Memoirs of an Outlaw: Life in the Sandbox

Chapter 8: Road March

The air resonated with the sound of about a hundred engines starting up. Dust filled the sky as the vehicles started to move about. This is it, I thought. This is what I have been training for. I could only imagine what lay ahead.

I looked down through my hatch into the scout compartment to ensure all my men were good to go. Lance Corporal Shearer was standing up through his hatch taking in the scene. Corporal Forsyth was sitting in my side of the scout compartment with the PRC-119 (man-pack radio with a handset) strapped to his back and the handset in his ear. He kept giving me updates of what was going on over the net. Lance Corporal Herman was on Shearer’s side of the compartment with his rifle between his legs.

I stood back up and donned my CVC (communications) helmet to listen in on the net and receive any further word from Sergeant Krall. Lance Corporal John “Ski” Martuszewski, our vehicle gunner, clicked over to the vehicle intercom and started repeating some joke that someone had told over the platoon net. He then went on to tease our driver, Lance Corporal Tyler Tracy.

Tracy sat quiet in his driver’s compartment and sweat like a pig. All the guy did was eat, sweat, and sleep. During our whole deployment, I don’t believe I ever once saw him not soaked in sweat. However, it was understandable because he sat right next to the engine block, he was completely shut in, and he had no ventilation. But we had to tease him because that was how we showed our friendship for one another.

“Tracy, how you doing down there?” Ski asked.

Tracy, never one to say much, remained silent. 

Ski wasn’t one to let someone ignore him so he continued. “Tracy, if you don’t crack open your driver’s hatch, you may drown in your own sweat.”

I let out a little chuckle and I could hear Krall do the same. But still, Tracy didn’t respond. He was probably cussing Ski under his breath.

“Tracy, what the fuck did you eat man?  I can smell that shit from up here! You must be sweatin’ whatever you ate out of your pores dude. Damn that shit stinks!” Ski continued, doing his best to get a reaction.

“Ski, you’re soooo funny,” Tracy sarcastically said. He had enough of Ski at this point so, to shut him up, he had to respond or else risk hearing Ski talk shit for another hour.

A little while later, Sergeant Krall clicked onto the vehicle intercom and told us the convoy was beginning to move. Since we were in the middle, it took a few minutes before the domino effect kicked in. I looked behind us to watch as the long line of vehicles began to move and spit up dust into the air. We looked like one hell of a formidable fighting force.

The first half of the trip seemed to take the longest. After we had departed, we took a couple of turns before we got onto the main road. Each vehicle was keeping about thirty meters dispersion and varied its speed to avoid being hit by any improvised explosive devices.

From Camp Victory to the border of Kuwait and Iraq took about an hour. Kuwaitis drove by the convoy and waved. Some gave blank stares. The main thing I noticed was that almost everyone drove either a BMW or Mercedes, and they looked to be pretty new models too. Another thing that shocked me was that women were driving. During my first deployment to Iraq, I had never seen a woman drive a car. We were informed it was strictly forbidden in Iraqi culture. Seeing women driving in plain clothes took me by surprise.

The scenery wasn’t much, but it was more pleasing to the eye than Iraq. From time to time, a small city would pop out of the desert. It seemed so odd to have countless miles of sand, and then suddenly a city with huge skyscrapers, and then nothing again. It wasn’t as if there were surrounding suburbs.