“Ray, Beitey – we’ve got a special mission for you two.”
The special mission involved accompanying a National Guard unit to Kuwait, from where they would return to the US. We were chosen for this “special mission” largely because the mission coincided with Dick Cheney’s visit to al-Taqqadum, our base. It was no secret that our political views ran contrary to Dick’s, so that combined with the need for medics to accompany the convoy solved two problems at once – the convoy was accompanied, and no seats were wasted for Dick Cheney’s pep talk. For Beitey and myself, having heard our fill of pep talks from angry old men, a week-long convoy sounded like a lot more fun.
A Night so Dark
The cab of our FLA in its usual state. Note the copious amount of Red Bull.
We left in the dark, as usual, for tactical reasons. On this occasion, we were ordered to drive off of the main highway and onto an older, less well-maintained road. This likely carried less risk of IED or other ambush.
There were no stars in the sky on this night and as we drove with lights off to minimize our visibility, the darkness quickly grew oppressive.
Driving without lights also minimized our ability to see the truck directly in front of us, so before long, the whole convoy was driving with the aid of our NVGs, or night vision goggles. On this night, the darkness was so complete that even those proved ineffective.
After several narrowly avoided rear endings, the convoy commander ordered us to stop, while he and the other officers and NCOs reassessed the situation. We were told to stand by our vehicles and keep watch, an order we found difficult to follow on this night. We played with our inability to see our hands in front of our faces while the leadership deliberated.
Dustan checking inventory.
The decision was finally made to continue, creeping through the desert at a snail’s pace. Scant minutes later, all but one vehicle rounded a bend in the road. The one truck that didn’t bounced across a dozen or so meters of rough desert terrain before realizing its error.
The order was quickly changed to rejoin the main highway. The risk of injury through vehicular accident now seemed far more likely than that of ambush. Already tired and with a long road ahead of us, our convoy rumbled on towards Kuwait.
Sleeping in the patient compartment.
One benefit to driving the ambulance was the patient compartment, which readily doubled as a sleeping compartment. While most other soldiers had to make do with sleeping on the hard metal of their truck’s top surface, or awkwardly positioned, half-sitting, across seats, we had the relative luxury of our litters — canvas cots normally used to transport and support patients.
We also had one extra litter. This item became an object of fierce competition throughout the ride south. It took us two or three nights to reach Kuwait and each night, the other soldiers quarreled over who slept on the spare litter. Dustan and I remained agnostic in this process, merely making the litter available and demanding that it not be destroyed. Then we shut ourselves into our bulletproof sleeping quarters and racked out. We reached Kuwait without further incident.
Back in Kuwait
Our stay in Kuwait was brief. We walked out of a movie in the recreation tent because its opening scene was of a convoy of American soldiers being fatally ambushed. A Jimmy Buffet cover band played on a small stage one night. I made a pathetic and unsuccessful attempt to hit on one member of a group of Canadian schoolteachers who were visiting the base for reasons long forgotten. Our time passed in a sand-colored blur and then we were back on the road towards Iraq.
The Road Home
Lake Habbaniyah and surrounding area, with our base of al-Taqqadum on the northeast shore.
We probably should have refueled at the last stop before exiting Highway 1, but we knew that we had enough fuel left to easily make it home to al-Taqqadum, so we saved a few minutes without much concern.
Not long after, however, the convoy commander announced that we would drive around Lake Habbaniyah from south to west and back along the northern shore, thereby making an almost complete circumnavigation of the lake.
Our panic was soon rising with the falling of our fuel gauge. Our fuel level dipped below an eighth of a tank, then a sixteenth, then we were redlining. All the while, we debated whether we could make it, or whether we needed to call for an emergency stop to let us refuel with our 5 gallon emergency jerry can.
This option would, of course, out us as the jackasses who had miscalculated. Maybe they’ll call for a quick stop, we mused desperately. These happened, but unpredictably and we felt ourselves at the sharp end of Murphy’s Law. Just in case we did get lucky, however, we pulled our reserve fuel can to the front, where it was in easy reach and cut apart a plastic 2 liter water bottle and converted it into a makeshift funnel for pouring fuel from the jerry can into our tank.
Finally, mercifully, the commander’s voice came across the radio, signaling a stop. Soldiers dismounted, taking up watchful positions alongside their vehicles. Knowing that we likely had only a minute or two before continuing, Dustan and I sprang into action. I threw open the passenger side door and ran to remove the fuel cap and jam our jury-rigged funnel into the fuel port. Dustan ran, stumbling around from the other side of the ambulance, jerry can in hand. We frantically poured fuel through the funnel into our truck. It was a messy affair and we were walking fire hazards by the end of it, but we got most of the fuel into the tank. Soldiers witnessing the debacle doubled over in laughter.
We pulled into al-Habbaniyah, wrapped up the last of our convoy business, refueled and returned to the barracks. We started a game of Risk and talked about darkness, spare litters and never taking your route for granted. We teased each other about our weaknesses, hot family members and drunken moments. Night fell clear and starry and I slipped into dreams of Canadian schoolteachers and of beds more comfortable than ambulance cots.