it was going to be a target for the artillery. We used the artillery quite often, and the round of choice was Improved Conventional Munitions. The ICM is a big bullet that bursts open and drops a bunch of little bombs that are designed to take out tanks. They could blow a two-foot hole in packed dirt so precisely that you could drop a soda can down the opening.
Finally, after what must have been more than an hour of staring at this massive enemy convoy, we heard the sound of Marine artillery guns way off in the distance to our four o’clock. Five seconds later, we heard the burst, followed by the crackle of hundreds of mini bombs impacting. Unfortunately, all of the shells hit way to the left or right. Nothing hit any of the enemy vehicles to our direct front. The bomb had one effect. The enemy immediately turned off their lights.
“Great,” we all thought. “We didn’t hit any of them and now we can’t even see them.”
As I sat behind the driver’s station where Lance Corporal Mejia watched the thermal driving screen, I switched between binoculars and night vision goggles trying to get a glimpse of something out there. Finally we saw movement. More than a dozen large dust signatures were barely visible in the air. Only one thing could throw a dust plume that high a tank! Our twenty-six ton tracks are no match for a forty or sixty-ton standard battle tank. A .50 caliber machine gun could chew us up, let alone a round from the main gun of a tank.
All we could do was watch and wait for help as we stared into the darkness with a giant enemy in front of us.
Heavenly Father, be my watchman throughout my day and night today.
“Watchman, what is left of the night? Watchman, what is left of the night”? (Isaiah 21:11b)
January 12
CHATTER
As we stared into the inky darkness, knowing an Iraqi tank convoy covered the horizon directly to our front, the radio chatter keyed up.
“We needed help out here and fast,” we pleaded.
We had no tanks with us at that moment; they had all gone to refuel a big problem. The only thing we had was several shoulder-fired AT-4s, rockets which are only good out to three hundred meters in the daytime. The Iraqi tanks would make easy targets of our highly silhouetted tracks long before that.
Our platoon sergeant, “the Gunny,” began calling our commander over the comm, the communications network.
“Colgate, this is Iceman,” we heard come across the net. “Why don’t we have any tanks out here?”
“The tanks say they’re not coming until they refuel, Iceman.” Colgate responded.
“What do you mean they aren’t coming till they refuel? We are going to be in some serious trouble here real soon!” Gunny exclaimed. “What about CAT?”
CAT is a Humvee with a TOW missile on top of it.
“CAT can’t make it out to us,” was the response. “Ground is too rough.”
“All right everybody listen up. This is Iceman. Everybody start your vehicles now. We are getting out of here as soon as the first shot is fired.” Everyone immediately started their trucks.
“No one is going anywhere. Shut your vehicles down now,” Colgate shouted over the net; the anger quite apparent in his voice. Just as fast as we started them, we shut the trucks off.
Mejia and I went into the troop compartment and unstrapped the AT-4s. We jumped out of the back of the truck, and called over to an infantry squad leader, a corporal, who had ridden with us.
“What’s going on, what’s up with you guys?” he asked.
“There are fifteen tanks coming this way, you guys need to get these ready,” Mejia said handing him the rockets.
After Mejia and I returned to the Amtrak, the wind picked up. Everything looked hazy as dust filled the air again. This was worrisome because now we couldn’t see the tanks anymore, only the dust. The whole world around us lit up once again into a Mars-like amber glow. It was as if a streetlight suddenly turned on over a dark foggy street.
Chatter is often useless, leading us nowhere. Babbling was no substitute for real action, real decision- making.
Weed out the fruitless noise and chatter in my mind and heart today. Fill it with the substance of you and the promises of your word for righteousness.
“…a chattering fool comes to ruin.” (Proverbs 10:10b)
January 13
BIBLE IN A ZIP-LOCK BAG
To our horror, the corporal to whom we had given the AT-4 fired off an illumination round from his M203 grenade launcher, but because of the wind, the round drifted back toward us. Its tiny parachute carried it back to the ground, completely giving away our position.
“We were dead for sure now,” I thought. I just knew the enemy tanks would loom out of the dust and darkness at any moment.
“What are you doing,” I blasted. “The tanks are going to know we are here for sure now!”
“Where are they, we can’t see them?” the corporal replied, not seeming to care that a lance corporal had yelled at him.
“They’re out there. Straight ahead of us, about 1500–2000 meters. Don’t fire another one of those flares,” I begged.
I got back into the track and climbed up to the troop commander’s station, behind the driver.
“Can you see anything?” I asked.
“No, nothing yet, too much dust,” Mejia replied. “Take a break. I’ll wake you if anything happens.”
“I think it’s going to be easier than it sounds, sleep that is,” I responded as I climbed into the troop compartment.
Sitting on the center bench seat and leaning against the ramp at the very back of the vehicle, I lit a cigarette and tried to relax. Dirt cigarettes we called them the ones the Iraqis tried to sell from the side of the road.
“How can I sleep at a time like this?” I thought.
I pulled a small zip-lock bag from my uniform’s left breast pocket. Here I kept a pocket-size Bible the USO (United Service Organizations) distributed at Aviano Air Force base in Italy, where we stopped en route to Kuwait. Also in the bag was a plastic wallet-size picture holder with photographs of my girlfriend in Ohio and my family back home in Manitoba, Canada.
After reading several versus from the Psalms, I returned the Bible to the bag and looked at the photo album. In my mind I said goodbye to everyone I loved. Then I returned the pictures to the bag and prayed. I thanked God for the life he had given me, my parents, and the people I loved. I asked God to take my life into his hands and do with me what he willed. When I was finished, I closed my eyes, laid down on the bench, and miraculously fell asleep.
