Upon returning to Log Base Echo, things were different. No one was to leave, and the super-tight, tent city-like unit configuration felt like being bound with ropes and held down. Something was definitely up, and tension hung in the air everywhere. That night, it felt very strange to leave our trucks in the motor pool. For Jeff and me, truck 32 was our home. It did not feel right to be staying in a tent, under the hand of our leadership.
The next day, the tension in the unit seemed to increase even more. Something was going on, and rumours of the ground offensive were swirling constantly. Our leaders disappeared suddenly, and shortly after their return, we were informed of a mandatory gathering. We all congregated outside in the cramped space between the tents. Captain A, our company commander, started to speak. "I just received some distressing news." My brain instantly took a more whimsical, shielding turn. I filled in the rest of his statement: " The Iraqis have surrendered, and there will be no ground offensive." But that is not what he said. What he was about to say would probably be the most difficult words he would ever speak.
"Private Todd Rich and Specialist Wade Hector were killed last night in a Humvee accident." A wave of shock moved through our company. These two young comrades were travelling to the remote tent site in the desert where large satellite dishes pointed to the sky, allowing us to call home. The desert was treacherous at night since it was active wartime; blackout, and drive lights could not discern significant drop-offs in the terrain.
The news was devastating. This is something that happens to people you don't know, not people in your unit, your friends, your community. Instantly, I could feel the impact this would have at home. I knew Wade casually. He had been walking a foot off the ground in the months leading up to our deployment. He was engaged and as happy as I have seen anyone. He looked forward to coming home, getting married, and starting his family. He was not only gaining a wife, but an 11-year-old stepdaughter. Here now, I could not imagine how they would feel when they got the news.
Todd, I had never interacted with. He was in First Platoon, and I was in Second. I had heard about him, though. He was selfless. In fact, just a few days before this happened, we had heard that he had tried to save the life of a Saudi Arabian man who had been involved in one of those terrible fatal accidents that happened every day. Todd never thought twice; he jumped and did all he could.
All over the United States, families were dealing with news like this. I wanted it to stop, not for me, but for them. If something happened to me, this would just cease to exist from my perspective. I thought about the loss and heartbreak of parents, children, spouses, and siblings back home. The emptiness ate me up inside. I could not stop thinking about their families. I wanted to rewrite the outcome, and I could not.
Darkness fell upon all of us. We were together, but loneliness crept up on all of us. Mortality has a way of making you feel alone even in a crowd. We were not being given time to process what happened. We were told that we would be pulling out tomorrow. This was nothing like the footloose and fancy-free lifestyle we had been living for the last few weeks. We were locked down to specific groups, orders, and missions. Something big was happening tomorrow.
Night fell over Log Base Echo. Ever since I had gone Advanced Party up to TAA Henry, we did not have to worry about SCUD missiles. They had been aimed at the cities down south; now, something was different. Either Saddam was aiming at the upper desert, which, despite the buildup, was sparse when you are trying to blow something up. SCUDs were crude, point-and-shoot technology. More likely, the missiles coming in now had less of a range and therefore fell in the desert where we were. Once again, we were playing the SCUD Missile Attack Game.
As I drifted off to sleep, I hoped I would wake up in the morning and that some —or maybe even all — of this would be a dream. Hawkeye was right. Who really does go to bed at night and dream up this nightmare?
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