By 1985 I had been out of the Marine Corps for six years. The nightmare of double-digit inflation had receded. Prosperity had returned to the U.S. Life was good. It was almost perfect. Almost – because I had a need. It had taken me a while to recognize that fact. What I needed was to be part of something that was serving my community. Service to country had always been a strong value in my personal characteristics, traits, and values mosaic. There were a number of civic groups and veterans’ organizations in Yuma, Arizona. I gave them some thought. Then, I considered the military reserves. Yuma didn’t have a Marine Corps reserve unit, which was my first choice. What it had was a local Army National Guard unit that needed “recruits.” In August 1985, I became a member of the 852nd Military Police Company, Arizona Army National Guard. My MOS training started soon after joining. It was a significant change after the Marine Corps. But, as I had done in the Marines, I paid close attention to everything I was taught. I trained as a 95B, military policeman. My new unit was a combat military police company. It had four main missions – the least of which was law and order, or the traditional post and camp M.P. duty. In essence, I was an infantryman carrying a badge. There were four platoons in the company structure. Each platoon had three squads of three MP teams. Each 3-soldier team was equipped with an M-151 jeep, in which a radio and an M-60 machine-gun were mounted. In accordance with our table of organization and equipment, we had forty-two jeeps sporting M-60s. I was amazed. We were a light machine-gun company. The 852nd M.P. Company had evolved from Company L, Third Battalion, 158th Regimental Combat Team – The Bushmasters. The Bushmasters was an infantry regiment and their finest hour was in the Philippines during World War II. Another fact that I learned about the Army was that during World War II, the Military Police Corps fielded 205,000 officers and men. That is a lot of M.P.s considering that the total strength of the Marine Corps during the Vietnam War period was somewhere around 278,000 officers and men. In 1973, my father had visited my wife and me in Yuma. He told me about being stationed as a soldier with the 29th Army Engineers in Yuma in 1940 just before World War II broke out. For off-duty entertainment he used to help the 1st Cavalry unit nearby exercise their horses. He also mentioned that after the attack on Pearl Harbor he spent many nights of guard duty on the old railroad bridge across the Colorado River between old downtown Yuma and Winterhaven, California. Not long after Pearl Harbor, the 29th Army Engineers convoyed by truck to Alaska and helped build the Alcan Highway. That was a significant climate change. The hostilities in Grenada had taken place in October 1983, in a tropical climate. In 1986, many Spanish-speaking members of the 852nd M.P. Company did their annual training by participating in Operation Oso Grande in Honduras, another tropical setting. For annual training in March 1987, our company participated in Operation Team Spirit in Korea. That was cold. Then, without our company, the invasion of Panama occurred in December 1989 – once again a tropical climate. So, the next major conflict was pretty much a crapshoot as far as climate was concerned. As a new join, I was issued two duffle bags full of uniforms, equipment, and training manuals. Part of the issue was cold weather gear – parka, mittens with a trigger finger, cold weather trousers, and Mickey Mouse boots to prevent frostbite. I had sets of both temperate and lightweight BDU uniforms. The Guard was serious about our being able to deploy to any climate. The monthly drills came and went. Training was continuous. One difference from the Marine Corps was the amount of training devoted to chemical warfare protective measures. In the Marine Corps, I had trained with the M-17 protective mask, or gas mask. Now, I was training with the M-17 protective mask with hood. In addition, training included the mission-oriented protective posture chemical protective suit, or MOPP gear. MOPP gear was hot, awkward, and uncomfortable. I couldn’t imagine having to go into battle wearing it. I learned that the Army reserve and National Guard made up over 60 percent of the Army’s total force. That was disquieting. Word filtered down that in the event of a major conflict, the Army would need to augment the active forces with critical combat support and combat service support units in the reserve components. Our old Vietnam War era jeeps were being replaced with HMMWVs, or Hummers. I urged my fellow Guardsmen to take our training seriously. They would laugh and remind me that the unit had not mobilized in almost fifty years. They were sure that it would not happen. I wasn’t. In July 1990 a news story on CNN from Saudi Arabia caught my attention. I knew so little about Saudi Arabia and the Middle East although I read and was fascinated by James Michner’s book The Source. I also read a book about the Six Day War between the Israelis and Arabs in 1967 shortly after that war’s conclusion. The brief news story was about a woman leading a protest in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia’s capital. She and a number of her friends were protesting the Saudi government’s policy that prohibited women from driving automobiles. There was brief footage of a line of cars winding through the streets of the capital city. In a day or two, though, the news story of the protest was gone. Other pressing matters replaced it in subsequent news cycles. On August 2, days after the earlier story aired, CNN’s breaking news story was the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait. The Middle East was a cauldron boiling over. Flooding the news were stories of Iraqi Republican Guard units slaughtering and torturing Kuwaitis. Saddam Hussein became a household word. My daughter, then a junior in high school, referred to him as So-Damn Insane. The situation quickly deteriorated. U.S. forces were rapidly deployed to Saudi Arabia according to contingency plans. Operation Desert Shield had been an exercise similar to Team Spirit. Men, arms, and equipment flowed quickly into Saudi Arabia. In the summer of 1990, the 852nd Military Police Company was being decommissioned and merged with the 855th Military Police Company located in Phoenix, Arizona. We had been directed to transfer much of the equipment in Yuma to other units. Suddenly, in late October that all stopped. It was an ominous sign. I had a good idea of what it meant. My worst fears were realized on December 2, 1990, when the 855 MP Company was activated for mobilization. In Yuma, we loaded everything into HMMWVs and trucks, and motor-marched to Phoenix. Pucker strings were tightening up. On December 6, we were ordered to proceed and report to our mobilization station at Fort Huachuca, Arizona, to undergo pre-deployment mobilization training. There was an emphasis on chemical warfare defense. We took up residence in old World War II barracks. Days were filled with many activities, most of which was training. In addition to training, we made wills, received financial counseling, got spiritual guidance, went through physical screening, got vaccinated, and all the other things that satisfied the Army that we were prepared for war. The training was endless and most of it was repetitive. Some of it was new. One morning we had a class in casualty reporting. The Army was sensitive to the missing-in-action issue. Emphasis was on “leave no one behind.” Accountability was paramount. At the conclusion of the training, each of us was issued two 6-inch by 4-inch booklets of forms. One booklet contained multiple copies of DA Form 1155, Witness Statement On Individual, and the other contained DA Form 1156, Casualty Feeder Report. We were instructed to complete the forms as soon as possible after an engagement that gave rise to the death, capture, or missing status of a fellow soldier, and pass them up the chain of command. The training emphasis, however, was on war fighting in a chemical environment. News reports at that time included estimates of tens of thousands of U.S. casualties due to chemical warfare. It was frightening. We drilled on the basics. We were guided by the Soldier’s Manual of Common Tasks (SMCT). The big one in the “Protect Against NBC (Nuclear, Biological, and Chemical) Attack” section was task number 031-503-1015, Protect Yourself from NBC Injury/Contamination with Mission-Oriented Protective Posture (MOPP) Gear. MOPP Gear is defined as chemical protective overgarment, mask, hood, overboots, protective gloves, individual decontamination kits, and nerve agent antidote kit. The task required that we go from MOPP 0, which meant carrying our mask with MOPP gear readily available, to MOPP 4, which meant wearing everything correctly, in eight minutes or less, with emphasis on less. We practiced mask maintenance and replacing filters. We practiced drinking from a canteen with our masks on. We practiced decontamination procedures. We trained with chemical detection paper and the M256 Chemical Agent Detection Kit. We learned how to protect ourselves from “contamination while eliminating body waste when wearing MOPP4.” That required the buddy system. We learned how to inject ourselves or a fellow soldier using the atropine and two pam chloride duo-injectors in our nerve agent antidote kits. This had to be done within seconds after exposure to nerve agent. The auto-injectors were powerful. The first sergeant provided a demonstration one morning in front of the assembled company. He held a piece of cardboard in one hand and an atropine injector in the other. He struck the cardboard with the tip of the injector as we had been shown to strike our thighs. The needle deployed instantaneously, squirting a thin stream of antidote about fifty feet. This training was always considered a pain in the ass when we did it at home station. We developed a whole new attitude. We became proficient as a unit. It was part of the unit validation process. One evening we watched a film that showed the effects of nerve agent. In the film was actual footage taken during the war between Iraq and Iran. The Iraqis used artillery projectiles with chemical warheads. The cadre didn’t mention that the U.S. had provided chemical munitions to Saddam Hussein’s regime. The most disturbing section of the film was the demonstration of the effects of nerve gas on a living animal. In this case, the living animal was a cat. At the start of the footage, the cat is placidly sitting in a sealed glass enclosure. There are tubes leading into and out of the enclosure. The cat is looking around curiously as cats will. Then, the narrator announces the introduction of nerve agent into the chamber. Within seconds, the cat falls onto its side. It immediately starts flopping violently like a fish out of water. Then, just as quickly, it is still. The cat is dead. After the film, all staff sergeants and above were directed to remain behind for additional briefing. In this briefing, the cadre explained that the medical experts were not sure of the effects of the nerve agent antidote we were issued. We were told specifically that exposure to nerve agent followed immediately by the antidote may leave the soldier in a coma. Another theoretical effect was kidney failure. As bad as this news was, we, the company leadership, needed to know it. On another occasion, the cadre informed us that we would be issued nerve agent pre-treatment tablets. We were to take them when a gas attack was imminent to protect us from the effects of the nerve agent. They explained that this nerve agent prophylaxis, pyridostigmine bromide, was experimental. Although successful, it had only been tested on apes – or was it monkeys? At Fort Huachuca, we watched television coverage as the air campaign against Iraq kicked off on January 16, 1991. It was sobering. The war had started. We had been at Fort Huachuca over a month and were close to being signed-off as certified for deployment in theater. There was a fuss over the lack of sufficient quantities of MOPP gear. Because of the material used in the chemical protective overgarment, it had a useful life of twelve days once the storage bag was opened. This short service life prompted the Army to issue spares to deploying soldiers. The shortage of chemical protective suits delayed our departure. It didn’t hurt anyone’s feelings. The situation soon changed and each of us received three MOPP suits in sealed bags. Then, on January 19, we were bused to Davis Monthan Air Force Base in Tucson, Arizona. Our tickets said, “Destination Riyadh.” Twenty-one years earlier at Travis Air Force Base, as I said goodbye to my brother before I boarded the airliner that took me to Vietnam in 1969, I experienced the feeling of being kicked hard in the gut. I feared what could happen to me in Vietnam. Now, as I said goodbye to my wife and daughter, my stomach didn’t hurt. My heart did. The fear of going to war didn’t bother me so much as the emptiness and longing that lay ahead. We boarded a Trans World Airline Boeing 747 – outward bound. It stopped at Charleston, South Carolina to pick up another company of soldiers. We stopped in Rome for fuel. We flew south from Rome into Egyptian airspace and followed the Red Sea south. When we reached a point about half way down the length of Saudi Arabia, the plane banked left, or east, and flew into Saudi airspace. Soon afterward, it banked right and headed for Riyadh. Saudi Arabia is as flat as a table and nothing but sand, except where I saw circular patches of green cultivated crops. As we approached Riyadh, we got another surprise. We made another heading change and flew northeast. Our real destination turned out to be Dhahran. We were assigned the mission of providing security to the Port of Dammam located on the Persian Gulf to the east just on the outskirts of Dhahran. The Port was the largest port facility in theater. Ours was an important mission. The plane pulled to a stop on the tarmac. A boarding ladder was pushed against the side of the aircraft and we disembarked. As we stood on the concrete in a company formation adjacent to the aircraft, a young airman came running from the nearest building to warn us of a Scud missile attack in progress. We were advised to go to MOPP4 immediately. As one we dropped everything we were holding. Each soldier tore open one of the sealed bags containing his or her MOPP gear. Each grabbed the gas mask that was part of his carry-on baggage. Frantically, we suited up as we had drilled. Watching this, the aircrew of the airliner we had just left were freaking out. All they had were gas masks provided by their employer. They didn’t understand that as long as they were inside the aircraft with the doors sealed and their masks on, they were protected. I remembered reports from Vietnam of new arrivals in mass formations on airfields being mortared resulting in extensive casualties. I think the seasoned aircrews did too. We were vulnerable. On that occasion, the Scud went elsewhere. A short while later, we secured from alert. I later learned that the coalition forces had the ability to detect an electronic signal when a Scud launcher was energized for launch, and also detect another signal at actual Scud launch. The average flight time before impact in the area of Dhahran or Riyadh was seven minutes. I wondered if our cadre at Fort Huachuca was aware of this and had urged us to suit up faster based on this time frame. The company was assigned to a walled-in compound that had belonged to a Saudi trucking company. It was a truck park. An eight-foot concrete block wall enclosed the spacious Macadam covered yard. It was located near the causeway to the Port of Dammam. It was our home for the duration. The Port of Dammam was on the Persian Gulf Coast. Everything seemed different from what I was used to with the exception of the seagulls. Because we were on the coast, there were flocks of seagulls everywhere. They were a friendly sight. Growing up in California, I spent many hours on the beach or in San Francisco surrounded by screeching flights of these amphibious birds. After observing the Saudi gulls for a while, I became aware of a strange phenomenon. These gulls didn’t make any noise. No screeching. Not a sound. It was surreal. Within a day or two of our arrival, the Brigade chaplain visited our unit for an orientation briefing. He spoke in general terms about the religion of Islam and gave us some specific don’ts. Alcoholic beverages were illegal. Girlie magazines were taboo. He cautioned the female soldiers not to accept gifts from Saudi males to avoid entangling relationships that would complicate their lives. He further explained that in addition to regular civilian police, there were “religious” police. Their function was to look for violations of the Islamic religion. We learned that Saudi Arabia was closed to tourists. Non-Islamic people could only gain access to this kingdom on a work visa. The word foreign took on a whole new dimension. It was culture shock all over again, and after Vietnam, I didn’t think that was possible. The chaplain also told us to keep our bibles out of sight. Two other units occupied the compound in which we lived, and a major was in charge of the overall compound. One evening shortly after dark, the alarm was passed - Scud attack in progress, go to MOPP4, take a nerve agent prophylaxis pill. Because of the consequences of Agent Orange, I decided not to take the pill. It was an experimental drug. I opted for the quick nerve gas death as I had witnessed with the cat, rather than possibly years of agony similar to what the victims of Agent Orange went through, from this new chemical concoction. In the truck yard was a large warehouse. The major ordered everyone into the warehouse during the Scud attack. A couple of hundred soldiers were packed into this metal shelter. The heat quickly became uncomfortable. Massed like we were was a disaster waiting to happen. In subsequent alerts, I did not report to the warehouse. I explained why to my company commander. I stood watch outside. Patriot Missile batteries protected Dhahran. The missiliers could project where incoming Scuds would impact. The Scud missile was an area weapon, not a precision guided missile with pinpoint accuracy. If the Patriot trajectory calculating computers determined that a Scud would impact in open desert or in the Persian Gulf, the Patriot missiliers would not bother to fire. During Scud attacks, air raid sirens would wail in the distance. If the surface-to-air missile was fired, a muffled explosive boom would signal the launch of a Patriot, followed by another explosion at intercept. A successful intercept didn’t mean no danger. When airframes collide in the air, pieces large and small fall to earth. According to information received, Scuds had warheads that contained five hundred to one thousand pounds of high explosives – far different from the 122mm rockets the Viet Cong fired at us. Unlike Vietnam, I saw no bunkers. Unit dispersal was the primary protective measure against Scuds. Only a massive, hardened structure could withstand the impact of a one-thousand pound warhead. Thousand-pound warheads were not all that we had to worry about. I was privy to the daily classified intelligence reports. One of these reports speculated that the Iraqis had nuclear capability, but had not yet adapted to it to warheads on Scud missiles. This caused me a lot of anxiety. I wondered if the last thing I would see in this world was a brilliant flash of light. Another report discussed the possibility that the Iraqis had a large fuel-air explosive warhead for the Scud. It had a large “footprint” that would produce casualties within a substantial area. It went on to theorize that internal injuries caused by the overpressure of the resulting explosion would be greater if the casualty was wearing body armor. It was a nightmare world. The information in these intelligence reports was speculation and not confirmed fact, so I kept it to myself along with the anxiety it generated within me. During our first Scud attack, a staff NCO had an anxiety attack. I didn’t want to contribute to a repeat of that performance. I had the same small pocket size bible with me that I had in Vietnam. I didn’t carry it around, but I had it in my gear. Every evening, just before sleep, I read a little bit, at least the 23rd Psalm, and I prayed silently. The threat of chemical attack, nuclear attack, and improved area-weapons weighed heavily on me. Praying helped clear the fears of what could happen from my consciousness. I focused on, and prayed for, seeing my daughter graduate from high school. We received word one morning to make sure that no one used his gas mask and carrier as a pillow. We stored our atropine auto-injectors inside the carrier. A soldier had used his carrier for a pillow the previous evening. As he slept, he activated the injectors. At least one penetrated his skull and pumped nerve agent antidote into his brain. It killed him. On another day, Battalion directed that everyone go to the dispensary in a nearby compound to get vaccinated against anthrax. Higher headquarters received an intelligence report that the Iraqis may have the capability to use this biological agent against us. I knew anthrax was deadly to cattle. It was the dreaded hoof and mouth disease. It spreads quickly. I didn’t know it was lethal to humans. I dutifully went to the dispensary and got my anthrax vaccination that afternoon. The coalition continued to bomb Iraqi forces and installations to gain and maintain air superiority. The infantry divisions maneuvered west by night to flank the Iraqi main line of resistance north of the Saudi border. We dodged occasional Scuds that now operated during the hours of darkness to avoid detection by coalition air forces. On February 24, the ground war commenced. To our surprise and delight, the Iraqis capitulated on February 28. Threats, terror, and fear disappeared. Life became routine. Being a military police company, we interfaced with the Saudi police and security forces. Because of this, we learned the rest of the story about the woman who led the protest in July, the previous year. The woman was from a respected Saudi family. The Saudi government was not pleased with the woman’s actions. The law was quite specific. Women are not allowed to drive automobiles in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. The government went to the woman’s family and expressed its displeasure. The family was told that either they should take care of the problem, or the government would. It was clear that the Saudi government was not happy. Knowing this, the family accepted the responsibility and took swift action. The woman’s family stoned her to death. By April, major combat divisions and brigades were retrograding out of theater through the Port of Dammam. Our turn came on the first of June. That evening, the 855th Military Police Company boarded a crisp red and white World Airways airliner and returned to the United States of America. I had participated in liberating a country from tyranny, which was what Vietnam was really about. It was a great feeling. On the evening of May 22, 1992, I witnessed my daughter, Erika, cross the stage and receive her diploma on the football field of Kofa High School in Yuma, Arizona. I was grateful that my prayer was answered. Bill Clark joined the Marine Corps in 1965. He served in Vietnam with the First Light Anti-Aircraft Missile Battalion at Da Nang. Bill left the Marine Corps in 1979 and worked at the U.S. Army Yuma Proving Ground in the Range Management Division as a federal civil servant. In 1985, Bill joined the Arizona Army National Guard. He served in Dhahran, Saudi Arabia, as a member of the 855th Military Police Company during Desert Storm. Bill retired from the U.S. Army in July 1995 and began teaching at an inner-city high school in Phoenix, Arizona. Bill published a personal history about his first four years in the Marine Corps entitled Land, Sea, and Foreign Shore in 2002.He retired in 2009 as a reading teacher to pursue his interest in writing. http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Land-Sea-and-Foreign-Shore/Clair-William-Clark-II/e/9781401063801http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Land-Sea-and-Foreign-Shore/Clair-William-Clark-II/e/9781401063801shapeimage_2_link_0

photo courtesy Tim @ Tim’s Desert Storm Photo Album

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