored thrust into enemy territory. Our new driver, whom I have unfondly named “Cowboy,” likes to race with the tanks. It is a challenging sport, one that I would just as soon take a pass on.
What we have now is a parade, with jubilant Kuwaiti citizens tagging onto the tail of the military column as we try to work our way again up to the front of the column. Crowds are lining the street, shooting their guns, embracing each other and us journalists; cheering, flag waving, clasping hands; Arab women chanting “alalalala.” I have arrived. I have beaten the system. What a buzz! It’s not Baghdad, but it’ll do.