Ruff's War

by K. Sue Roper

  Our first task on arrival was to off-load some of our own ill and debilitated hospital company staff from the convoy ambulances and into the hangar ward that had been set up earlier by the FRSS and STP personnel. At least twenty-five members of our company continued to experience significant gastrointestinal symptoms that required intravenous fluid hydration therapy to replace vital body fluids lost from constant, severe diarrhea and vomiting. Because the FRSS was set up and immediately available to perform any surgeries that might be needed, we were not required to establish our ORs immediately. Still, we were quick to identify various spaces within this hangar where we would station the Bravo Surgical Company’s two ORs, laboratory, pharmacy, ICU, and administrative support office.

  Despite the fierce wind, we were able to erect a few tents to provide us with some shelter during the night. Whereas some chose to find a place to sleep in the hangar, and others simply found a place on the exposed ground where they would lie down and throw a tarp over themselves, I opted to find berthing in one of the tents.

  Weary from fighting the wind all day long, being jostled about in the beds of the convoy trucks, and assisting with the transfer of our ill comrades into the ward, we looked forward to retiring for the night with hopes of having a quiet, restful night’s sleep. At 10:30, just as we were beginning to retire to our sleeping bags, we heard shouts to “turn out all lights!” These shouts were immediately followed by the clatter and rat-a-tat-tat of automatic weapons being fired. We had no idea where the gunfire was coming from, who was firing at whom, or even whether we were the targets of the gunfire. Having no bunkers in which to take cover, we could do little more than lie in our sleeping bags, watch the flashes created by the constant firing, and listen to the loud noise created by the gunshots. Fortunately, the skirmish lasted only thirty minutes. We would hear the next morning that the shooting was between Iraqi and Iraqi and that our American troops were not involved.

  Attempting to sleep that first night at Camp Geiger, even after the unsettling firefight had been resolved, was not easy. Our bodies were covered with dirt, and our noses were so full of grit and grime that it was hard to breathe. Our sleeping bags were filthier than ever before, which was something I thought would have been impossible after our experiences at Camp Guadalcanal, Camp Anderson, and Camp Chesty. The wind continued its relentless assault on us, and around 1 AM rain and lightning began. I believed I had moved even further into hell and found this place to the most depressing of the four camps we had now been in.

  The next morning we surveyed the damage caused by the torrential rain and strong wind we had endured during the predawn storm and found mud and dirt caked everywhere. One of our newly erected tents had also been destroyed. We mustered for a head count, and though we had all survived the night unscathed, several more members of our company were beginning to exhibit the dreaded, miserable symptoms of gastroenteritis. After tending to those who were ill, those of us who continued to be reasonably healthy started unloading the ISO containers to set up the ORs. We were scheduled to open for business the next morning, which would allow the FRSS crew, who had been providing surgical care to the wounded in that area prior to our arrival, to break down, pack up, and move on to another location.

  We began setting up the ORs in two small enclosed rooms located within the interior of the hangar. A third adjacent room would be used to store supplies but could be easily converted into an additional OR on demand. The rooms smelled musky and dank, and they were dirty, with mold deeply embedded in the concrete walls. Guided by the expertise of the OR nurse, Cdr. Joel Parker, we thoroughly scrubbed every inch of the walls and floor with a strong chemical solution before we brought in the first piece of equipment. We were fortunate to have such a cleaning fanatic as Commander Parker among our ranks, and although the rooms were not sterile, they were as clean as they could possibly be.

  The hangar was supplied with electricity, so we strung wires and lightbulbs on the ceiling of these rooms. In addition, we knew we would need to use our individual headlamps (lights attached to our heads with hook-and-loop strapping) in order to have adequate illumination for performing surgical procedures. The small size of the rooms limited us to one table, one anesthesia machine, and one anesthesia vaporizer per room, so we could not set up two OR tables head-to-head in each. In the third room we prepared tables, supplies, and anesthesia equipment for easy assemblage in case we quickly needed an additional OR suite.

  Working within such a small, dark, airless space would be challenging. Simply bringing the patient into the doorway and placing that person on the table would require significant jiggling and jostling that would cause the wounded individual additional pain and suffering. There was scarce room in which to maneuver, and we would miss the head-to-head OR table setup that allowed the two anesthesia providers to assist one another. Cleaning the floor of blood and body fluids would also be a challenge. This floor was solid, so we could no longer simply shovel the fluids out as we had done on the dirt floors in our ORs at Camp Anderson and Camp Chesty.

  The rear portion of the hangar was lined with approximately twenty to fifty cots set up in rows. This area, farthest from the hangar opening, would serve as the general medical-surgical ward because it was warmer, providing some protection from the cold nighttime temperatures. Empty AMMAL containers, which were large, durable containers in which we packed medical supplies, were stacked up to mark off a smaller area that could serve as an ICU. Initially we placed our ill personnel in every other cot in this ward to prevent cross contamination, but we soon began placing them side by side as more and more fell ill with each passing day. I had often read about the devastating impact gastrointestinal illness had on the troops during wartime and was now witnessing it firsthand.

  Those suffering with severe diarrhea and vomiting were totally incapacitated. They were too weak to walk and even required assistance just to stand. They found it impossible to go to the designated bathroom area located outside the hangar, so we erected a small indoor structure consisting of a bucket covered by a plank of wood with a hole in it. This small john facility provided some semblance of privacy but little else. I felt so fortunate that I remained healthy and uninfected.

  After preparing the ORs so they were ready to take in any wounded who might require surgery, we turned our attention toward establishing our company’s berthing tents and ancillary structures. Once these structures were in place, we had an opportunity to explore the Camp Geiger compound further.

  Located near us was a secure detention holding facility for EPWs. Consisting of a pit approximately six feet deep, this facility was surrounded by additional concertina wire. Ten to fifteen Iraqi prisoners resided there under the constant watch of heavily armed marine guards. The prisoners were prevented from talking with one another or communicating through motions or gestures, but I never witnessed any mistreatment of those prisoners by the marines.

  A marine support unit had converted one of the compound’s structures into a chow hall. It was located within easy walking distance of the Bravo Surgical Company’s designated encampment, and we would go to this facility for our morning and evening meals. After entering the food tent and standing in line while we received our allotted scoops of heated MRE foods on a paper tray and plate, we would exit that tent and go into another to eat. This dining tent featured tables built from plywood and molded plastic chairs with backs. It was wonderful to sit in a chair and actually be able to sit back in it!

  Personnel at the chow hall were responsible for providing meals to several units stationed at Camp Geiger, and the flow of troops and other military personnel in and out of this facility was constant. As much as we might have wanted to sit and socialize, the chow hall was for eating only, not a place to spend time idly talking about the events of the day. Others were constantly arriving and needed a place to sit and eat. “Get your food, eat it as quickly as possible, and move on” was the order of the day.

  A shower facility was constructed and was available
for use by both males and females at separate and specified times, one hour in the morning and one hour in the evening per gender. This tent facility had a concrete floor, and on entering it we would disrobe and place our clothes, towels, and other belongings on one of the benches or tables provided before going into the large eight-showerhead bathing tent through the connected back flap of the changing area. The warm water spraying from the shower fixtures was fantastic, and, for a moment, I would know what it was like to feel clean again. The shower was a luxury compared to trying to wash the dirt and grime from my body using a water-filled Tupperware bowl and an old rag. Unfortunately, the clean feeling we all obtained from the shower would be short lived. Because the shower facility was a significant distance from our company’s camp area, by the time we walked back—our wet hair and damp skin being pounded by the wind-blown desert dirt—we would once again be sporting a dirty brown coating all over our bodies. We were beginning to understand how a powdered doughnut must feel.

  Farther down the road from our company’s location, a marine unit had set up a thirty-two-inch television, with about five chairs facing it, in one of the hangars. The television was turned on twenty-four hours a day, and we were able to access CNN News and the Fox News Channel. I began to go over to that hangar every evening at 6:30 to watch an hour-long broadcast of world events. Ever since my nine weeks at boot camp, I had despised being in situations where I had no way of being informed about world events. Getting news from those who were in my immediate world was highly unreliable and uninformative. What we knew was either rumor or gossip based on very few actual facts. On that one single television, which was cherished by many in our camp, I was able to watch broadcasts about military actions that indicated this Iraqi war was coming to an end and that we would soon be heading home.

  Another hangar not too far from us was home to what we called the “community center.” It featured about fifty chairs, set up theater style, and we were welcome to come in any night at eight o’clock to watch a movie projected onto the hangar’s concrete wall.

  We also had available to us a post office and small exchange. Mail was catching up to us, and once again we began receiving packages from home filled with wonderful and very welcome treats. Because we were now receiving these kinds of packages, the junk food available at our small exchange, located in a tent with a maximum occupancy of ten people, was not in high demand. Still, we would frequently take the thirty-minute walk to the exchange if we just wanted to see whether anything new had arrived or if we needed something to do.

  Seven bathroom facilities, what we referred to as “poopers,” were constructed. They were located in the immediate vicinity of our company’s designated camp area. Each pooper featured three wooden sides, a canvas flap front door, a hard wooden seat with a hole cut out, and a drum that had been cut in half placed underneath the cutaway seat to collect our waste. The duty crew would take turns burning this waste material along with whatever trash and other debris our camp produced. One of the best things about Camp Geiger was the waste/trash–burning process. Unlike the situation at Camp Chesty, the burning of trash and waste took place far away from our chow hall, allowing for minimal contamination of our food.

  After spending nine days at Camp Geiger, exploring its few but very positive features, establishing a routine, and even beginning to meet and know some of our marine unit neighbors, I realized it was not as depressing a place as I had initially thought. This camp provided a few more niceties and accoutrements than what had been available at Camp Chesty. Most of all, we were finally in a place with reasonably clean air.

  We received no casualties of combat during our days at Camp Geiger. The majority of our patient-care activities involved caring for those suffering from severe gastrointestinal illnesses, many of whom were our own company members. A few surgeries would be performed in our ORs, but they would be relatively minor cases, and most would involve work-related medical problems or injuries sustained in motor vehicle accidents.

  Feeling relatively safe and knowing that Camp Geiger was heavily guarded and protected by the marines, I was able to resume my daily routine of running despite having little tread remaining on the soles of my running shoes. I was regularly joined by Commander Sheppard and Lt. Cdr. Steve Wingfield, the dentist assigned to Bravo Company, and we would run an average of twelve miles a day.

  I was keeping my body fit and healthy. I ate as well as I possibly could with the MRE food provided, maintained my physical activity on a regular basis, and rested. I also took specific and determined efforts to stay as clean as possible, including washing my hands frequently and diligently with an antiseptic solution. To this day I do not know whether these personal health measures were what actually prevented me from contracting the draining, debilitating, and miserable gastrointestinal problems and symptoms suffered by so many others. All I know is that, for whatever reason, I was one of the more fortunate, and my general good health remained intact.

  On 30 April 2003 (1 May 2003 in the United States), several of us went to the television hangar to watch President George W. Bush announce that the mission of Operation Iraqi Freedom had been officially accomplished. Hearing this news, we were eager to move on, to go back to our homes in the States. We even began wondering about the possibility of being able to go home by way of Baghdad. We had spent more than three months in Kuwait and Iraq, where we performed our duties as best we could under primitive, rudimentary conditions, and had survived the sand, dirt, flies, relentless wind, scorching daytime heat, freezing nights, and constant threat of being killed. President Bush’s words “mission accomplishment” meant to us that the coalition forces had successfully liberated Baghdad and that it was safe. Why could we not just travel there, hop on a plane at Baghdad International Airport, and fly back to the United States?

  None of us wanted to stay in Iraq any longer than was needed, and we certainly did not want to relocate to yet another camp within the Iraqi border. We also did not want to return to Camp Guadalcanal in Kuwait. Having “been there, done that,” we believed we knew what it would be like to return to that dug-out sand pit. It would be like going back to the beginning. Hearing that Kuwait was overloaded with troops and military personnel returning stateside, we had no desire to trade our good life for another bottleneck that would consist of hurry up and wait, and wait, and wait some more for the next available transport. As rustic as the conditions at Camp Geiger were, we were settled, we had developed a relatively comfortable and secure routine, and we had made it our home. The only other home we wanted to travel to was our personal one in the United States.

  As is more often true than not when one is a member of the military, and especially when that military of which you are a member is located in a foreign, war-torn country, you quickly realize that your personal desires will never match the reality that lies before you. Despite our personal desires to go home as expeditiously as possible, we would be forced to encounter one more very meaningful and memorable venture before finally returning to the States.

  22

  BACK TO THE BEGINNING

  On 7 May 2003, we were told that on 10 May, 125 of us would be leaving Camp Geiger to return to Kuwait. Instead of that desired flight from Baghdad to our homes in the United States, we were indeed going to return to the beginning. As disappointing as that news was, we consoled ourselves with the thought that at least we would be taking one more step closer to returning home.

  We began packing up our gear, breaking down the two ORs, and dismantling some of our berthing tents. The departure plan called for the first group to leave on 10 May; those left behind were to hold fast until the FRSS and STP arrived. Once those groups were set up and prepared to care for patients, the remaining members of Bravo Surgical Company would be transported to Kuwait.

  Having moved out of my assigned berthing tent to allow those remaining behind to move into it, I slept under the stars the night of 9 May. Awakening at 4:45 the following morning, I completed packing my Alice pack
with essential supplies that were to sustain us for possibly five to seven days; dressed in full gear including helmet, flak vest, and pistol; and reported for muster at 6:30. At 7 AM the seven-ton trucks arrived and began the round-robin process of transporting us to the runway tarmac where we would await the arrival of the C-130s that would fly us to Kuwait. We were told we had what was termed “priority status,” so we anticipated only a short wait on the tarmac before being allowed to board the planes.

  I had been assigned to transportation stix number three and arrived at the tarmac at 7:30 AM. In addition to our own company’s personnel arriving for transportation, several hundred troops from marine units also arrived and began the process of waiting to board flights to Kuwait. As the C-130s landed, we grew excited, expecting to be the first group to be boarded. Our excitement quickly turned to bitter disappointment when we were told to hold fast and wait. Instead of being boarded onto the planes, we sat on the concrete part of the tarmac with little shade in 110-degree heat and watched as one group of marines after another boarded the C-130s and flew away. Each time a plane would land, our hopes of boarding would rise, only to be repeatedly squelched. Hour after hour passed; we waited and waited. Because we were in a “priority status,” we were required to remain grouped in our transport stix and allowed to leave the area only briefly to relieve ourselves in one of the fly-infested, wooden four-seater (no individual privacy stalls) “restroom facilities” or behind a bush. Our meager sustenance came in the form of MREs and water that was brought to refill our canteens.

  At 7 PM, after waiting on the tarmac for close to twelve long, miserable hours, we were informed that no more planes would be arriving and that we needed to find a spot on the concrete to sleep. I pulled out my sleeping bag and bedded down for the night underneath the stars. At 9:45 PM, less than two hours later, I was awakened by shouts and yelling that directed transport stix numbers one through three to get up, pack up their gear, and within ten minutes be prepared to board a C-130 that had unexpectedly arrived. After what I had endured over the previous fourteen hours, this order to hurry up and pack was the last straw, and despite being assigned to stix number three, I did not move. I believed nothing at this point and doubted that the C-130 was truly going to board our company’s personnel and fly to Kuwait that night.