Cemetery Street, John Zunski [read any book TXT] 📗
- Author: John Zunski
Book online «Cemetery Street, John Zunski [read any book TXT] 📗». Author John Zunski
I’ve been climbing whatever wall I can find. I guess living, eating, pissing and shitting in the sand does it to you. I want a goddamn slice of pizza!
The waiting is a killer. The Germans perfected Blitzkrieg; we’re perfecting Sitzkrieg. Sitting, training and waiting. Everyone, including the Iraqis, know that they have to January 15th to bug out of Kuwait. It’s obvious we’re not going to do anything before that. Saddam would have to be a fool to try anything now. If he wanted to attack, he would have a lot earlier when we weren’t as strong. That doesn’t mean we don’t think he could pull a terrorist attack or something. If a terrorist attack gets through, it ain’t Saddem’s fault, it’s ours for letting our guard down. God knows how Peay drills that into everyone’s skull.
Don’t get me wrong, this place drives me batshit, but I can’t think of a place I’d rather be. It’s my chance to pay my dues, like the old man did in ‘Nam. I know it sounds fucked up, but if I was anywhere else, I’d be itching to get here. But once this is over, when my hitch is up, I’m out! I’ll know I did my part. I’m going to get a place, get that mustang and live the good life. Even if I have to dig graves the rest of my life, there ain’t nothing wrong with it.
Merry Christmas, Happy New Year and all that shit.
Count
Shannie, January 7th, 1991
The days wind down and we’re still training. We’re ending our latest stay Fort Camel, tomorrow morning we’re heading north. Being at Camel is like being in the locker room before a fight. It is tense here, everybody knows what’s up with the deadline. Everyone in my squad agrees that the deadline makes it all confusing. In one way, we basically have a heads up for when the shits going to hit, but in another way, Saddam could pull out, and if he does that, the fight’s over before the opening bell. Part of me hopes it is cancelled. Another part of me wants to step into the ring, wants all this firepower to be unleashed! Fucked up ain’t it? Even though the idea scares the shit out of me, I find myself rooting for carnage. It’s like this ultimate test. We’ve been here going on five months - training and sweating, sweating and training; I’m telling you, if this fight’s called off, the past five months, if not the previous three odd years would seem like a big waste of time.
Anyway, like I said we’re moving out tomorrow; headed for Bastonge. It’s kinda cool to know that we’ll be up north if and when the fighting starts. At least we won’t be SCUD fodder.
I want you to keep an eye on Flossy for me, I know she’s going to work herself into a tissy. You tell her nothing’s going to happen to me; I’m a pro. Nothing happens to well prepared pros! If anyone else starts to squawk, I want you to tell everyone I’m where I wanna be, doing what I wanna do!
If the bullets do get to flying, I doubt I’ll have time to write you. If I have a second or two, I’m going to keep a log. Listen up, this is important! I’ve cut a deal with a buddy. If something happens to me, he’s going to deliver my log to you.
Now you keep this between you and me; I want you to know, that you’ve always been the little sister I always wanted and never had. You’re special like that, who else would I torture myself writing these letters for? Oh yeah, and Ortolan, no matter what goes down, I want you to tell Marcy that I love her.
Count
PS. Keeping my fingers crossed!
PPS. Dying for a beer in Saudi!
Chapter 12 Count’s Log
Jan. 13th, ’91 0745
In the air, the rotor wash and vibrating hull help still my shakes. Had ‘em since finding out we’re headed further north. Brigades been ordered to a place called Hafer al Batin. From what I hear, it’s a town ‘bouts 40 miles from the junction of the Saudi/Kuwait/Iraq triborder, other than that, don’t know squat about the place. Rumor # 7569 has it that we’re being chopped to 7th Corps. Something’s up, I have a bad feeling.
We landed at Al Quysamah airfield outside Hafer al Batin. Word came down the Iraqis are planning a spoiling attack. Bad news! Source is reliable. The axis of advance is straight down the Wadi al Batin, into Hafer al Batin across Tapline road into King Kahlid Military City. Sitting here, I can look out and down into the wadi. It ain’t nothing but a big ole shallow canyon. I reckon it’s a good five miles from side to side. Orders are to retain the Al Quysamah airfield. This ain’t good. This mean’s no retreat; hold at all costs! Peay named the wrong place Bastonge.
2030 We’re already into routine: Dig for four hours, pull guard for four hours, rest for four hours, do it all over again. Word is Six Iraqi Armour divisions, including two Republican Guard divisions will be attacking down the wadi, if this is true we’re outnumbered something like 20 to 1 in men and like 1000 to 0 in tanks.
What’s really disturbing is that this place is loaded with REMF types, we’re the only American combat outfit, supposedly there’s an Egyptian Division and a Saudi Brigade at the border. We’re counting on the Saudi’s fighting hard, there are serious doubts about the Egyptians. Brigade keeps morale up by flying apaches over the wadi.
Jan 14th, 1991 0745
It started raining, torrential fucking downpour. If that ain’t bad enough, words come down that residents are flocking out of Hafer al Batin. A sure-fire sign that the Iraqis are coming. Word’s out - the fan belts are bailing. I’m so scared my asshole’s numb. I try to hide it from my squad, I think they’re picking up on it. I’m jumpy, I lost my sense of humor.
1130 7th Corps engineers passed through and are up front digging an anti-tank ditch across the width of the Wadi. We’ve been so busy digging in primary and secondary firing positions for our TOWS that we haven’t even dug our own foxholes. What fun digging in this slop. If there is a God, I pray that this is a fucked up joke. I pray that the Iraqi’s aren’t coming. I pray this is just someone’s sick idea for training.
16:30 More bad news. The medics are passing out pills that counter and pre-treat the effects of nerve gas, everyone’s under order to take ‘em. The higher ups have to be thinking the Iraqis are coming and bringing their big toys. I do my best to keep my guys calm. Just keep your Mopp4 ‘s handy. Goddamn NBC suits, I hate the idea of having to wear ‘em. You can’t move in ‘em! You can’t fight in ‘em. Especially being outnumbered 20 to 1.
Big morale boost. 1st Cav is moving behind us; I don’t feel good being their screening force. I like to have their muscle up here. A tank or two would be comforting. I’ll feel better when we can dig ourselves in. The alternative firing positions are almost dug for the TOWS.
20:45 The TOWS are in! We got our own foxholes dug. It started to pour again. Now the fight is to keep water out. There ain’t no buckets out here and spades are about useless: ponchos work best. It’s cold and raw. I’m shivering. This place is chalk full of extremes. I’m glad to have a hole, at least we’ll have a place to hump when the Iraqis start throwing hot steel.
Jan 15th 1991 0345
The heavy work is done, just stay alert. Easier said than done! I’d rather be digging, it occupies the mind. My guys are on edge, I’m trying my best to keep ‘em calm. Rumor says it’s a matter of hours before the Iraqis visit. Just gotta keep my boys settled. This writing keeps me sane. It gives my squad the appearance I have it together. I’ve got to be a better role model. God, I feel like I’m losing it, I hope no one notices.
Their questions grate me. When do you think they’re coming? Do we have a chance sarge? Will we be tortured? How many I don’t knows can I give? Will they lose faith? It’s starting to happen already, the vacant looks, the disgusted spits, the distracted kicks of gravel. Just keep sucking it up and pitch the party line.
I make rounds. I go foxhole hopping. I jump into my guy’s foxholes, tell ‘em over and over to make sure they’re dug in deep enough; I remind them to keep their weapons dry and clean, and to make sure their Mopp4’s are handy. I remind them to keep an eye on their buddy, make sure their head’s on tight, we don’t need someone’s brains falling out. I pat them on the back and moved to the next foxhole.
0445 During my last round I made a bargain with God, pretty good for someone who ain’t a churchgoer. I asked him again to stop the Iraqis from coming. If they come, they leave their chems and bios behind. If they’re coming that they fight fair, so we can duke it out with bullets and bombs.
The Iraqi’s have to feel the same! If they even know we’re coming? Does the grunt on the other side even have a clue? Can he imagine what’s going to hit him? For his sake, I hope not. If they come first, I hope they don’t have their shit together like we do. It’ll be a long war for the country and a short one for our sorry asses. If they come, I’m afraid that our road home goes through Dover. I guess it could be worse, going through Dover beats the fuck out of being buried in this slop hole. Go figure; I’m picky about where I want to be planted.
0845 Wish I could say I saw the sun rise, the sky went from black to gray. The Arabian desert is the last place I ever thought I’d feel like a drowned rat. Goddamn rain! No sign of the Iraqis; holding tight, trying to stay dry.
1315 Squad’s morale is sinking. Rumors persist, each one worse than the previous; I think they’re all full of shit. Brigade still thinks an Iraqi attack is immanent. REMF types are scarce. Another sign of 7th Corps concern. All we can do is wait for ‘em and try to stay dry. Feeling like a fish in the desert.
2010 We’re calling ourselves the desert fish. Still no Iraqis; I ain’t complaining. I’m nervous about Mitchell – he stopped bitching. The squad’s biggest whiner, not saying a word. It’s fucked - gotta keep an eye on him. I’m glad I have someone to keep an eye on; keeps my mind off myself – feel a little more in control.
Jan 16th, 1991 0345
Everything is quiet, too quiet. Every noise sounds like the distant rumble of Iraqi tanks. To make it worse there’s cloud cover, which kinda muffles everything. There’s no starlight, it’s all too murky, all too eerie. Too much time to think.
I increased the pace of my rounds, helps keep me focused. Mitchell still has a stiff upper lip, he ain’t complaining about a thing, barely even talks. I tell the guys to try to relax, that if they’re going to come, the Iraqi’s will wait till sunrise, that’s their habit. Get a wink or two, I tell ‘em. I hope if they
The waiting is a killer. The Germans perfected Blitzkrieg; we’re perfecting Sitzkrieg. Sitting, training and waiting. Everyone, including the Iraqis, know that they have to January 15th to bug out of Kuwait. It’s obvious we’re not going to do anything before that. Saddam would have to be a fool to try anything now. If he wanted to attack, he would have a lot earlier when we weren’t as strong. That doesn’t mean we don’t think he could pull a terrorist attack or something. If a terrorist attack gets through, it ain’t Saddem’s fault, it’s ours for letting our guard down. God knows how Peay drills that into everyone’s skull.
Don’t get me wrong, this place drives me batshit, but I can’t think of a place I’d rather be. It’s my chance to pay my dues, like the old man did in ‘Nam. I know it sounds fucked up, but if I was anywhere else, I’d be itching to get here. But once this is over, when my hitch is up, I’m out! I’ll know I did my part. I’m going to get a place, get that mustang and live the good life. Even if I have to dig graves the rest of my life, there ain’t nothing wrong with it.
Merry Christmas, Happy New Year and all that shit.
Count
Shannie, January 7th, 1991
The days wind down and we’re still training. We’re ending our latest stay Fort Camel, tomorrow morning we’re heading north. Being at Camel is like being in the locker room before a fight. It is tense here, everybody knows what’s up with the deadline. Everyone in my squad agrees that the deadline makes it all confusing. In one way, we basically have a heads up for when the shits going to hit, but in another way, Saddam could pull out, and if he does that, the fight’s over before the opening bell. Part of me hopes it is cancelled. Another part of me wants to step into the ring, wants all this firepower to be unleashed! Fucked up ain’t it? Even though the idea scares the shit out of me, I find myself rooting for carnage. It’s like this ultimate test. We’ve been here going on five months - training and sweating, sweating and training; I’m telling you, if this fight’s called off, the past five months, if not the previous three odd years would seem like a big waste of time.
Anyway, like I said we’re moving out tomorrow; headed for Bastonge. It’s kinda cool to know that we’ll be up north if and when the fighting starts. At least we won’t be SCUD fodder.
I want you to keep an eye on Flossy for me, I know she’s going to work herself into a tissy. You tell her nothing’s going to happen to me; I’m a pro. Nothing happens to well prepared pros! If anyone else starts to squawk, I want you to tell everyone I’m where I wanna be, doing what I wanna do!
If the bullets do get to flying, I doubt I’ll have time to write you. If I have a second or two, I’m going to keep a log. Listen up, this is important! I’ve cut a deal with a buddy. If something happens to me, he’s going to deliver my log to you.
Now you keep this between you and me; I want you to know, that you’ve always been the little sister I always wanted and never had. You’re special like that, who else would I torture myself writing these letters for? Oh yeah, and Ortolan, no matter what goes down, I want you to tell Marcy that I love her.
Count
PS. Keeping my fingers crossed!
PPS. Dying for a beer in Saudi!
Chapter 12 Count’s Log
Jan. 13th, ’91 0745
In the air, the rotor wash and vibrating hull help still my shakes. Had ‘em since finding out we’re headed further north. Brigades been ordered to a place called Hafer al Batin. From what I hear, it’s a town ‘bouts 40 miles from the junction of the Saudi/Kuwait/Iraq triborder, other than that, don’t know squat about the place. Rumor # 7569 has it that we’re being chopped to 7th Corps. Something’s up, I have a bad feeling.
We landed at Al Quysamah airfield outside Hafer al Batin. Word came down the Iraqis are planning a spoiling attack. Bad news! Source is reliable. The axis of advance is straight down the Wadi al Batin, into Hafer al Batin across Tapline road into King Kahlid Military City. Sitting here, I can look out and down into the wadi. It ain’t nothing but a big ole shallow canyon. I reckon it’s a good five miles from side to side. Orders are to retain the Al Quysamah airfield. This ain’t good. This mean’s no retreat; hold at all costs! Peay named the wrong place Bastonge.
2030 We’re already into routine: Dig for four hours, pull guard for four hours, rest for four hours, do it all over again. Word is Six Iraqi Armour divisions, including two Republican Guard divisions will be attacking down the wadi, if this is true we’re outnumbered something like 20 to 1 in men and like 1000 to 0 in tanks.
What’s really disturbing is that this place is loaded with REMF types, we’re the only American combat outfit, supposedly there’s an Egyptian Division and a Saudi Brigade at the border. We’re counting on the Saudi’s fighting hard, there are serious doubts about the Egyptians. Brigade keeps morale up by flying apaches over the wadi.
Jan 14th, 1991 0745
It started raining, torrential fucking downpour. If that ain’t bad enough, words come down that residents are flocking out of Hafer al Batin. A sure-fire sign that the Iraqis are coming. Word’s out - the fan belts are bailing. I’m so scared my asshole’s numb. I try to hide it from my squad, I think they’re picking up on it. I’m jumpy, I lost my sense of humor.
1130 7th Corps engineers passed through and are up front digging an anti-tank ditch across the width of the Wadi. We’ve been so busy digging in primary and secondary firing positions for our TOWS that we haven’t even dug our own foxholes. What fun digging in this slop. If there is a God, I pray that this is a fucked up joke. I pray that the Iraqi’s aren’t coming. I pray this is just someone’s sick idea for training.
16:30 More bad news. The medics are passing out pills that counter and pre-treat the effects of nerve gas, everyone’s under order to take ‘em. The higher ups have to be thinking the Iraqis are coming and bringing their big toys. I do my best to keep my guys calm. Just keep your Mopp4 ‘s handy. Goddamn NBC suits, I hate the idea of having to wear ‘em. You can’t move in ‘em! You can’t fight in ‘em. Especially being outnumbered 20 to 1.
Big morale boost. 1st Cav is moving behind us; I don’t feel good being their screening force. I like to have their muscle up here. A tank or two would be comforting. I’ll feel better when we can dig ourselves in. The alternative firing positions are almost dug for the TOWS.
20:45 The TOWS are in! We got our own foxholes dug. It started to pour again. Now the fight is to keep water out. There ain’t no buckets out here and spades are about useless: ponchos work best. It’s cold and raw. I’m shivering. This place is chalk full of extremes. I’m glad to have a hole, at least we’ll have a place to hump when the Iraqis start throwing hot steel.
Jan 15th 1991 0345
The heavy work is done, just stay alert. Easier said than done! I’d rather be digging, it occupies the mind. My guys are on edge, I’m trying my best to keep ‘em calm. Rumor says it’s a matter of hours before the Iraqis visit. Just gotta keep my boys settled. This writing keeps me sane. It gives my squad the appearance I have it together. I’ve got to be a better role model. God, I feel like I’m losing it, I hope no one notices.
Their questions grate me. When do you think they’re coming? Do we have a chance sarge? Will we be tortured? How many I don’t knows can I give? Will they lose faith? It’s starting to happen already, the vacant looks, the disgusted spits, the distracted kicks of gravel. Just keep sucking it up and pitch the party line.
I make rounds. I go foxhole hopping. I jump into my guy’s foxholes, tell ‘em over and over to make sure they’re dug in deep enough; I remind them to keep their weapons dry and clean, and to make sure their Mopp4’s are handy. I remind them to keep an eye on their buddy, make sure their head’s on tight, we don’t need someone’s brains falling out. I pat them on the back and moved to the next foxhole.
0445 During my last round I made a bargain with God, pretty good for someone who ain’t a churchgoer. I asked him again to stop the Iraqis from coming. If they come, they leave their chems and bios behind. If they’re coming that they fight fair, so we can duke it out with bullets and bombs.
The Iraqi’s have to feel the same! If they even know we’re coming? Does the grunt on the other side even have a clue? Can he imagine what’s going to hit him? For his sake, I hope not. If they come first, I hope they don’t have their shit together like we do. It’ll be a long war for the country and a short one for our sorry asses. If they come, I’m afraid that our road home goes through Dover. I guess it could be worse, going through Dover beats the fuck out of being buried in this slop hole. Go figure; I’m picky about where I want to be planted.
0845 Wish I could say I saw the sun rise, the sky went from black to gray. The Arabian desert is the last place I ever thought I’d feel like a drowned rat. Goddamn rain! No sign of the Iraqis; holding tight, trying to stay dry.
1315 Squad’s morale is sinking. Rumors persist, each one worse than the previous; I think they’re all full of shit. Brigade still thinks an Iraqi attack is immanent. REMF types are scarce. Another sign of 7th Corps concern. All we can do is wait for ‘em and try to stay dry. Feeling like a fish in the desert.
2010 We’re calling ourselves the desert fish. Still no Iraqis; I ain’t complaining. I’m nervous about Mitchell – he stopped bitching. The squad’s biggest whiner, not saying a word. It’s fucked - gotta keep an eye on him. I’m glad I have someone to keep an eye on; keeps my mind off myself – feel a little more in control.
Jan 16th, 1991 0345
Everything is quiet, too quiet. Every noise sounds like the distant rumble of Iraqi tanks. To make it worse there’s cloud cover, which kinda muffles everything. There’s no starlight, it’s all too murky, all too eerie. Too much time to think.
I increased the pace of my rounds, helps keep me focused. Mitchell still has a stiff upper lip, he ain’t complaining about a thing, barely even talks. I tell the guys to try to relax, that if they’re going to come, the Iraqi’s will wait till sunrise, that’s their habit. Get a wink or two, I tell ‘em. I hope if they
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