by Clay Martin
Without a word, Paul set to pulling the machine guns free of their mounts. I always liked working with other team guys. They asked what needed to be done, and then did it.
Less than an hour later, all of our collective jobs were finished. I had just finished checking the last of the guard towers, and met the rest of the guys in front of the TOC. Everyone was enjoying some last moments of being outside, in spite of the heat. Like a switch had been flipped, suddenly the light got dimmer. On the horizon, like a tidal wave of dust, the lead edge of the haboob came into view. Two thousand feet high, a solid wall of flying sand. Above that, lighting flashed in dark clouds. You could actually watch the storm eat up the distance between you and it, one of the strangest parts of a haboob. As it relentlessly crashed towards us, the air picked up speed. First a gentle breeze, then a blowing inferno of superheated air. I always thought a haboob coming on looked like the beginning of the apocalypse. Unfortunately, this time I was right.
CHAPTER FOUR
When the storm closed the distance enough to start pelting us with sand, we turned and went inside. I taped the door frame for good measure, and went to check on Frank. He had set up in the back corner of the TOC, as much for quiet as for privacy. Ranger Alan was out cold, with an IV bag in his left arm.
“How’s he doing, Frank?” I asked quietly.
“He’s okay so far. Running a slight fever, we are going to have to stay on top of that. You know how it goes over here. Could be food poisoning and he will be fine tomorrow. Could be one of the viruses we don’t have names for and it will take a couple of days. With the resources we have, we are just going to have to wait and see.”
“Fair enough. What do you need from us?” My medical knowledge wasn’t quite limited to rub some dirt on it or walk it off, but it wasn’t exactly deep either.
“His fever is only 101, but we need to monitor it. Keep fluids in him, and see what happens. Considering our extremely limited medical supplies, we need to stay on top of it. I don’t have the tools to help him if we let this get out of control.” Typical of our situation. Frank had been hired as a warm body, not a medic. Therefore, the contract didn’t specify that he was to be provided with the real equipment needed for his profession. Most of what was laying around, including his patient table, was either his personal stash, or stuff we traded for with the Army units that stopped by. It was like having a mechanic on staff, with only a Chinese crescent wrench and pliers to work with. Frustrating to say the least, but we had what we had.
“Rotating duty?” I inquired. Best to let Frank run this show.
“Let’s say two hour shifts, check his temp every 30 minutes. Come and get me if it goes over 103.” Frank responded.
“Easy day. And his guys can take the 0100 to 0500 shifts.” Every soldier knows, those are the witching hours of sentry duty. It doesn’t matter how long you have been on reverse schedule, your body still wants to sleep at that time, badly. I liked Paul, but not enough to ask my crew to eat that. Your boy, your problem.
The rest of us settled in for what might be a long couple of days. As the leading edge of the haboob engulfed us, the sun went eerily dim. The light was always creepy in a storm like this. In truth, it was no darker out than right after sunset, when nautical twilight still fills the horizon. But the if you have ever stood under a total solar eclipse, you know the feeling. You can see, the sun is still there, but it feels wrong somehow. A thing that should not be. Goosebumps crept up my arms, the same primitive fear that had kept us alive when we still lived in caves and knew not yet fire. I willed it away, before someone noticed. Scott kicked on a couple of our battery powered lanterns, cracked open a bottle, and offered drinks all around. Soon, we were catching up and telling war stories from the good old days. At least as much as Paul and Jim were able to catch up. Agency goons take tight lipped to another level. We didn’t want to be rude, so we didn’t press the issue. Jim, it turned out, was a Jarhead too. Grunt, had seen action at Fallujah, which is street cred enough in any room. Left unsaid, I assumed then that he had gone Agency not long after. Must’ve built a solid reputation to survive the onslaught of deep resumes that would have been coming for his job in the last few years. We made Willie sit next to him after that, so we could point all our barbs about idiot Marines one direction at the table. The howling wind kept up late into the night, at times making me think the roof was going to rip completely off and fly into the desert. Plywood wasn’t exactly known as the greatest building material on Earth, and I hoped our TOC was built by American KBR employees. If it was subbed to local construction crews, they would have pocketed every other nail. With the static electricity flashes that occasionally burst from the flying sand and the ungodly howl, I couldn’t help but think this is how bad horror movies start. The six machine guns laying by the front door brought me back to reality. Still, I decided the best course of action was to get extremely drunk so I could sleep. I made it to midnight, and stumbled off to find my bedroll.
Around 0400, Paul shook me awake. There was a commotion around our makeshift hospital in the back, lots of flashlight pointing and orders. Scott got the lanterns going as I was slapping on my boots. I had no idea what was happening, but I learned something a long time ago: most problems in life are best faced wearing solid footwear. Frank was livid, reading someone the riot act.
“You fell asleep on watch chucklehead, there is no way his fever spiked that fast in 20 minutes.” The accusation flew at Jim.
“No, I didn’t. I checked at 0330, it was 102. That was close to the line, so I checked again five minutes ago. It was 103, so I woke you up.” Nobody liked being accused of falling asleep, that is a serious offense.
“Not a chance. It is 107 now. That can’t happen in five minutes”
I interrupted, rudely. I had been asleep just long enough to start my hangover, and I wasn’t happy to say the least. “Hey ladies, how about we sort this part out later? Frank, report. What do you need?”
“This is bad. Real bad. Right now his brain is cooking, and if it hits 108, he might just drop dead right here.”
Ouch. That took the fun out of the room with a quickness. I took a glance at Ranger, he looked like death warmed over. His face had gone white as a sheet, and he was drenching the floor with this sweat. Without an air conditioner, the room was a balmy 85 degrees anyway. Welcome to the suck. I remembered all the wisdom I had heard growing up about how cold a desert got at night. That might be true elsewhere, but not here in Iraq. In the summer, it might cool off to below 90, if you were lucky. The storm had bought us an extra five degrees, peachy.
“Emergency medevac?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Nobody is flying in this, I don’t care if the President has a sucking chest wound. Can’t be done.” Paul responded for everyone.
I ran to a window, pressing my flashlight right up to the glass. The sand was still flying like snow in a nor’easter. I couldn’t see five feet into it. And even if we could get around the not seeing part, driving wasn’t an option. The air cleaners would be solid bricks of dirt inside 10 miles in conditions like this.” Trucks are a no go.” I announced.” Frank, what are we going to do?”
“We need an ice bath.”
“Well, we have a chest freezer full of frozen water bottles in the chow hall. Problem solved. Willie, Scott, find some backpacks. Let’s try and do this in one trip.” Scott grabbed the small cooler of ice we already had on hand, from making drinks earlier, and handed it to Frank.
“Not that simple. Yes, just ice is a start...” Frank said as he was already apply the frozen bottles to Rangers armpits and groin.” Contact ice doesn’t do as well on fevers, I need the heat conductivity of water. Also, I could accidentally give him frostbite like this, which is going to compound our problem. I need a tub big enough to put him in, and ice on hand to regulate the water temperature.”
“Anybody got a suggestion?” I said raising my eyebrows.<
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Willie dumped over the supply closet, a metal locker with shelves every foot. Dumping the contents, he flipped it onto its face.” We could line this with trash bags maybe, but there are a lot of holes.”
I assessed the problem with him, as did Scott. “It will take us an hour to get the shelves out, and I’m still not sure he would fit. Frank, easily. Ranger, only if we cut his legs off first.”
Paul was already pulling googles over his head.” One problem at a time fellas. Let’s get the ice so we have that part solved, and then we can lean on the tub.”
He was right, and we knew it. Frank was running up a new IV bag, the old one running out quick. Everyone else was pulling on clothes and dumping out bags. Going out in the storm was going to be a long way from fun, best to do this in as few trips as possible.” Not you Jim. Stay here in case Frank needs spare hands. Or we manage to get lost.” I said while pulling on a long sleeve shirt.
There was a moment’s hesitation, a kind of gravity in the air. Jim wasn’t use to taking orders from me, no matter whose house we were in. It is an unspoken taboo not to order another units troops directly, no matter the rank you are wearing. But this wasn’t the time to monkey about. Jim, to his credit, hit me with a “Roger that” and moved off in Franks direction.
When the four of us had on all the protection we could muster, we met at the front door. Goggles over top, we had a motley assortment of bath towels and pillow cases in place of kafias. Only tourists would be caught dead in those anymore, I hadn’t seen a real operator with one since 2002. But it would have been very handy about now. Scott had a blue bandana pulled up over his face like an extra in a Western.
“Jesus Scott, you signing up for the Crips or the James Gang?” I didn’t wait for an answer.” Okay, rope is staked out directly in front of us, waist high. Let’s make a chain from the door frame until I find it. Chow hall is thirty meters east, rope should terminate on the left door handle. We get in, quick head count, and load up. Reverse on the way out. Suggestions?”
There were none. I hooked Willie’s arm with mine and opened the door to hell. Sand immediately blasted over us, whipping loose papers and curtains around the room. The door slipped my grasp and slammed into the side of the building. Reluctantly, I stepped one foot into the maelstrom and was engulfed by the weight of the air. It seems insane, but I could actually feel the press of earth resisting my movement. Step by agonizing step, waiving my hand high and low, I searched for the guide line. Just when I thought I had to have overshot it, it slammed down onto my wrist. Quickly tugging up to put tension on it, I manage to get ahold of it. I turned my head to Willie, and exaggerated a yes nodding. We were at touching distance, and he was still difficult to see. He got the point and nodded back to Scott, who nodded on to Paul. Paul let go of the door frame, slammed the door shut with his free hand, and we were off.
The walk to the chow hall felt like crossing the Sahara and climbing K-2 at the same time. I kept my head down, pressing forward into an inferno of blasting air. The sand had found every crack in my armor, and stung like a thousand tiny pin pricks. I kept one hand on the rope, the other feeling in front of me for the structure. Presently, we arrived. I threw open the door like I had just found an extra life boat on the Titanic. Willie, Scott, and Paul stumbled in behind me, pulling the door closed. Visually assuring myself we were all present with my head lamp, I set off for the chest freezer. Scott held open the first bag while I started filling it with frozen water bottles. Oh, if our grandfathers from Tarawa and Iwo Jima could see us now. I remember the first time I rotated back to the war after the invasion, to see a pallet yard full of bottled water, as far as the eye could see. I asked, and it was explained to me that it had been calculated as cheaper to import truckloads of plastic H2O from Kuwait than to purify what was available from the Tigris and Euphrates. That may be true, but it still sounds crazy. Sometime tell a Korean War Veteran you fought a war sponsored by Evian, it’s a barrel of laughs. Poor bastards barely had socks, and we couldn’t even be bothered to fill our own canteens. Progress. Well, at least it was going to help us save someone tonight. The first thing any SF team did in country as soon as they had electricity was buy a chest freezer dedicated to ice. Filled to the brim with bottles, it is the biggest morale booster in the universe.
While I was shucking bottles, Willie hit an obvious follow up question.
“What about the water part?” he asked.
Scott, ever the logistics master, responded. “Five cases in the TOC, plus at least that many in here. If we really need more, pallets are stacked right outside the back door.”
Bags filled, we reversed course back to the TOC. Just that 30 meters made me really hope the out in the storm part was over. As soon as we had the door closed, Frank was grabbing the goods to ice pack Ranger.
“He hit 108 a few minutes ago. The ice bath is critical. We have to have a solution.” He told us grimly.
I collapsed in a chair, pulling my goggles off and shaking the dirt off my head.” I am open to brilliant ideas.”
Scott became animated in way that only an epiphany can explain. I half expected him to shout “Eureka!” as he leapt to his feet. Or” Great Scott”, maybe that would have been more appropriate.” Spill kits! We can use a spill kit!”
Sweet baby Jesus, that was brilliant! Of course! We were on a fuel farm, we had spill kits coming out the ying yang. Tough, thick, rubber material, they were purpose built to stand up and hold liquids. All you had to do was tie the sides up with the included rope, and you had an overgrown oil pan. They were big enough for Ranger and his twin brother if need be, all we had to do was find one.
“Closest one is inside the diesel lane?” I asked. Not a problem I thought I would ever have, but remembering the exact layout of the COP was critical. I would have sworn I could draw the place blindfolded by now, but the complete lack of visibility outside had me questioning my memory.
“Closest is actually the corner of the gasoline/diesel West corner, if I’m thinking straight. “Scott replied.
Looking to Frank, I asked for his input. “That going to get the job done?”
Frank was listening to Rangers heartbeat with his stethoscope, and held up a hand for me to wait a second. Finished, he chimed in. “That would be perfect, but how are you going to get it?”
“Leave that to us. It’ll be here quick, fast, and in a hurry.”
Frank went back to his patient, leaving the detail work to us nuggs. We huddled up, thinking through how to get across the COP when we couldn’t see Jack, and Jill had clearly left town. Then it hit me like a thing that surprises you, can be measured in English or Metric tons, and is often red. (Crayons, obviously. We needed an out of the norm solution. Bricks are for dolts.)
“I got it. All we really have to do is hit the barrier wall to retrieve the spill kit. The hard part is getting back. The getting there, provided none of us completely cheated the compass course back at Bragg, is a pretty simple magnetic azimuth. The wall is the biggest thing on the compound, a general direction will do. Getting back, we are gonna Sir Edmund Hillary this bad johnson. Light bulbs across the peanut gallery! What I meant was, all we had to do was take stakes with us and make a guideline as we went, just like we had done before the storm for the chow hall. I had never actually done that in military mountaineering, but you saw it in all the Everest movies. I had at least set ropes on the way up a cliff, how hard could it be on flat ground. Well, blind and on flat ground.
“So we need stakes and rope. Rope we can pull in from the chow wall, and the one from the aid station. We just won’t be able to get back to those places in any timely fashion. Say, five stakes? Six to be extra sure?” I hoped my enthusiasm was contagious, and Ranger wasn’t.
“Stakes, easy day. I put the spares in here, mostly because I didn’t feel like humping them back across the compound. I’ll go, I know the COP like the back of my hand.” Scott chimed in.
I looked conspicuously at Scott’s scarred up left hand. “Maybe not the best analogy for you to use, Scott. No, I’ll go. My COP, my risk. And either Paul or Jim is coming with me. It’s there guy, they get to split the risk.”
Jim started to say something, but Paul cut him off. At least it cleared up which of them was senior. “I’m going, and it’s not open to debate.“ He had a look in his eye that stifled any dissent.
“Alright then, let’s get this done. Willie, Scott, I need you to get the loose ends of the ropes. Jim, you pull tension to guide them back. Those are both straight shots, so there shouldn’t be any snags. I’ll go dig my compass out, and then Paul and I will get extra dressed. When we go out, we are taking a spare set of goggles each, just in case. Ready, break!”
Extra dressed, in this case, meant some further precautions for Paul and I. Going out for five minutes was one thing, but we were looking at 45 minutes minimum exposed now. And potentially the rest of our lives if we got lost. I grabbed a set of wire gloves for each of us, and set about duct taping them to our sleeves. The gloves were thick, but this wasn’t exactly surgery we needed to conduct. I put a poncho and some water in a backpack, small hope it would keep us alive if we fell off the path. Next, and extra shirt over top of my current one. Sand blowing like this could actually erode the clothes off your back given enough time. By the time Scott and Willie made it back, I was holding my compass and a sledge hammer, ready to move out.
“Consensus on azimuth? Generally North East, so 045 degrees sound about right?” I looked to Willie and Scott for a sanity check.
“Sounds about right. You sure you want to do this?” Scott asked me as he was finishing the knots to tie all the rope segments together. Paul picked up the spool.
“I’m actually sure I don’t, but I don’t see another way. “My last step, I snap linked a chunk of tubular nylon to my belt, running from Paul’s. The tubular nylon is a standard piece of kit in every soldiers armor, useful for dragging your buddies out of the line of fire in situations where you can’t lift your head without getting it shot off. Habits die hard, and it would work just as well to keep us from losing contact with one another. “You ready, Paul?”