WASHINGTON, April 22 (UPI) -- Not everything that occurs during war makes it into the initial stories correspondents file, especially personal observations and ruminations. Here are some of mine from having embedded with Bravo Company, 1st Battalion, 5th Marines for the push from Kuwait to Baghdad.
ROLLIN' ON THE PORK CHOP EXPRESS
Ever notice how men tend to pamper their cars, especially those of the antique variety? They wash, they polish, they vacuum, they wax, they rub and rub and rub some more their four-wheeled pride and joy.
Marines with their amphibious assault vehicles are no different. Oh, sure, they have to take care of them, but somewhere along the line an unexplainable bond develops, much like that between sailors and their ships.
"Damn infantry," snarled Cpl. James Lyons, a normally affable AV driver from Springfield, Va. "They have no respect for anything. Look at the mess they made, look at the mud they dragged in."
Lyons and other crew called the Pork Chop Express (1st Platoon, Charlie Company, 3rd AV Battalion) were in a dither. Ground-pounders whose own vehicle had clapped out on the long march toward Baghdad, and were then added to the Pork Chop Express's manifest, had either not wiped the thick mud off their boots from a surprise bout of heavy rain before entering, or had scrapped them on the sill of the entry port. The sticky, slimy mass had to be scrapped away before the steel door could close.
And after they finally left ... well, there were empty food wrappers and boxes everywhere, and AV crew gear had been elbowed aside to make room for their own packs.
Disrespect, that's what it was, and totally unacceptable!
Now truth be told, the Pork Chop Express and her sisters are not much to look at. They are downright ugly, in fact, kind of a cross between a cockroach and a beetle on tracks. They are big and heavy -- 26 tons -- and slow despite their 400-horsepower engines.
According Lt. Anthony Sousa, commander of the Pork Chop Express, these vehicles were designed to take troops from ship to shore and a bit inland. Top speed on water is about 3 mph. On land, it normally cruises at 15 mph but can do 35 or better if needed. Gas mileage runs between 1.5 to 3 miles per gallon, depending on the model.
Armored plates are attached to its sides to deflect enemy fire, and they work. More than one AV sustained multiple hits from rocket-propelled grenades while entering Baghdad, but none penetrated the inner shells of the vehicles the 1st Battalion was riding in.
The Pork Chop Express is about 30 years old. It rattles, it clanks, and don't even ask about what it's like to ride in, comfort-wise. But it was home. It made it. It only clapped out once. True, it was a few minutes and a few miles before we rolled into a hellacious ambush, but hey, it did it beforehand -- not during -- and she eventually acceded to the crew's ministrations, incantations and exhortations.
In the days -- I can't remember the exact number anymore -- following the Marines' invasion of Iraq from Kuwait, she and her sister vehicles made one of the longest sustained marches by AVs in their history, which dates back to World War II.
Breakdowns occurred regularly with the AVs attached to the grunt units. Their crews, working around the clock in dust storms and without needed parts, stripped down and cannibalized others as needed. The result: The ride to victory, while crowded, continued.
WHAT'S IN A NAME?
Bad news and good news for the folks at the Pentagon who came up with the name of this war -- Operation Iraqi Freedom. I know it sounded good from the public relations standpoint, but it got an initial thumbs-down from troops in the field. When told of the name, Marines of Bravo Company, 1st Battalion, 5th Marines either just shook their heads in disbelief, groaned audibly or greeted it with a string of expletives.
Desert Storm II suited them fine, according to an unscientific straw poll, if political correctness was to rule the name game. Other high-scorers were Operation Sandstorm and Operation Stand Still, in honor of the many delays in the momentum of march to give supply trains time to catch up with front-line units.
The good news is that that attitude quickly changed, and it was the people of Iraq themselves that did it for the Marines. All it took was the liberation of a few poverty-stricken villages and outbursts of joy from a repressed people to change the Marines' mind.
IT'S THE LITTLE THINGS
Rolling across the Iraqi heartland for days on end in the same clothes you put on a week before hostilities began, you begin to appreciate the little things in life we so often take for granted.
Take fresh socks for instance.
Given that take-only-what-you-can-carry rule for the infantry, most Marines had only one or two changes of socks in their packs. And there was never enough time to wash them. So you'd turn the socks inside out after a few days to try to capture a fresher feeling. Later, you just gave up and adjusted to the sticky feeling, not to mention smell.
Later yet it was just airing your feet that became the treat, even if for just a few minutes. One thing about being in a war zone -- you don't take off your boots at night in case you must move quickly. It makes for a Mel Brooks-like comedy sketch when they finally do come off, especially in a group situation.
Well, guys would think it funny, but then the male species has a unique sense of humor.
For embedded reporters, these circumstances proved an unexpected benefit when they returned to Kuwait on the way home: They didn't have to wait in line at a hotel check-in counter. Other guests obligingly moved aside, hotel staff hurried them through the paperwork and made sure they made it to their rooms -- and baths -- with a minimum of delay.
And that bath ... There is nothing quite so exquisite as a hot shower and hot soak after a month without one.
I won't even mention another of life's pleasures. But let me say, not taking along an entrenchment tool (shovel) when answering nature's call was a real novelty back at the hotel. I did, however, miss the inevitable morning serenade from artillery batteries while attending to business once back in Kuwait City.
SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING BE DAMNED
They don't put cigarettes in the individual meal packets of Marines anymore, but the noxious weed still carries high currency among the troops in the field, more so the farther you travel from home base.
Prior to the start of the land war, Marines lining up for hours at Camp Grizzly in Kuwait for the once-every-two weeks visit by the PX were only allowed to buy four packs because of low inventory. Lucky Marines were those who received smokes in packages from home.
The result: THEMS WITH became experts in the law of supply and demand when dealing with THEMS WITHOUT -- $4 a pack, $5 a pack, $6 or more was the going rate in Kuwait. Deep in Iraq and far from base, selling for profit gave way to bartering; later, bartering also fell to the wayside. Marines simply shared what they had. Eight or 10 men sharing one cigarette was commonplace.
While bartering was the rule, one pack of M&M candies from an MRE pack -- a rare find -- was worth two smokes. Later, a bite of lemon pound cake was worth a puff. How many packs for a candy bar or jar of coffee? Want a pack of MRE peaches?
This brings me to a gripe, a major gripe. OK, smoking is bad for your health. But hey, give the Marines in a battle zone a break.
And think of image. In every war movie you've ever seen, GIs win the hearts of local peoples by tossing them packs of cigarettes. In Operation Iraqi Freedom, impoverished Iraqis won the hearts of the GIs by offering their liberators smokes.
Sure, the blue-packed Sumer cigarettes -- "a fine blend of choice Iraqi and Virginia tobaccos" -- were a godsend, but we could have sworn they also contained at least a pinch of sawdust.
CLOSE SCRAPES
Death or injury is horrifically random in war. And survival is sometimes almost inexplicable. Some chalk it up to Lady Luck; others to fate and God's will.
Here are three such incidents in which, in this reporter's opinion, angels were looking out for our boys. I'm leaving the names out, however. The men involved may not want their families to know how close they came to meeting their Maker.
-- It was the battle for a key bridge over the Saddam Hussein Canal, a span that would give Marines quick access from southern Iraq to central Iraq. The ambush of Bravo Company, 1st Battalion, began almost as soon as we crossed the short expanse. A company of Iraqi troops opened up with automatic rifles and mortars from positions off the side of the road. Lucky for Bravo, the second Iraqi company on the other side of the road didn't open up when the Marines exited their vehicles to do battle -- they ran, leaving the Marines only one direction on which to concentrate. Mortars rained down on our positions, but luckily no one was hurt, not even a flanking platoon which was showered by debris thrown up by a round that landed just 10 meters (30 feet) from where they were moving forward at a crouch.
-- A thunderous, metallic bang sounded, a bright and eerie orange light filled the compartment; dirt, stones and metal rained in and the Pork Chop Express, all 26 tons of her, pitched onto one track before righting herself. An RPG, aimed for the vehicle on the way into Baghdad had instead hit a burning 7-ton truck we were passing next to. The truck's explosion added to the explosion of the rocket, but we escaped. The men who had been standing half-out of the top of the AV firing at the enemy in the dark were shaken but unscathed. The mortar rounds, 50-caliber ammunition and 40mm grenades in the Pork Chop Express had not been set off. The battle was rejoined.
-- The corporal from Alpha Company was excited. He stopped everyone nearby to tell his tale. And what a tale it was. The Marine was driving his Humvee when ambushed in Baghdad and five bullets tore through the Hummer's paper-thin passenger door. Two exited without causing damage. One hit his passenger in the wrist. It was bullets four and five that kept his adrenalin pumping, however. Bullet four, he said, hit his shaving kit that had been placed in a raised position between the seats and lodged in a washcloth. Yup, a quick look confirmed the tale. Bullet five was still sticking out the side of his flak vest. The vehicle door, a flashlight and a metal drinking cup had slowed it down and kept it from penetrating the Kevlar protector he wore.
DEATH AND TENDERNESS
The crescendo of battle around the al Azimiyah Palace in Baghdad was deafening. It was like a Fourth of July fireworks display, with constant booms and bangs that were punctuated with the rapid-fire pops of automatic rifles. Yet when an AV pulled in and the body of Gunnery Sgt. Jeff Bohr of Alpha Company was brought out, the sounds of war suddenly seemed distant, muted; there was a vacuum of silence around us, or maybe we just imagined it.
The gunny had died fighting around a nearby mosque. In one hand, observers said, he had held his field phone, advising headquarters of his men's situation and asking for help in fighting off extremist gunmen. With the other, he was simultaneously firing his M-16 when felled.
Marines are supposed to be tough, and indeed they are. But that afternoon -- or was it morning -- an unbelievable tenderness was also shown. The gunny's body was lifted in a stretcher from the AV slowly and with great care as Marines, who just minutes before were shouting commands, lapsed into silence. The gunny's body armor, load-bearing vest and other accoutrements had to be removed before he was taken to an evacuation site. And it was done with a surprising gentleness. The respect shown in the handling of the gunny's body by these battle-hardened men brought something to mind -- parents lovingly placing a slumbering newborn into its crib and gently rearranging its blanket and clothing.
A Marine had died. One of their own.
