Hello All,

Well, today is the 29th of April, and I'm at a place that has decent internet access. How long will I be here? Fine question, no answer as of yet. Where am I? This I can tell you. I'm at Camp Patriot in Kuwait (with the war basically over, I'm thinking that I can share a little more info with you all now) and it's a port on the Kuwaiti coast. There are all kinds of things going on here, but the important one is people going home. Am I going home soon? HA…. I doubt it, but anything is possible. But let me tell you a little about how we got here (I love adventures!)

We received orders to move out last week, and being good soldiers, developed a plan. Reconnaissance told us that there is limited living space, good food and a lot of work to get done. Cool, we split the company into two sections and sent one part to the port to secure housing and begin work while the other remained in the middle of the desert to clean up and close out our existing account with the Marines up the hill. I was with the latter team, and enjoyed a couple days of policing up (see Army term for cleaning things and putting toys away) the area and trying to pack all our stuff (always an adventure in itself) into the remaining trucks. Not a big problem, just an ass-load (that's quite a bit, even for the Army!) of work to get done. We picked up all our toys, had a little bonfire (What's the point of being on the beach without one? The Marines up the hill were none too pleased about it, but what were they going to do, bend my dog tags and send me to Kuwait?) and rolled into our new home, and this is where the stupid-ness begins.

Now, if you've been following my little rants and raves, you know that there have been quite a few stupid things happening to me since I was activated, and this place might be the straw that broke the camel's (lots of those around here, even have a racing team. Yep, and I'm not bullshiting you on this, a camel racing team) back. What's so different or intolerable about this place? Our landlord here is Navy.

I have NOTHING against the Navy, or I should say that I HAD nothing against the Navy, but I do now. The big problem here is what they call 'berthing' and I call a tent. You see, Camp Patriot is a place for Transient Soldiers, Sailors and Marines to pass thru on their way home (Good news you might think, but I'll tell you what I'm doing here in a moment, my rant isn't even begun yet!). Since everyone else here is just passing thru, they have some rules about the how, what and who of their tents. There is NO eating in the tents. There is NO fraternization (see close physical contact between the sexes) allowed anywhere on camp. NO member of the opposite sex is allowed in a tent of the opposite sex (see no girls in the boys tent). There is NO parking for trucks (see Army) on post, anywhere. NO ONE will be in the tents unless they are quietly reading, listening to headphones or sleeping (this sucks loads). Anyone caught violating these rules will stand before the Man and pull whatever shit-duty the Navy can think of (and I'll bet there’s loads of it).

Ok, let's stop and consider who I (and the other soldiers I work with) am, and what we are. We are grown ups that are capable (and we've proven this!) of looking out for our people and ourselves. We have integrated females into our unit, and they are important to our mission (really can't do this job without EVERYONE in the unit) and we like to keep them informed. This place is small enough to walk everywhere you need to go, except our parking lot, because it's in the middle of bum-fuck Kuwait, and we need to post guards there so transient people don't pilfer our stuff (thieves are everywhere). We would normally download the REALLY important stuff, but since we're living with 4-6 inches between cots and NO extra space here at all, we really can't do that, so guard duty runs around the clock. Fraternization isn't that big of a deal (I don’t have a girlfriend here, so what do I care?), but it's always nice to be able to bring females into a tent so they can get clued into what’s going on with everyone else in the platoon.

The way I see it, is that the Navy has been so beaten up by the media, congress and special interest groups (And you pukes know who you are!) about sexual harassment and equal opportunity, that they simply said, "FUCK IT!" and went to the extreme. Nobody gets to have any fun, and nobody can be trusted. Period. Now, before you start thinking that I’m a chauvinist pig that likes to harass females in a sexual manner, let me be the first to say that Female Soldiers are important and deserve respect and the same opportunities as males. But this is too much bullshit for me right now.

Oh, and why did they bring us here I'm sure you're wondering? Are we going home? Nope, you see before a truck, tank or trailer can roll back onto U.S. soil, it needs to be cleaned to USDA standards (I think I mentioned this in an earlier message) and we're here to clean the cars. Yep, we workin' at the car wash baby (insert groovy 70's song here)! Highly trained Chemical Soldiers that have years of experience and technical knowledge are washing cars…. If you're not getting the sarcasm here, think about the inflection that would be in my voice if I were talking. I'm not saying this is a waste of time, because we're helping the guys that actually fought the war go home (and that makes me feel REALLY good, they've earned the right to go home) but I do feel like I'm not being used to my potential. That and the fact that the war was basically over the day our equipment unloaded from the boat (I saw Fox News that day and troops were cruising thru downtown Baghdad like a 4th of July parade).

How long will we be here? Rumors are flying. Personally, I think that any active duty unit could be doing this job for a LOT less money than a Reserve one, but I'm not in charge here.

You might think that I'm just bitching because I'm tired and I want to go home. You'd be partially right. I am tired and since the war is over, I want to go home. There's nothing for us to do here, and even though one of our missions is washing cars, that's a different level. That's a job that's saving lives and war related-nerve gas and other especially nasty chemicals that kill in seconds. This is just dirt. I guess it's a let down, but at least we’ve got a job now. At least the Marines are leaving soon. Maybe we can go home after them.

I love you all.

Will

PS – I finally looked at the website (no access to it in Doha), and want to thank everyone that’s posting comments. I appreciate your good will (HA-Punny!) and thoughts and prayers. If you have a negative comment, that's cool too because I believe in freedom of speech, and I know that people who know better will make you feel like the ignorant little retard that you are. Nice work Mom.

ED: Dated April 20th and finally found an email connection.

Hello All,

Greetings from the front of rear. Things have been moving along at the usual rate here (see Snail) and let me tell you all about it. We are waiting on one last Connex (see Large Metal Box full of stuff) of equipment that is allegedly somewhere in Kuwait. I say that it is alleged to be here because no one has been able to find it. This Connex is all that remains of our equipment from The States, and after we find it, we should be ready for our mission, whatever that might be.

I'd like to take a minute and talk about Mr. Murphy. I mentioned Mr. Murphy in my last message home, and I'd like to elaborate a bit more on his tactics. I believe that everyone in the world knows Mr. Murphy in some fashion or the other, but to truly 'appreciate' his work, one must be in the service of one’s country. The law that dominates this 'appreciation' most is this: "The equipment that you are using was purchased from the lowest bidder," (at least for this tirade). This is true for most general purpose items you can find in the Army, such as tires, boots, uniforms and tents. Lets talk about tents.

Originally, the entire platoon (including females) lived in one large tent (provided by someone other that us, don’t know who), and slept on a wooden floor (we don’'t complain, at least we have a floor). The Marines up the hill had a cow that there were females sleeping in the same tent as males (this isn't that big of a deal considering that we are all adults and can act like grown-ups when we have to. Besides, my philosophy is that if you haven’t seen one by now, get a GOOD look and get on with your life.) After arguing that it was easier to run a platoon with everyone in the same tent (see sharing information and keeping track of weapons, ammo, masks, etc.) the Marines made all the females move into their own tent. Ok, a pain in the ass, but at least we expected it, Marines are SO behind on the equal rights movement. And as our equipment came in, we decided that the squad leaders (see Old Men, women aren't allowed ANY cohabitation here, DAMN!) and above would move out of the big tent and into our own tent, away from the kids.

Now, let's first talk about rain. It is a commonly know fact that rain is scarce in the desert, and that Kuwait is composed almost entirely of desert (except for the parts with roads, and then the desert tries to take them back by drifting over). Tomorrow (as of the date I'm typing this message) will mark my 4th week here in Sunny, Sandy and really friggin' hot Kuwait, and it has rained here 3 times. The first time was our 2nd day in country and quite a shock to everyone really. It wasn't just a quick March shower that wets the pavement and is gone 30 minutes later. Oh, no. Uh-uh. This was a nice, steady rain that left me thinking that Omaha (see Home) hadn't had that much rain all last year (see drought). The next set of showers came the first night we set up the tent that I currently call home (a serious lie, but these are the things I have to tell myself to get out of my cot in the mornings). This is Mr. Murphy's cue to enter; stage right (thought I forgot about that one didn't you?)

Mr. Murphy decided to show up with bad seams in my tent. I didn't say a bad seam, I said bad SEAMS. All of them, and I was the lucky winner sleeping under the middle the middle of the tent, with two (not just one) seams that leaked like sieves. Now, I have stated that the nights here really aren't that cold, considering that I came here from Wisconsin in February. I didn't mention that water does help cool things down quite a bit. I have no one to blame for this but myself, for I knew that this tent was in bad condition when I put it up, and I knew that rain was a real, however unlikely, possibility. These two things were floating thru my head as I sat wearing only a poncho (EVERYTHING else was soaked) and my birthday suit. Another real item flashed into my head, as I sat there shivering myself warm…. General Winter has found a way to strike in the desert. The Bastard.

Love,
Will

PS – the third rain was last night, but this time I was ready, and already had my poncho out and covering my gear. HA! Fuck General Winter! I wonder what Murphy will pull next.

ED: This is a snail mail letter dated March 29th

Well, we're in the middle of the Kuwait desert, and I finally feel safe. It might seem hard to believe, considering that we have no concrete walls, MP's or access to any creature comforts, but gone are the risks of SCUDs of Silkworm rockets (in case you missed it, this morning at about 0145 there was a HUGE explosion that shook the building we were sleeping in. Nobody was hurt physically, but more than a couple younger soldiers couldn't get back to sleep. I slept like a baby - a baby with an M-16 cradled in his arms). The name of the camp is Coyote, but that's actually a couple miles away. We've got a good perimeter (that's the outer edge of the camp where our defense begins) with a good field of fire (see killing area outside the perimeter) and good fighting positions (see foxholes). Morale is pretty good for the first day, but like every other place we've been sent, I have no idea how long we'll be here.

There's a rumor going around that Syria and Iran are helping out Saddam. I guess their logic is, "the enemy of my enemy is my friend." I can understand it, but after I heard that the Iraqis were murdering POW's and executing the families of their soldiers that surrendered, I cannot find any good in the Iraqi regime.

I apologize for my penmanship. The sun is going down and we don't have electricity yet. Maybe tomorrow.

Love,

Will

ED: This letter from Will was written on April 4 and delivered to us on April 25. We know that Will has posted since then, but he said it "would be cool if we would send this email", and since it has a different perspective we decided to share it with you all. - Will's Mom

I'm typing this letter on the CO's laptop, so you'll finally be able to read what I'm writing. I'm the Sergeant of the Guard (just like CQ but now we're in the field) from 0500 to 0900. It's the best time to be on duty, because I'm only losing an hour of sleep for the duty.

Not much is new here, but that's likely to change at any given moment. It's our third day here in the middle of the desert, and it's more than a little boring. Without equipment there isn't much for us to do. First Platoon has been attached to the Marines directly, and have moved in with them up the hill. Oh, we're in the Camp Coyote area, but we're on the outer circle of the perimeter (think concentric circles, like a shooting target with a bull's eye), and the center is the Marine Headquarters, also on the top of a hill. We are farther down the hill, and away from our thick-necked hosts (can you say out-of-sight-out-of-mind?). It's not a bad place, really, but we are trying to keep the kids occupied with busy work and you know what that holds over time.

There was a little excitement earlier - seems there was gunfire at another position along the perimeter, away from our AO. We (the NCO's) upped the pucker factor and went into a "smart is slow, slow is quick" mentality for the kids. Most of my soldiers are under the age of 22, with 3 of them not even 20 years old yet, so we try to keep things as calm and toned down as possible. I guess I was that excitable and scared when I was their age also. Turns out that the gunfire was a self-inflicted wound, but the extent of the injury is unknown at this time. I hope that some schmuck just dropped his weapon and shot himself in the foot, but I fear that it was a bit more serious than that. I don't know how anyone could contemplate suicide in a place like this. There are plenty of things to worry about, but to punch your own ticket here makes no rational sense to me whatsoever.

The chow is improving, if you consider the size of the portions increasing improvement. It's basically the same meal every other day, except for breakfast which is the same every day. I can't blame the Marines for the food, it's being cooked by a civilian contractor, most likely local. Cheap bastard - wish he had to eat the same meals we do and then maybe things might get a little better.

Rumor has it that our equipment will be arriving in a couple days, but rumor also said that the Marines would be sending us cots 2 days ago. Well, some cots showed up last night, 34 of them. A damn sight short of the 100+ that we need. Typical. Like I said I'm not holding my breath on the boat arriving in a couple days.

We didn't get much news when we were at McCoy and even less here. I heard that there's a TV up the hill at Marine Central, but I have yet to see it. Internet connections are tough to find, and all I hope for is that the battle up front is going well and our troops are taking and holding ground quickly. I really would like to be home for Christmas, but Thanksgiving or even the Fourth of July would be OK with me. I'm beginning to like this place, and it's not even close to being home.

The other day it hit me just how far from home I am. A new soldier walked up to me as I was eating evening chow and asked what time it was back home. I told him that it was 9 hours earlier, and 6 am at home. He made the comment that the sun was coming up there, as it was going down here, and it set the hook into me - I'm on the other side of the world. At least we don't have to convert the days backward like when I was in Korea (too much math!).

Looks like chow is about ready, and I need to get this printed off so I can drop it in the mail. I wonder if you've even received the first letters I've sent you from Doha? Probably not. They say that mail is a priority here, but I think they're being a bit self deluded in that matter.

If you want to type this up and send it out in an email, that would be cool. I don't know how often those Marines are going to let me onto their computers. I'm too tired to be funny right now. It's been a long couple days and the temperature is really starting to climb up there (nope, don't know how hot, but it's a dry heat! Yippee.).

Love,

Will

Moving - can't say where, can't say when, but looks like the beginning of the end.

More to come...

Captain Rooba here...

I spoke to Will on the phone, and he's doing well but getting sick of the sand and sun. No clue as to when he'll have computer access again.

He asked me to tell everyone that his birthday is on Sunday, April 27th. He asked that you all give a big hoot and holler and slam a cold one for him.

Happy Birthday Will!

Hello All,

I know it's been some time since I last wrote you all, and I hope you haven't been too worried, but my access to email has been severely limited. The kind Marines up the hill have not allowed me access to my email again, so I'm securing alternate locations for communications home (see Army, fuckin' Marines).

I have been writing up my little messages and saving them to a floppy disk, waiting for a day like this one where I could sent my messages home, however yesterday's sandstorm seems to have wasted the disk (I’m beginning to hate this fucking place). I could bypass all the fun we’ve been having here, and just bring you up to speed on current (see last 2 days) events, but I just have to tell you about the day our equipment arrived.

It was 10 days ago, and I was waiting with bated breath (yeah, right) as word came down, that our ship had arrived in port. I am a skeptical person normally, but this place has made me especially so. You see, dear friends, we had been receiving the word that our ship had come in for about 6 days prior, and everyday they told us it was coming in the next. It seemed a bit foolish to get all worked up for something that probably wasn’t going to happen anyway, right? But the equipment WAS coming; and so on the Sunday afternoon when they asked for volunteers to go to the port, I reluctantly raised my hand. Thankfully, my platoon sergeant ordered me not to go, and allowed some lower ranking individuals to go in my place. He knew what was coming, and I thank God that he saved me from the port. This is all second hand, but I've received enough of the same details from different people, that I believe that this is what really happened.

The volunteers were picked on Sunday night, and loaded onto a bus on Monday
morning. 18 total, they took an extra uniform and lots of extra socks with their shaving kits, just in case something went wrong (can you say foreshadowing). They looked happy as they loaded the bus, the boredom of digging foxholes and filling sandbags being lifted by the idea of our equipment arriving and getting a chance to do our jobs.

As they left, I looked at my platoon sergeant and said, “How bad will it be?”

“It'll be fucking awful.”

The plan was a good one. Send an advance team in first to coordinate with the Navy (see Boat with trucks on it) and the Army (see Place to park trucks and eat), and then move the rest of the company in to drive the vehicles back to the camp. Like I said, a good plan. But like ALL plans, it didn’t survive first contact with the enemy. Mr. Murphy (see Murphy’s Laws, e.g. 'Incoming fire has the right of way!') was the enemy and his first shot was the definition of arrival. When we were told that the boat had arrived, we made the assumption that it was at the dock, and ready to unload. You might think that as well, unless you’re in the Navy. The Navy (see Retards) defines 'Arrived' as in the harbor, waiting to dock. Right. So our brave volunteers arrive midmorning, Monday, to find no boat and no job to do. They have, please excuse the cliché, hurried up to wait. And wait they did. All of Monday, and all of Tuesday they waited. They waited until about midnight on Tuesday, when the boat arrived and unloading began. What did they do in the mean time? Not too much. Waited. Bored and restless, and quickly ran out of cigarettes, poor devils. What were we doing? We were wondering if they’d really want to unload the boat.

On Monday, sometime around noon, VOA (Voice of America, the only English speaking radio program on in the country) announced that most of Basra had fallen, and that US forces were sending raids into Baghdad, without much resistance. To those of us at camp, it seemed pointless to off load the boat when the war was practically over. Common sense, however, is not involved in this operation.

On Wednesday we received word from our advance team in the port that they were ready for us to move in and pick up the trucks. As good soldiers, we saddled up and rode into port on busses to get our trucks. Well, things looked bleak from the start, when one of the busses got a flat on the way in. No spare, so we had to wait for another bus to come in and replace the one with a flat. An hour later, (now we’re late and I hate being late) we’ re moving again and finally make it to the port. Another issue (see Problem) is that we have no idea where to go in this place that smells like an open sewer. We missed our link-up by an hour, and they went looking for us. 30 minutes later, they found us, and moved us the marshalling area (see Parking lot in Army terms). An empty marshalling area.

You see, the advance team (Army) relayed to our command element on the hill (Marines) who relayed the message to us (Army) that they only needed another 18 people to help offload the trucks. Miscommunication happens, no big deal, now we’ve got LOTS of help, but they only want 18 due to the cramped nature of the ship, oh, and didn’t they tell you, we have to offload the ENTIRE boat because our stuff is on the bottom level. Why not just let the schmucks with stuff on the top download theirs and wait for ours, you might ask? Well, half of the companies that have stuff above ours aren’t even here yet, and the transportation company (see Truck Drivers) that are responsible for this kind of thing aren’t too motivated (see Lazy, Fucking Regular Army Dicks). The only way we’re going to get his done in less than a week is if we do it ourselves. So we do. For 14 straight hours in a loud, hot boat (after relieving the advance team that had been working for nearly 20 hours, those guys deserve medals!) and downloading at least 500 trucks, Hummers and trailers, packed in tighter than sardines (I have got to hand it to the Navy, they know how to pack, wish my ex-girlfriends could pack that well) our equipment was ready to move back to camp. The problem was that while the trucks were ready, we were shot.

Everyone was exhausted. The advance team was crashed out in a field, and I doubt that a SCUD alert could have wakened them. Our Commander made the decision that it was safer to sleep in the marshalling area than to try and move the company back. So we bivouacked (see Army Camping) right there, caught 2 hours of sleep (until the sun, Mr. Sun, came up), and moved back to camp the next day (I have a rule, no matter how late it is at night, it’s not the next day until I get at least 10 minutes of sleep). All’s well that ends well, to quote Bill S. and we had no problems on the way back to camp, on Thursday (Thank GOD!). It only took 4 days (approx. 34 hours of actual work) to get all our equipment back to the camp, oops, I’ve misspoken, we’re still missing one conex (see Big Metal Box that holds a LOT of stuff). But that should be arriving any day now…

There is more to write, but I’m running out of time. Lets just say that the war looks to be over, and there doesn’t appear to be too many things for a Chemical Warfare Specialist to do when the hasn’t seen too much (see Any) Chemical Warfare, but I do appreciate the Tax Free dollars I’m making right now. If it wasn’t for the bloody sandstorms, I don’t think that this place would be too bad. The food is ok, the SCUDS are done and the nights are pretty groovy (nope, really isn’t getting too cold, just a touch chilly, at least General Winter isn’t here!)

Uh-oh, they’re asking for volunteers again, this could get ugly.

Love,
Will

PS I may have used the word 'Fuck' quite a bit in this message, but I believe that it is necessary, considering that I am on my 5th day without a cigarette. Fuck, I hate withdrawals. Fuck.

Will called me at work this morning a little after 7 am - of course, it was 3 p.m. where he is. The ship with their equipment finally arrived a couple days ago, so they have been busy unloading that.

He says everyone is well - a few scrapes and a sprained ankle among the troops from a wild game of Frisbee are their only casualties!

They have not received any mail yet - are hoping that some will arrive in the next couple days. Has not received any packages either - told him I know that there are several in the pipeline and he said he had no idea when they would get there as no one has been getting packages that he knows of there. He said that he really appreciates the thought but that it might be just as well to hold off on sending more packages for a bit. Not sure if I am going to listen to that, but am passing along what he asked me to.

Naturally, he could not say anything about his unit's future plans. He asked me to let you all know that he is well - access to email and phones is very limited - he has written another journal entry, but has not found access to a computer. He said that he may have to print it out and mail it to me, if he can't get access soon. He wrote us a letter when they arrived and we haven't received that yet, either.

When I hear more from him, will share the news with all of you.

God bless all of you for your support.

Hello All,

I know that it has been a couple days since I've written, and that I warned you that I might not be in contact for awhile, but I will apologize for my tardiness. Actually, it seemed that Our Hero would have to resort to snail mail to keep all of you informed to exploits and adventures, but thankfully (and for the first time in my life) I happened upon a few helpful Marines.

I'm currently in the middle of the Kuwait desert, and I must say that it really isn't that bad. Our fine hosts realized that our equipment is still on a boat, SOMEWHERE in the pond, and has provided us with shelter and food. The tents are nice, roomy and without cots (see Beds). They DO have wooden floors, and that is a major plus because it keeps that creepy-crawly things off you at night time.

Oh, and the rest of the accommodations aren't that bad. Plenty of porta-johns, and there's even a shower point setup not far from my tent. This leads me to one of many new discoveries, the Navy shower.

Ok, I am a soldier (see Army) that is currently attached to a Marine (see Jarhead) unit. I like Marines in this capacity, they are VERY handy in a fight and like to kick ass (even yours truly on occasion, but I was drunk at the time). However, they believe in STRICT water rationing, hence the Navy Shower. I had heard rumors about this thing, but dismissed them as foolhardy, weak and just plain dumb. Well, I was wrong (I'm always the first to admit it, no, really I am) and here's how it works (for you lucky, and not that sandy, civilians). Remove clothing (this is VERY important, unless you're doing laundry), enter shower (how else would you get wet?), turn on water for not more than 30 seconds (that's right, half a minute) and wet yourself down. Turn water off (this is where it sucks), lather up with soap (how else would you get clean?), turn water back on for 30 seconds longer (oh, yeah, this part sucks too), rinse off and turn water off. Towel dry, and whola, you're clean. Bull-Shit. I did this for the first time today, and I do feel cleaner, and refreshed, but I will never take for granted, my spoiled, pampered Army showers again. This is another reason to shout GO ARMY, BEAT NAVY on the first weekend of December this year.

You must be wondering, whatever can they be doing out there with no equipment and nothing to do? Well, have no fear, there is always something to do. From digging fighting positions (see Holes) in the ground to building piss tubes in the ground (yep, they're exactly what they sound like) we are doing alright. I have found some new uses for old items, and I'd like to let you in on a couple.

Baby wipes have been used by soldiers for years to maintain hygiene in the field, but I now use the Anti-Bacterial wipes to clean off the seat in the porta-john (you know, when I joined the Army, a porta-john was your entrenching tool (see Shovel) and the ability to squat!) because I have no idea what was last on that thing. Normally I'm not too concerned about hygiene (my three second rule goes to five), but this is a foreign land to me, and I'm a bit concerned about what I might pick up along the way.

Condoms have a specific (and VERY necessary) purpose in the civilized world, but here they are great for keeping the dust out of the barrel of your weapon. On a side note, lubricated is not recommended by the author for it serves no purpose in this effect, and only makes the weapon slippery. Ditto on the 'ribbed for her pleasure'... yuck, get your mind out of the gutter!!!

Gold Bond medicated power is worth its weight in gold, 'cause if the boys (see Testicles) aren't happy, nobody is happy. Oh, and underwear is completely WORTHLESS. I tried it for about 15 minutes, and then chucked it in the burn pile. Can anyone say commando? I'll buy more after the war.

Well, I'd better get going. I don't know how long it will be before I can return to this terminal and send another message, we might have to relay thru snail mail.

Wait for my next dispatch from the field where we explore the marvelous insights to laundry in the field (see Wash Tub, Bar of Soap and a Piece of Rope)

Love,

Will