Tip of the Spear

I get many inquires over what exactly it is I did during my two trips to Iraq, so I in my next series of posts I'll try and explain a few things in detail. I'll try and make it semicronological but it may skip around a bit later. This first series will be dedicated to my first tour of duty from February-June 03.

So all that being said the story of the journey from the USA to Kuwait in January and February 03, along with the ridiculous politics involved be will discussed at a later date.

By February 13, 2003 all the elements of 68th Chemical Company (to which my platoon belonged) had arrived in Kuwait. At the time of our arrival, there was generally no mission for my 25 man platoon. The rest of the company had been sent to Kuwait to perform decontamination operations of the ports in the event that Saddam did have some chemical weapons to put to work. The mechanized smoke platoon was really just along for the ride. There was speculation that we could be used as "force protection" which generally amounts to guard duties of different varieties.

The first week in Kuwait was spent getting our equipment unloaded from the port and getting it ready to go. We worked in some training where we could, but really this time was spent getting supplies and doing a lot of weapons and vehicle maintenance.


A practice "Mask Drill" in Camp Arifjan Kuwait.

By February 22 word was on the street that there was an unemployed mechanized smoke platoon in Arifjan and request for support from V Corps and 3rd Infantry Division had been made. It was only a matter of days before we moved from the luscious accommodations of Camp Arifjan (warehouse style indoor sleeping arrangements with access to showers, working toilets, a gym, a pay telephone, a dining facility, and an Army and Airforce Exchange Services Store (PX from here forth) where the soldiers could by hygiene products and other niceties) north to Camp New York. Camp New York was similarly equipped as Arifjan, but we only stayed there for one night and then moved with an Armor battalion as they left to occupy a new area. This new unnamed area was burmed up (making a large wall of sand) on all sides by engineers and was made home of the 3rd Brigade.

Once set up here we had none of the plush amenities of Camp Arifjan or Camp New York. Eventually we would take morale trips once a week to Camp New York or New Jersey to make use of their showers, pay phones, and PX. While at camp though, we were without tentage and food was served hot once or twice a day from a can. We slept on our vehicles, or on a cot next to our vehicles. I was very thankful that it was February and March at this point; it obviously could have been much worse.


As there was no way to dispose of human waste, and we would be camped here for quite some time, soldiers had to perform daily "shit burning" detail. Diesel fuel was added to the deposits left in the constructed outhouses and set on fire.

The austere conditions never really bothered me personally. Once you get going those things are nice but by no means necessary. My worries mostly focused around the fact that my direct boss was back in Arifijan and we were out with a whole other Division who would like nothing better than to crap on my big-ass First Cavalry patch. Some of my worries about this later materialized while others did not.

The worst part about being attached to another unit - and that unit would begin to change constantly in the future - was getting mail. Mail was nearly impossible for us to get. Our families back home would send it to Arifijan, and our company in Arifjan would hold it and try and get it to us when the could. They had little opportunity to get it to us however. Some of my guys decided to have their mail sent to the units we were attached to, but often by the time it got there we had moved on to the next unit. Its amazing how important mail ranks in comparison to things like showers and food, but the one or two times it did come through it was like Christmas for the whole platoon.

Once, months later, when I was on patrol in Baghdad, I ran into a British gentlemen on the street. He was a pharmacist who apparently had just arrived there to try and help the locals. He handed me his wife's phone number in London and asked that I try and contact her for him and tell her he was doing fine. It was hard not to laugh, but I broke it to him that I hadn't heard from my wife for 40 plus days, and I offered to try and send a letter from him through if he wanted. "Oh no indeed, that's much too slow." Ah western expectations I love it.