The Long Ride Over
As life continues on the ship there are many final preparations to be made. The date of our departure is drawing uneasily closer. Regardless of what waits for us on shore we are ready to get off of the ship. Tempers flare at simple jokes. Fights break out daily. It has tried the patience of everyone, and the living conditions alone have made this the hardest thing that I have ever done. It seems that these are the trying times that plant the seeds of what kind of men we are to become. Some will leave with a hidden anger, and others with an appreciation for the life that we lead back home.
The days are filled with gear inspections to make sure that we have everything that we will need to sustain us for an extended time on the shore. Every Platoon did theirs at the same time. To pull all the gear out of a closet the size of a bathroom, containing one hundred packs and sea bags, then lay it on your rack, trying to avoid getting in each others way is a task all its own. Once again tempers flare.
Our gas masks were inspected, and we replaced any parts that were broken. I made sure to have many people look over mine. It seems that anytime we pull them out I get an eerie feeling to my stomach. That is another of my fears. Marines fall out of movements from heat exhaustion when it is snowing. They fall out at night. They fall out in the rain. If caught in the desert having to wear chemical suits, we will be unable to treat heat casualties. We can’t take their suits off to start an IV, and it takes more energy to drink water.
Fear is to warn us of danger, not to make us afraid of it. I know the danger and I am afraid of it. We have also been rehearsing the procedures to getting off the ship. Those take all night long, and leave us weary in the morning. Through the entire process tempers flared.
On top of all of that we have been giving Small Pox shots. The medical personnel were the first to receive it We have done everything we can to scare the guys into washing their hands and not itching the spot. There are still many preparations to be made. I have many classes that I have not taught the guys. There has been so little time to even study myself. I run through scenarios in my head in a vague attempt to prepare.
Through all the preparations I can tell that it is the loved ones of the Marines that they are worried about the most. They are trying to prepare themselves, and their families for the inevitable silence that will fall on us all. It will be weeks in between letters. Their will be no e-mail. We will not receive any packages. I can only imagine what it is like for these men who are married. Even worse for their families. It is a horrid topic, but it consumes so many in this time.
Homer once wrote that, “No man is as foolish enough to desire war. For in peace sons bury their fathers, but in war fathers bury their sons,” When the possibility of this conflict first arrived to us I was caught blind sided without a clue of what to think, or how to handle the flood of emotions. How should one react to such a topic of uncertainty?
It was late October and we were still in California. I rode through the impact zones listening to aircraft drop fire on a range. I felt for the first time that it was for a reason, and that it was real. I heard the Helicopters fly over head, and if I closed my eyes I felt I was already there. I sat on top of a mountain watching a live fire exercise in the middle of the night. Through night vision goggles I could see the Marines rushing to the objective with the bullets from our own machine guns flying over their heads, and it scared me.
Now with increasing news of things to come all we can do is to keep on moving. If we stop for one minute we lose focus on things greater than us. Mentally preparing our selves to the conditions and standards of a desert. Wearing kevlar helmets in 90 degree heat with bullet proof vests. Along with a heavy uniform. Two to four months with out a cooked meal. Of course the worst is the silence and separation from those we care the most about. We can not prepare ourselves mentally. No one can understand, and I still have only a vague grasp on the reality of the future.
However, if it helps any of you to understand how 250,000 of this country’s young men and women are feeling right now, then I have accomplished something. I want all the American people to know, especially those who decide the fate of two nations, to understand what goes on here. Perhaps if they understood then they would change their policies on this war. This will be my last of my journal until a time that I can not even begin to guess. I appreciate the support and prayers from all of you, and do not worry for I can feel them here.