At the Front
As if being sent off to war-torn Somalia in the ’90s weren’t nerve-racking enough, there were also the bugs. “Sergeant,” I called out during our orientation briefing, “is there a problem with scorpions here?” “No need to worry about scorpions, Captain,” he assured me. “There are enough snakes around to eat most of them.”
— CAPT. M. A. NIXON
In the final days before our massive ground attack on Iraq in Operation Desert Storm, my tank company was moved to a position 15 to 20 kilometers from the Iraqi border. It was a very flat, open area that left us vulnerable to Scud missile attacks. Therefore, every evening we repositioned one kilometer to make targeting more difficult. It meant tearing down tents, camouflage nets, communications gear, barbed wire and more, only to reassemble it ten minutes later in a new location. Since we had other units to our south, east, and west, the only direction we could move was north, closer to the border. As a young company commander, I knew that my soldiers hated this routine. One day I asked a small group of soldiers if they understood why we relocated every night. “Yes, sir,” came the confident reply of one soldier. “We’re sneaking up on them!”
— DAVID C. STADER
As we drove our refueling truck through a heavily bombed-out area of Iraq, I spotted an unexploded shell in the middle of the road. “Look out!” I yelled to my friend who was driving. But he wasn’t the least bit concerned. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s one of ours.”
— SHAD ALEXANDER
During the Persian Gulf War, my Marine Corps unit had to dig new foxholes every time we changed positions. Once, when a private was making his trench, he complained to our sergeant, “Why do we have to do this stupid digging?” Then there was a loud explosion a hundred feet away. “What was that?” asked the private. “That,” replied the sergeant, “is called incentive.”
— MICHAEL MERRELL
Our daily routine aboard the USS Trenton off the Somali coast, transporting Marines and their cargo to and from shore, was disrupted by a visit from an admiral. I was in charge of the ensign, a huge, 30-by-50-foot American flag. After the admiral gave his speech and left, the ensign was to be lowered. I had folded our national flag many times, but never one of this immense size. Fortunately, a group of Marines nearby was quick to help. One of them, Ramirez, immediately took charge, showing great pride with every meticulous fold. “Where did you master the art of folding a flag this size?” I asked. “Are you on a special flag detail?” “Actually,” said Ramirez, “I learned this while working at McDonald’s.”
— SAM RICKABAUGH
Western Iraq is a dangerous place, so the arrival of my flak jacket was a welcome sight. What was less welcome was the sight of these words someone had written on the ceramic plates that made up the inside of the jacket: “Fragile! Handle with Care.”
— NIC EVANSO
A few years ago I worked as a radio operator with the Second Infantry Division in Korea. Traffic over the radio came fast and furious, and it became apparent early on that handling it all was a special skill. During one particularly hectic day I took a break and walked past another unit, where an operator calmly manned three radios while flawlessly taking down messages. Later I ran into the soldier and remarked how impressed I was with his cool efficiency. “What’s your secret?” I asked. “I had training as a civilian,” he responded. “I worked the McDonald’s drive-through.”
— GREGORY LIPE
Morale Building
Serving in Afghanistan is, as might be expected, very stressful. So another soldier and I built a horseshoe pit to help ease the tension. When our sergeant came by to play, everything was in place except for one thing. “Aren’t you going to put in the stakes?” he asked. “Nope,” I answered. “Fine, I’ll do it myself.” “Okay,” I said. “But remember, this is one of the most heavily land-mined countries in the world.” “You’re right!” he said, gingerly stepping out of the pit. “I’ll get the new lieutenant.”
— JASON GARDNER
Our division had to repaint our Humvees to a sand color for Desert Storm. The result was a pinkish hue, and the jokes began. One wag renamed us the Pink Panzer Division. But the best was the Humvee bumper sticker “Ask me about Mary Kay.”
— DAVID K. DRURY
“Okay, we’ll meet back here at 1600 hours. Synchronize your BlackBerries.”
My cousin was attached to a Marine air squadron that was deployed with an Air Force fighter unit flying missions over Bosnia. When the Marines arrived at the air base in Italy, they were ordered to move into a camp in a field near the runway. The Air Force unit soon followed, but their pilots checked into a hotel. Shortly afterward an Air Force colonel drove to the Marine camp. “Hey, Marines,” he called out, “start breaking camp.” “Are we moving into the hotel with you?” the Marines asked. “No,” the Air Force colonel joked. “We need you to move your tents off of what’s going to be our golf course.”
— W. C. GRAHAM
At the end of a tough day in Iraq, my daughter the airman collapsed onto the first seat in the transport truck, forcing everyone else to climb over her. “Private!” hollered the sergeant. “Skinny girls get in the back so when we men get on with our weapons and equipment, we don’t have to climb over you. Have I made myself clear?” Suddenly my daughter perked up, responding, “Do you really think I’m skinny?”
— MARGARET CULBERTSON
The boyfriend of a co-worker is serving in Iraq. Naturally, she can’t wait for him to come home. “How’s it going over there?” I asked her. “He e-mailed me last night,” she said. “It’s quiet where he is.” Knowing that doesn’t make it any less scary, I asked, “What outfit is he serving in?” “Desert camouflage.”
— GEORGE COVELES
To mail a big package of cookies to my two Air Force sons, both of whom were serving in Saudi Arabia, I was required to attach a label describing the contents. I carefully marked the box “Cookies” and sent it off, but after a month my sons said they had yet to receive my package. Suspicious, I baked another batch, only this time I labeled the contents “Health Food.” Within a week my sons reported they had received the goodies.
— WANDA HAMEISTER
While serving in Korea, I took a course in rappelling. As the only noninfantryman in the group, I felt pressure to perform as well as the “ground pounders.” In our first class we were told to hook up to a rope and jump off a 50-foot tower. As each student nervously went over the edge, we were encouraged to shout morale-building slogans. Ahead of me I heard cries of “Geronimo,” “Airborne” and “Air Assault.” Being a postal clerk, I got a round of laughs when I jumped from the tower and shouted, “Airmail!”
— PHILIP PETERS
Before shipping out to Europe with the Army Air Corps during World War II, my father loaned his buddy $20. The two were assigned to different units and lost contact. Months later, my father’s plane was shot down. Bleeding from shrapnel wounds, he bailed out and was greeted by German soldiers, who took him as a prisoner. After a long train ride, little food and days of forced marching, he arrived at his assigned stalag. As he entered the compound, he heard a familiar voice. “You cheapskate! You followed me all the way here for a measly $20?”
— BRUCE EY
Since I’m at a base in Korea, my family has to stay behind in the States. Every package I get from them comes with a customs form listing the contents and their value. Once, I got a box from home. The contents listed on the form read: “Homemade chocolate chip cookies.” In the space marked “Value,” my wife wrote: “Priceless.”
— JON SUTTERFIELD
Using sand from quarries in Kuwait, Navy Seabees stationed in Al Jaber Air Base were building concrete aircraft parking ramps before the start of Operation Iraqi Freedom. When the quarries were closed temporarily, our stockpiles were exhausted in three days. The fourth day the following report was issued: “Kuwait has run out of sand.”
— JOHN LAMB
Pride of the Corps
I was participating in a U.N. peacekeeping mission outside Skopje, Macedonia. We were required to stay on post at all times, so I hadn’t been off base for six weeks when a general came to boost morale. Speculation ran high over who would be invited to the general’s dinner at a top restaurant in Skopje. The afternoon of the big event, my commander called me over and said, “Captain Adams, you know the dinner we’re having for the general?” “Yes, sir!” I replied, expectantly. “Well, the general forgot to bring civilian clothes,” he said. “You’re about his size. Can he borrow a pair of pants?”
— THOMAS R. ADAMS, JR.
As he prepared to leave for the Gulf, my husband was complaining to a friend about his uniform. Military men are taught to care about their appearance, and the Air National Guard would be wearing desert camouflage but not the matching sand-colored utility belt. “I get it,” said his friend. “You always want to look your best, even when you don’t want to be seen.”
— LISA RAINO
When the Second Division set up shop in South Korea, it did so with its slogan proudly displayed at the front gate: “Second to None.” A few months later, a South Korean base opened two miles down the road. The sign greeting visitors read “You are now entering the famed sector of the South Korean ROK Division, better known as ‘The None Division.’ ”
— LUCION CLEMONS
We were asleep in our cots at Bagram Air Base in Afghanistan when exploding enemy rockets woke us up. My platoon and I threw on our fatigues, grabbed our weapons and ran to the bunker for protection. Inside the bunker, one nervous soldier lit up. “Put that cigarette out!” I ordered. “Yeah, forget the rockets,” said another soldier as more rounds rocked the bunker. “That secondhand smoke’ll kill ya.”
— SSG JAMES KELLERT
At an air force symposium, a colonel gave a briefing on military activity in the Persian Gulf. “The first slide shows the area in which we were operating,” the colonel began. Then he realized the slide was in backward. There was a pause as the projectionist flipped the map around. “As you can see,” the colonel continued dryly, “our first and constant concern was the region’s instability.”
— ANDY SMITH
In Korea, a number of fellow Marines who were raised in the country told those of us from the city how delicious roasted pheasant was. They even persuaded our cook to make the dish, should we be lucky enough to find a few birds. Driving in the countryside soon afterward, I spotted one of them in a tree about 200 yards away. I immediately shot the bird, jumped over a fence and ran across the field to retrieve it. When I got back to my jeep, there were two military policemen waiting for me. I explained what I had done and why, but the sergeant still scowled. “You made two mistakes, son,” he said. “First, that’s a hawk, not a pheasant. Second, you just ran through a minefield.”
— LAWRENCE L. VOYER