Big Mexican Dinner

[Note: I wrote this a couple of years ago, and most of you have probably read it before. In fact, an unedited version is still posted back in the February 2008 archive of this blog. It is the first part of the story of Sergeant Akbar’s treacherous attack on his fellow soldiers at Camp Pennsylvania, Kuwait. On March 23^rd, 2003, he threw four grenades into tents where American soldiers were sleeping. When they began running out, he began shooting. He killed two people that night and wounded several others. This is how I remember the incident…this is how I remember the war starting.]

Bang! Bang! Pop! Pop! I didn’t even hear the sounds (at least not consciously). Spending nearly seven months in Afghanistan had desensitized me to those sounds. Most explosions I heard in Afghanistan were controlled detonations set off by explosive ordinance disposal (EOD) specialists. Sometimes, the explosions were landmines. However, as long as I heard it the explosion from far away, I knew I had not just stepped on a mine so I did not think much of it. This explosion was different. It was quieter…and much closer. Chappy heard it because she was awake using the restroom. Kelly heard it because she was on guard duty at her truck waiting for the word to roll into Iraq. I didn’t even wake up.

WEEEEEOOOOOOOOOW! The siren started blaring. I heard it. Instinctively, and almost still asleep, I took the protective mask from underneath my head (I had been using it as a pillow) and fumbled in the dark to put it on. The mask had either been attached to my hip or right next to my head every since I arrived in Kuwait. It was never out of reach. I used to joke back in training that if I were ever in a chemical attack I’d rather die than wear the mask.

I HATED IT.

The truth was that I was terrified of a chemical attack and would never have dreamed of not donning the mask. I put it on, and put my head back down on the mask carrier to go back to sleep.

I was on the floor. Mike and Chad were, too. Our cots were loaded in the back of our truck, which was waiting in line for us. Another three hours and we were supposed to be getting up to finish our final load for the drive into Iraq. Not everyone was trying to go back to sleep. People were bustling about. This wasn’t uncommon…it happened every time the alarms sounded.

The radio crackled. It was just an ICOM (one of the hand held unsecured walkie-talkie types), just a way for Cruz to keep in touch with the company from the Brigade Tactical Operations Center (TOC). He said, “Enemy inside the wire”, but I didn’t hear it. I almost never heard anything. It was a joke among us…I was deaf…and my job depended on my listening skills more than anything else. Carr yelled something but I didn’t hear it. I was too busy wondering why in the hell she had just pulled off her mask. Then someone yelled,

“Take the masks off! Lights out! Everyone get down!”

This time I heard it, “Enemy in the wire”. I started laughing. No shit, I was laughing. I knew this was bullshit. Total bullshit! What the FUCK was going on? Two men ran by me in the dark. One of them was Stewie, but I didn’t recognize the other soldier. They got down by the entrance to our tent with their guns pointing outward. If someone had walked into the tent they would have stepped right on top of Stewie’s fucking neck. It was really quite stupid. He couldn’t even see outside the entrance from where he was laying.

I heard it. The metallic grating of dirty M-4 carbines being charged. Ready to fire.

I muttered, “Oh damn, someone’s gonna get killed.” I whispered to Mike and Chad, “I’m not fucking moving! These psychos are going to kill someone.”

We waited.

We waited again.

Finally, a description came over the radio. “Two Arab males wearing US military uniforms, one has long hair.” What the fuck, Over? I know this is bullshit!

It is bullshit, right?

We waited again.

They caught them. The radio crackled. It was Cruz telling the company commander and the First Sergeant that the brigade wanted an Arabic linguist at the Brigade TOC right away. The first sergeant yelled, “I need a linguist!” I was still lying in the dark and on the floor. I yelled, “Not it!” No shit, I said, “Not it.” Carr started laughing and said, “Yeah, me too, not it!”

The First Sergeant and Commander grabbed an interrogator named Staff Sergeant Carville. He was trained for this stuff. I was a voice interceptor…a radio geek. I don’t interrogate. I was relieved. First Sergeant said, “No, I want an LLVI guy to go with them.” (LLVI stands for Low-level Voice Intercept…SHIT, that’s ME!). Sergeant First Class Burdin (my platoon sergeant) said, “Cisco, get up.”

FUCK! He heard me say, “Not it.”

Then the First Sergeant said, “In fact, the whole team! Send the whole team for security.” Burdin said, “Team one get up!” Chad and Mike stood up beside me. All hell had just broken loose and we were going to find out what had happened.

Captain Otto was a small guy. Not just short, but small all around. About 5’4” maybe 5’5”. Nice guy, but not very intimidating. He was the Company Commander for Alpha Company and I hardly knew him since we were Delta Company guys attached to Alpha after we got to Kuwait. He had a John Wayne stagger. It was laughable. He also talked in a way that made him sound as if he was trying too hard to sound tough. He said, “We’re going to move out across the camp in a wedge. I’ll take point.” I looked at Mike and Chad who were looking at me. Point is the guy in front…the guy who gets shot first. We were fine with it. He could have point.

The wedge is just that. A wedge shaped formation of troops. Like a flock of geese. Captain Otto was up front. Sergeant Carville and his Chief were on the left side with Mike behind them. Chad and I were on the right. I was the tail guy, the rear security, and furthest from the front on the right-hand side of the formation. We started moving. It was dark and the hum of generators and helicopters grew louder and louder the closer we got to the Brigade area. It was about 800 meters between our living tent and the TOC. It was a LONG walk in such a tense situation.

“HALT!” I heard it and I stopped. No one else did. “HALT!” I heard it again, and this time I saw him. It was a guard behind a concrete slab. He had his Squad Automatic Weapon (S.A.W.) 249 pointed right at us. I looked at Captain Otto. He didn’t hear or see him. “Sir!” I yelled. “He’s telling you to stop.” As if he had just woken up, Captain Otto turned and looked at me, and then turned and saw what I saw.

“HALT!” This time HE heard it. He stopped.

“Identify yourself!” the guard was on edge.

“Sir, he’s telling you to identify yourself”, I yelled over the generators.

“Captain Otto, A/311^th MI”, he yelled.

This is how the war started for us. Me, Mike, and Chad standing in a wedge formation with a Captain, a Chief Warrant Officer, and a hapless interrogator. It was like the set up for a bad Army joke. Standing in the open Kuwaiti desert with a group (there was more than one) of Americans pointing guns at us. It was a long night, but I was not alone.