| Sunday, February 3, 1991 - "The tank's engine kicked on. It sounded like a jet getting ready for take-off... hey guys, it's just one more day closer to doing the real thing Thompson said, as he walked away to pick up his platoon's mail...the tank crews waited...The ground war waited ... another day.." | ||
| - 4/32 Armored Regt., 3d Armored Division | ||
| from my desert Journal ... | ||
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Silhouettes of tanks and soldiers, darker then the night sky in the desert. Stars, red lights cutting off and on, the only lights. Voices talking, but where they came from - unknown. The faint smell of diesel lingering in the air. In the center of the tank perimeter, a tank recovery vehicle (M88), a couple of personnel carriers for soldiers (M113s) and several other vehicles surrounding a lone Olive Drab tent. A tank, about 100 meters away from the center, had a few guys around it, laughing. "There are some dangerous camels in this desert," one soldier explained to his buddies that were gathered around him. "These camels could be some Iraqi Special Forces' guys." One of his friends laughed. It was a February night along the Iraqi/Kuwaiti border in Saudi Arabia. "You never know man," the soldier went on. "The Iraqi's 6th Infantry Division has just purchased a thousand camel suits and they've outfitted them with tank killing rockets." A private and a specialist from another tank roared. This laughter broke-up the night calm. The soldier; Dale Sizemore, was used to traveling before coming to Saudi Arabia. He claimed to be a 'gypsy;' he didn't call any particular state home. "Sizemore," a voice called from around the tank. "Yes?" he answered into the blackness. "Is your C-Vee-C (CVC - the communication helmet worn by tankers) keyed to the rear?" the voice asked with authority. Sizemore leaned over into the the driver's hatch of his tank and flipped a switch. Then he pulled out his CVC and pulled a lever forward on the side of it. "No, sergent T-e-e, it's on remote," he called back. Sergeant 'T'ee', was Sergeant First Class Frederick Thompson - was the TC - Tank Commander- of Charlie-34 and 2nd Platoon's platoon sergeant. He left his wife and two girls in Germany when his unit deployed after Iraq invaded Kuwait. "You know I can't transmit out when you have it keyed to the rear," Thompson yelled as if Sizemore couldn't hear him. "Yes, I know," Sizemore said. "It's in remote now." The sergeant did a few things and left. Sizemore started up the tank. "Hot chocolate anyone?" Sizemore asked. No one answered. That didn't matter, Sizemore was going to have some anyway. "Julio, grab a couple of canteen cups," Sizemore called up to the tank's loader's hatch. PFC Juan "Julio" Hernandez, the loader, originally from Mexico, rummaged around the top of the tank for canteen cups. It was hard to see but blue light from the tank's interior was better then none. "Where are they? I don't see them," said Hernandez. "Oh hell, they're up there somewhere," Sizemore shouted. Hernandez found them
and before long the hot water; heated up by the engine under
the back deck, Sizemore kept looking through a box full of condiments - shoe box size, for hot chocolate mix. Army brand and sugar. "I can't see," he mumbled out loud. "Hey Sizemore, you want the good stuff?" SFC Thomspson appeared from nowhere it seemed. "Yea, that'd be great," Sizemore said. Thompson threw some store-bought hot chocolate packages down to the front deck and Hernandez and Sizemore toasted, "Prost." German for Cheers. Hernandez and a lieutenant platoon leader, 1LT Paul Cook, came over and joined the crew. "Go ahead and shut it down," Thompson told Sizemore. "Sure boss." Sizemore leaned over and cut the engine off. The Saudi desert suddenly seemed extra quiet. Someone called over the radio. Something about going on the night Thermal Sight Watch (TIS - Thermal Image Sight) watch. Getting back to his story about Iraqi's dressed up as camels, desert animals seem to be the subject for conversation for Sizemore. For some reason Sizemore began talking about snakes. "I ain't never seen a snake before," said the specialist to Sizemore. Sizemore joked on. "I want to find a cobra. I still haven't got the first sergeant something for Christmas." The lieutenant got the conversation onto a more serious not, reminding his guys they were here for war. Officers...always serious. "The 6th Iraqi Tank Division; which was right across the border from us, pulled out of prepared positions two nights ago and they make it to the border before the Air Force bombers kicked the dog shit out of 'em. It went from a brigade of minus which was 24-hours ago, trying to find a place to hold-up." Sizemore, Hernandez and the others didn't say a word. They knew the ground war would start soon. They listened to Cook like he was telling a ghost story. "The Air Force just completely destroyed most of the unit. So that just leaves that shattered unit from the 6th, then the 12th Tank Division and that's it," Cook paused. "The rest of the Iraqi units are light with the exception of the Republican Guard Corps. That is probably Saddam Hussein's only offensive capability. So we might as well snuff it. It will make it easier to beat the dog shit out of everyone else." The tankers just sat there for a minute in awe at their platoon leader. This was REAL war. Not anything like "China Beach" on T.V. "Our very own war God," Sizemore kidded. Sergeant Thompson came over and talked with the lieutenant about a spring and mainternance of the tanks. "Your battle story?" Cook asked Thompson. "Thermal sights working alright?" "Of course sir," Thompson said. "With our system, we could fire all day and all night; just give us the ammo." One soldier left the group- he had roving guard duty around the perimeter with night vision goggles. "Get you sleeping bags out guys and get ready to get some sleep. We go on at midnight." Thompson sounded more like a father then a platoon sergeant. He walked off to check on the rest of his platoon in other tanks. The lieutenant and Sizemore kept on talking. They talked of goats' heads, voodoo, and first sergeants. It was nearly 8:30 p.m. and Cook had to leave for a commander's meeting with the captain. The lieutenant left and so Sizemore and Hernandez talked some. Sizemore - "How many bombers did we see the other night?" Hernandez - "Which one? Which night?" Sizemore - "That one night we saw, I think it was like... Hernandez - "...three squadrons." Sizemore - "Yea, three." Hernandez - "All in a V formation." Sizemore - "Aaahso, big run." Sergeant Thompson appeared out of the night.. "Hey guys, let's get your sleeping bags out and get some shut-eye. You'd stay up all night and then all day and do your shift, tomorrow you ain't going to be worth nothing." Sizemore agreed and climbed into the driver's compartment and closed the hatch. Hernandez went around the back of the turret and found himself a place to sleep. Thompson still had things to do and the gunner, Sgt. Charles King, from Cleveland, Ohio, had been in the tank the whole time working on his art, checking gun sights, getting ready for the ground war, he had waken up and checked everything out. Everyone in the crew slept until 1200 midnight. Everything was quite on watch and back to sleep by 0230. At 4:00 a.m. it was Stand-to. The stars were still shining and the air was cold and damp. "Sizemore....Sizemore! Get up," a tanker whispered loudly. Sizemore was in a deep sleep. "Hey James," Thompson called. "Stand-to is not until 0530. It changed as of yesterday. "Oh, I'm sorry Sergeant T-e-e. I didn't know," the tanker apologized. "You still got forty five minutes." The tanker left and Thompson went back into the turret. At 0530, the sergeant was already awake. "Good morning," he boomed. King returned the greeting and Hernandez didn't say anything. Hernandez stepped out of the loader's gun position to secure everything up on top of the tank. King made checks on his gun sights. "Sizemore," Thompson yelled. No answer. "Sizemore!" he yelled even louder. "Huh? What's up?" Sizemore answered from the driver's seat. "Huh?" Thompson mimicked. "We've got short count in two minutes. Be on your toes." The radio came on with the short count. "2-3-1..." The engine wasn't started. "Start it!" Thompson yelled. "What?" Sizemore was still half asleep and agitated. "Start it!" The tank's engine kicked on. It sounded like a jet getting ready for take-off. King and Thompson had their faces pressed on the black padding around their gun sights. They checked all systems. Flipping switches, pushing buttons. They locked in on a dog that was wandering around the company desert position. "What's that right there," King asked Thompson. "That's one of those dogs," Thompson said. "You know, they got a head like an armadillo." They continued to scan their surroundings till daylight. They did a preparation for fire drill then Stand-down. Wait some more. "Hey Hernandez!" Thompson hollered. "I think stand-to is over with okay? We'll boresight the main gun first and then do some personal hygiene and have breakfast. Okay?" Engine shut off. Winding down sound, like a super large vaccuum cleaner being shut-off. "Okay Sizemore, you can come out now," saidSergeant Thompson. "You have hygiene and breakfas time. Open up the 6th MRE box, the other five have to be left unopened. The extra one is chow for today." The sun was up and killed the night. The air got warmer in the desert. Tankers were everywhere and the tank perimeter could be seen clearly. "Hey guys, it's just one more day closer to doing the real thing," Thompson said as he walked away to pick up his platoon's mail. The tank crews waited. The ground war waited ... another day.
 Postscript: The Battallion saw some heavy action durin the ground offensive. Sgt King wrote of it shortly after the cease fire ...kmj |
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February
3d, 1991 - Near the Saudi Border with the 4th Battalion 32d Armor,
3d Armored Division, US Army VII Corps.