Desert Storm IRL

 

I listened to the news that the 109^th Medical Battalion would be shipping out to join “Operation: Desert Storm”.

            I froze. I belonged to the 294^th Dental Detachment, under the 109^th. Did that mean I would be shipping out to join the fray??

            I glanced at the toddler at my feet and my thoughts raced, “Was our unit going with them? How long would I be gone? Would I even come back? What would I do with my son?”

            A huge knot formed in my stomach as the realization traveled through my entire body.

My husband, also a member of the 294^th, was currently stationed at Fort Benjamin Harrison, Indiana, for a two-month training. If I shipped overseas while he remained at Fort Ben, I would need temporary and maybe long-term caregiving arrangements for my nine-month-old son. Would he stay with my in-laws or with my sister out of state?

            As soon as I arrived at work, I researched our First Sargeant’s contact number and frantically called. Leaving a voicemail message, I waited for a response and tried to focus on work. (This was before cell phones!)

            In what seemed like FOREVER, the First Sergeant called me back and simply said, “You would know before the media if we were getting deployed.”

            His abrupt words were sufficient to allow the release of fear and tension--Even in its brevity, which was the most terrifying moment of my entire time in the military.

Thus, this was the absolute closest I came to shipping out to a “conflict” in my three years in the U.S. Army, and almost five years in the National Guard.

           When I joined the military years ago, the thought of leaving my toddler for others to raise while I served overseas in a war—never occurred to me. But that day it became incredibly REAL beyond belief.

            I enlisted while I was still in high school because no one was talking to me about my future like the Army recruiter! And what other choices were out there? I was not aware of anything.

            By enlisting, I could escape my home and be paid for it while simultaneously saving money for college. It sounded like a good plan to me!

            I shipped out for basic training at Fort Jackson, South Carolina on March 1, 1983. At five feet and barely 100 pounds, I trained alongside all the other female soldiers.

We did physical training (ran two miles, pushups and sit-ups), learned to fire an M-16, and how to take it apart and clean it. I carried an M16 on long road marches to the firing range, dragged my weapon and ruck sack up Drag-ass Hill, and practiced shooting from a foxhole or lying on the ground whether it was warm, cold, or raining.

When it was raining, our shivering bodies laid in the mud as we attempted to aim with numb fingers.

I wore the uniform every day and learned how to spit shine my boots.

I experienced tear gas in the “gas chamber”; learning to trust the protective mask and breathe in the smoke only to exit the small building with eyes streaming with tears and vomiting upon exit.

I threw a live grenade. I learned the phonetic alphabet, the Army ranks, basic CPR, how to halt a person during guard duty, how to march and how to push our helmets into the dirt as we did the low crawl. And I listened with dread to the expectations and pitfalls of the Geneva Convention and watched a video on Prisoners of War.

We learned to make our bunk beds, mop the floor and use a floor buffer. We learned how to prepare for inspection, and how to serve KP, or “Kitchen Patrol”.

We put up tents, and learned to use our helmet as a bath, and our canteens to brush our teeth after we ate our “C-Rations.”

Some learned how to tell the difference between friendly and foe aircraft and tanks…not a skill I really mastered—right up there with my map reading skills.

At that point in military history, women were not sent to the front line. We did not learn hand-to-hand combat, or camouflage techniques.

During my Advanced Training for an “Administrative Specialist”, we practiced our typing speed and learned the proper formats for letters, official orders, and memorandums.

            However, this all did nothing in my mind to make fighting in a war REAL to me.

             As mentioned, I served three years in the U.S. Army– mostly stationed at Fort Riley, Kansas, working in an office as an E-1 private and earning up to an E-4 specialist.

            I earned my service medal, a Good Conduct medal, and an Army Commendation medal.

            But I never served overseas, and in fact, when my three years were up, my re-enlistment choices were to ship to Germany or stay in Kansas for another three years.

            That’s when I made the decision not to re-enlist.

            In fact, I knew our unit, the 1^st Infantry Division, was mobilizing for REFORGER (Return of Forces to Germany) in March. With my Expiration of Term of Service (ETS) of March 1, 1986, I decided to use all my remaining leave so I could leave Kansas the beginning of February.

            This allowed me to successfully avoid my time being involuntarily extended and being shipped overseas to Germany.

            After I was discharged from active duty, I joined the Iowa Army National Guard, 294^th Dental Detachment. I worked in an office with a variety of dentists, dental assistants, dental hygienists and students, as well as other support staff.

            Our “drill weekends” were filled with training and paperwork and fun. I really enjoyed serving alongside the other soldiers. During our drill weekends in the field, or when we traveled for annual training, the 294th remained professional, but fun. I had no doubt in my mind that if I were to be shipped out with them, I would be secure that they would have my back.

            However, during my time with them, I gave birth to my son. For the first time, I dealt with the
all too REAL fear of serving in a war and leaving my son behind.

             After the 109^th Medical Battalion shipped out, the main headquarters held a Christmas party for the families of the 109^th, and the other guard units.

It was complete with food, a Christmas tree with all the trimmings, Santa, Herky the Hawk (Iowa Hawkeyes mascot) and a magician.

            The 294^th had drill that weekend, and I was encouraged to bring my now nine-month-old son to
the party. I did, but not without a certain sense of guilt for all the families from the 109^th who were celebrating without their loved ones.

I was watching the magician while bottle feeding my son.  A military spouse sat next to me doing the same. A local newspaper’s photographer caught the moment—me in my uniform feeding my son-- and I was on the front page of the local news.

            But still, I was not the one serving in a foreign land.

             When the 109^th returned, I was freelance reporting for a local paper and asked if I could interview some of the returning troops I knew from the 109^th. My editor liked the idea, so I contacted some of the soldiers I knew who had been shipped out.

            I listened to their hardships--the extreme heat, the lack of everyday items we take for granted—air conditioning, condiments, mosquito netting, and missing their families with little to no contact. And the sometimes-mundane tasks combined with more life-threatening tasks…and the constant weariness of the potential threats around you.

            I listened to the hardships they endured by exposure to heat, chemicals, constant sand; and stories of spouses and children struggling back home.

            One soldier shared how they greatly needed mosquito netting and had contacted his wife to purchase some and ship it. He shared the netting with those soldiers serving with him.

            It seemed like such a small thing, but I could tell how grateful he was to his wife for it. And it was encouraging to see how little acts were so greatly appreciated.

            I felt humbled at their service, honored to serve alongside them, and guilty that I had stayed back.

             During Desert Storm, they put a freeze on anyone’s enlistment term ending. My term was up during that time, and I was involuntarily extended. But I tell you what, as soon as the freeze was lifted, I applied for discharge. I had to go through a variety of “steps” to officially be discharged, but in the end, sometime in 1991, I finally was honorably discharged from the military.

             Years later when soldiers were shipped to Iraq, I coordinated collecting supplies at my kids’ school and arranged for boxes of items to be shipped overseas.

            Anytime I saw a soldier, even though I was a veteran myself, I tried to always thank them for their service. I knew that uniform was more than an easy wardrobe choice. It was a commitment to serve and defend our country, and some soldiers did not come back from it.

            I had the honor to serve as a “Guardian” for an “Honor Flight” to Washington D.C. Even though I was a veteran, I was grateful to have the opportunity to help those WWII, Korean War, and Vietnam veterans experience the honor flight. It was an emotional trip, and I was honored for the opportunity to share it with those veterans.

            I was grateful to those willing to serve, and those who did with honor and bravery. Enduring battles with heroic actions and earning things like Purple Hearts, Medals of Honor, or the Silver Stars…anytime I hear the stories of heroes like Jimmy Stewart and Fred Rogers, I am overwhelmed at the bravery of those men.

             The other day I googled “Desert Storm”, and all the top searches involved a video game of the same name.

And in all my eight years of service, Desert Storm was the scariest time in my life, and the closest I came to serving in a war.

It is not a video game.

            In a video game, you are not suffering the elements—the heat, the exhaustion, the bugs, the limited selection of food, snacks, netting, lip balm…

            You are not sleep-deprived and under constant threat of enemy attack, surrounded by the same soldiers day and night.

            You do not experience the uncertainty of the unknown, like how long you will be there, or if you will ever make it home?

            And you are not separated from those you love.

            These things cannot be accurately conveyed through a video game.

             I have a lot of respect for those who wear or have worn the uniform. Who sacrificed every day they wore the uniform—many of whom I served alongside. Many of whom have retired from the military, have passed away, or served their term of service and were finished. There is honor and bravery in each one.

            Having been as close as I would like to be to fighting in a war overseas, I have enormous gratitude and appreciation for those who serve, or who have served.

            It is about more than wearing patriotic T-shirts, earning 10% off, or a Veterans’ Day parade. It is about a flag draped over a coffin.

            I strongly encourage you to thank a soldier or veteran if you see one. It does not need to be anything fancy or elaborate, just a firm handshake and a “thank you for your service.”

Donate if you see someone collecting things for soldiers overseas or donate financially if you are able. There are many good organizations helping veterans and those who are serving, and a little act of appreciation goes a long way.

I encourage you to demonstrate your appreciation for their service, IRL (In Real Life).