Fear and Foxholes: War Zone Life Tests the Nerves
Wed Mar 26, 9:29 AM ET
By Matthew Green
SOUTHERN IRAQ (Reuters) - The U.S. Marine's rifle was pointing straight at my chest.
I was just about to shoot you," whispered the figure, suddenly realizing I was a reporter, and not an Iraqi soldier, stumbling out of the shadows of the moonlit desert.
For both, it was a nerve-racking moment.
A new generation of U.S. and British soldiers -- and the reporters covering their operations -- are getting their first taste of life in a war zone as the conflict unfolds in Iraq.
Several hundred reporters have been attached to U.S. units to travel with them during the invasion, sharing many of the dangers and hardships.
Like most of the young soldiers, some of the reporters have never experienced such a large-scale conflict before. It has been a rapid education for all.
On the night the invasion began, I took cover in a foxhole next to a 19-year-old Marine as the horizon flickered with the flash of artillery. The drone of heavy bombers made a sound like the sky was being ripped open. Sirens wailed in the distance.
The Marine fell asleep in his gas mask -- fearing that he might be "slimed" during the night -- U.S. military jargon for suffering a chemical weapons attack.
Hiding in -- and digging -- trenches is the easy part of living with an invading army.
Forget hot drinks and showers. A punishing lack of sleep, sweat-stained clothes and a constant diet of "Meals, ready to eat (MRE)," rations define life on the road to Baghdad.
Many Marines swear by MRE menu number eight -- the hamburger, which warms up with a flameless chemical ration heater.
Whatever the merits of living on rations, life for many Iraqi troops and civilians caught in the crossfire is likely to be far harder than most soldiers or reporters will experience.
AMMO TRUCK LIVING
The unit with which I have been "embedded" is part of the First Marine Expeditionary Force, a platoon of trucks that ferry food, fuel and ammunition to fighters in the front line.
The cab of a six-wheeled lorry, manned by two Marines and laden with guided missiles and thousands of rounds of rifle ammunition, has become a new home.
Sometimes a few hours sleep in the cab is possible, or maybe on the desert sand, watching oil fires glowing on the horizon like hot coals. The convoy engines rumble into life as dawn breaks over southern Iraq and rations are eaten on the move.
Boots stay on all night as do chemical weapons suits, although without the masks, and sometimes body armor -- not just because it's cold. Sometimes there is no sleep at all, as Second Platoon keeps on trucking through the night.
For a toilet, dig a hole in the ground, or use an upturned ammunition box hidden in the trailer in the back.
No one has washed since the war started -- or changed out of stifling chemical weapons suits.
Pools of brackish water in marshes surrounding the Euphrates river looked tempting as a bath -- until a dead dog was seen lying half-submerged.
Working in the truck presents its own problems. At night, a reporter must type with a blanket thrown over head and computer -- like a child reading an illicit comic after bedtime. This is to prevent the glow from the screen illuminating the cab and making it a possible target.
As for getting on with the Marines, they have a maxim -- "Be professional, be polite, but have a plan to kill everyone you meet."
story.news.yahoo.com |
