Back at the AO with the company, the personality conflicts continued. People were very irritable and had no patience with each other. I always had a way to decide not to be in a bad mood, whereas others might have no control over it. Just as little as they understood me, I could not understand them. I guess I could look at myself from the outside and never lose track of considering the other person. Anything else always seemed to be a choice as far as I was concerned.
Jeff and I were given a mission to move supplies down to our old location in Saudi Arabia at Log Base Echo. We learned that the 744th still had a small contingent there. The first and second platoon leaders were there. We basically had a couple of tents of people who were living there. Many of these were on a different offensive mission during the invasion that went straight into Kuwait, while our section supported the 1st and 3rd Armor Divisions into Western Iraq.
We loaded up and headed south for Saudi Arabia. This was a pretty well-established track through the desert sand. We frequently encountered other military vehicles moving north and south. As we crossed the border, a tactical tow truck pulled up behind another military vehicle. They had better traction and decided to pass us on the right. There were no rules out here; that was very clear from the moment we arrived. As the towed vehicle passed, its tail struck our truck's passenger mirror, bending it forward.
We will never know why this happened. When the road is literally as wide as the global horizon that spreads out before us, how could the passing truck connect with our vehicle? This place was barbaric in so many ways. The sand, for instance, was baby powder fine. It could go through the gaskets of our vehicles and turn the gear oil into thick sludge. When following a truck, the wheels looked like they were driving through deep muddy water, but the sand was completely dry. It was just so fine; it moved like liquid. This was embedded in our gear, our clothing, our skin, and hair. There was no way to get away from it.
After several hours of driving, we pulled into Echo. We found our tent and walked in. There were faces we had not seen in weeks, since before the invasion. I came face-to-face with Wayne. "Call home," he told me. "What is going on?" I asked. He repeated. "You need to call home now."
We grabbed a HUMVEE and headed out to the remote phone center, all by itself in the desert, with a cluster of large satellite dishes pointed skyward. I called my neighbors collect, and they went next door to get my wife. She had been on probation thanks to the lack of action of a public defender and the conspiracy of a group of people who had committed a much larger heist many years earlier. The probation term had ended, and she had not met all conditions; as a result, she was arrested and faced a short period before she would have to serve time in prison for violating probation.
I was stunned. This is what set everything into motion years ago. One fateful Friday morning, I got out of work after 3rd shift in the heat treat plant in Manchester, Connecticut. I ran out of gas on 84 on my way back to the campground. I had agreed to take her to court that morning. When I did, the hours that followed swept me away into this new reality. It was another year of back-and-forth with the public defender, who was completely useless, and then the time bomb began ticking.
I was at least ten thousand miles away, and time ran out. This whole Gulf War, Desert Shield, Desert Storm, Multinational Coalition thing had distracted me, and I have not thought about this countdown in what seemed like forever. Honestly, I was not worried about my wife. She could adapt to anything. But we had two children, who did not ask for this to happen. Without me there, I had no idea what would happen to them. They were only 8 and 11. I knew then I needed to get home.
How hard could this be? This was an emergency. My kids were most likely going to be put into the system, but they had another parent: me. The Army would have to send me home: NOW. On the drive back to Echo, I thought about the storm at home, the fire that was burning, and was about to consume my family. Here in Southwest Asia, fires burned across the desert land, oil wells smoldering from the Iraqis setting fire to them as they retreated. I felt like I, too, was on fire. I felt like I was going to explode. I felt like my war was only now, just beginning. It seemed like it should have been simple, but somewhere deep down inside me, I knew it would be anything but easy. This would be the biggest fight of my life.
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