Having been in the
military for over 25 years, I’ve done a lot of running. My fastest recorded time was 13:20 for a two
mile run during the Army’s Physical Fitness Test. I used to hover between 14 minutes to 14 and a
half on those tests after basic training, but managed to get under the 14
minute mark a few times afterwards, most noticeably before graduation at the
Warrant Officer Candidate School, and once in Iraq (with a time of 13:51 and I
had a bad upset stomach that whole day which might have helped motivate me to
finish sooner).
However, none of those compare to what
should be the fastest I ever ran when I went more than half of a mile back in
2003 because a certain dictator ordered his forces to launch SCUD missiles into
Kuwait. Missiles that Iraq wasn’t
supposed to have, and missiles that were rumored to have chemical payloads in
them, which was later proven to be false. But when you hear warning sirens and don’t
know that at the time, you don’t take chances.
From the moment we
got orders to move out to Kuwait, we constantly received briefs and warnings
that Iraq had weapons of mass destruction and based off historical data of Iraq
fighting Iran and their quelling of the Kurd uprisings, and they wouldn’t be
afraid to use them. So we had to have
our Nuclear, Biological, and Chemical (NBC) gear with or near us once we got in
country.
Before all that, however, it was
December 2002 and I was still in the beltway getting ready to head out to my
next assignment. Coming from the D.C.
area, I got an ear full of the buildup that would be happening; not from the
military, but from the news because Washington was pretty plugged into
international affairs obviously and they loved talking about subjects like this. So when I showed up in Kentucky, rumors were
already flying around on when we would depart.
My buddy talked me into coming into the unit to say hello while I was
still on leave (military term for time off aka vacation time) and we met up
with our chief, who upon learning about my background and skills, wanted me to
sign in early. After talking with my
wife about it all, we decided I needed to get into the unit quickly and help
out as much as possible. We prepped
equipment, went through pre-deployment training, and sat through a lot of
meetings and medical preparation appointments.
Through it out, someone determined that I would not go with the main
body but head out two weeks later and escort a bunch of follow-on equipment. Yea.
Once I got out
there, the higher ups kept trying to figure out which team to put me on. Since I trained in several languages, I was
considered a boon to either team, but either way, I would be with a great group
of guys. I did physical training with
the first team I was supposed to be a part of. We ran between three to four
miles every other day, which was supposed to be at our own pace but I think I
got up late so I would have to hurry to get to the chow tent after physical
training and personal hygiene. I got a
tour of the gym up on “the Rock,” which was where the majority of the permanent
party Air Force stayed and most didn’t seem to care that a bunch of Army people
were hanging out on “their” base. Friendly rivalries and what not.
After about two or
three weeks of being on the ground, we started to get pretty comfortable with
our routines, but knew the decision to cross would come at some point. We started relaxing a bit but kept abreast of the
latest predicament. And almost of us
kept our NBC gear in our tents. You
would spot the occasional guy carrying his gas mask everywhere.
One morning, I’m
eating a late breakfast with some buddies and the chow tent was kind of full of
people. Suddenly we overheard the Giant
Voice system. Now normally, we only
heard the Giant Voice when the Air Force did their weekly tests. It would say
something like, “Attention. Attention.
Attention. This is the Giant Voice. This is a weekly test of the Giant
Voice.” Or something very similar.
Not this time.
I’m in a dining tent
surrounded by people who looked like they taught Arnold Schwarzenegger how to
lift weights when the Giant Voice goes “Attention, attention, attention…” and
we’re still eating as usual.
Then we hear “this
is NOT a test. Incoming, incoming, incoming” and all those musclebound guys got
up so quickly, left their trays on the table and started rushing for the tent
exit. I looked around and figured that
there was no way I would be able to squirm my way through all these people in
the rush to leave the chow tent, so I end up eating a couple of more bites of
my food as I wait for the exit to get somewhat cleared and I would run as
quickly as possible to my tent and don my NBC gear while simultaneously rushing
to the nearest bunker. As quickly as I
eventually moved this was not the fastest I ran. But it was damn near close.
We eventually ended
up getting these alerts 13 more times in Kuwait and they became so erratic and
annoying that during one particular rocket warning in the middle of the night,
I just rolled over on my cot and muttered that I wasn’t leaving my sleeping bag
and if I got hit and killed, at least I would have some rest. Between the rocket attacks and the Harrier
jets taking off several times between midnight and 3 in the morning, I was
pretty tired and sometimes crabby first thing in the morning.
When word finally
came down that we would finally cross the border and head into Iraq, the call
was made that I would go with the first supply train up since one of the teams
was still short a member and he was bringing additional equipment and training
for me to go over. I wasn’t thrilled
with the decision especially since I missed out on the main body movement into
Kuwait from Kentucky, but even as a somewhat senior staff sergeant, I was
pretty low on the rank totem pole in the unit and just went with the flow.
We had a couple of
missile warnings happen after the main body initially pushed into Iraq, but
it was the final rocket attack that I experienced which would make me
metaphorically outrun any animal in Kuwait.
One morning, I
headed out to the motor pool to look for any special gear the team would need
before I arrived at their location (it was finally determined which team I
would be a part of by this point. I think one of the captains realized it was
silly to have two teams broken down by one language set a piece, so the other
guy, who was only trained in Farsi, and I would officially swap teams. Now, both teams could cover both potential language
sets while out in Iraq). I went
rummaging around in our group’s ISU-90 storage container.
I picked out and
sorted batteries, cables, and various mounts when it happened.
I heard this
thunderous "BOOM" behind me and I immediately looked up. I saw this Patriot missile flying over my
head and it looked about 50 to 100 feet above me. The funny thing about seeing the missile was
that it looked nothing like the news footage I remembered seeing during
Operation Desert Storm; back then any Patriot missile launches looked like they
were aimed straight at a target. This
missile canted at roughly a 45 degree angle while flying in practically a
straight horizontal line over me. It
didn’t even out and start climbing until it cleared the other side of the side
of the runway, which looking back now, it is a good thing no aircraft were
taking off at that time.
But once I saw the
Patriot missile shoot over my head, I felt my heart bursting and I needed to
find my NBC gear. But it was all in my tent, and with no hesitation, I sprinted
like a gazelle all the way back to my tent.
I took off so quickly while trying to keep an eye on the Patriot’s trajectory
that I barely realized that I didn’t hear the Giant Voice had not gone
off. I also bolted out of the motor pool
so hurriedly that I left our storage container wide open with all the picked
out gear strewn around. In fact, I’m
pretty sure I stumbled over a cable when I initially took off. I ran and stayed on the streets for as much
as I could because common sense did eventually kick in and I remembered that running
on top of Kuwait sand would slow me down, especially since I was sprinting for
my life in Army boots. When I got to the
compound, I made a bee line towards my tent.
By now, most people were in the bunkers, most likely hunkered down. I, on the other hand, tore apart my bags
because I had everything packed for the convoy, all while trying to catch my
breath. By the time I got my NBC gear
and donned the over-garments to be in MOPP level 2, I was still heavily panting. I was so out of breath from all the running
and rushing that it took me a good 2 minutes once I got in my tent to finally
get my mask on. If you haven’t worn a
gas mask before, you can only really breathe normally in that thing; the
filters work in a way that you cannot suck in extra air quickly. It also didn’t help that I was gasping for
air so badly that it took a while for me to clear my mask in order to create a
good seal around my face.
Once I got my NBC suit
fully on, I made my way to a nearby bunker and sat with the rest of the people
inside. My heart was still pounding, but
at least my breathing was manageable. I remember clutching my atropine
injectors in my mask carrier in case a SCUD missile would hit near us. Fortunately, the SCUD missiles that Iraq had
were pretty inaccurate. That or the
Iraqi Army did the whole “point, fire, and forget” method of rocket
launching. We eventually got the all
clear signal and I headed back to my tent to drop my NBC gear and get back to
the motor pool, especially since I left the container wide open with stuff laid
out all over the place.
I don’t think I can
ever run that fast again, but I know adrenaline does wonders in a high stress
environment and can help carry you over time and distance. Considering I usually ran a seven minute mile back
in those days, I would guess I was pushing a six minute pace because of
the fear and excitement. But at least now I had one of those funny war stories
to tell people back home, even if I had the fright of my life at the time.
And one added bonus
of the Heroclip comes with its versatility on running vests. Just clip it through a loop and you have an
emergency hook or carrier with you.
