Page 151 - 100 Hours to Destiny

I observed Gunny with unlimited energy, on foot, covering the vast
distance from vehicle to vehicle, directing the crews to pose for these iconic
photographs. Memories of a lifetime summed up in the photographs of the
victorious Delta Company Marines. Everyone was completely filthy with oil
contamination, sand and diesel fumes. I looked at my hands and could not
believe how covered in oil they were, so I reached for a bar of soap and a
five-gallon jug of water from the back of the logistics vehicle. I removed my
two chem suits, and Cammie blouse. Somehow, we had come across a 5-
gallon plastic bucket, I poured some water into that and started washing my
hands, face, neck and arms. The oil was resilient and stained so I began to
wash with much vigor as though I was washing away the war itself, along
with the memories of January 29th and the Invasion. It was pointless on all
counts, but I was not short on the will to keep trying to clean, clean, cleanse
and forget… futile attempt.
The day wore on and all we could do was wonder how it could be
that we had come so far and yet not getting to enter the streets of Kuwait
City. We could hear the sporadic gunfire erupting as the Coalition Forces
engaged the fleeing Iraqi troops. Further and fainter the sounds became until
finally, the City in our sector fell silent less the chatter on the net from Delta
Marines. Gunny had accomplished his mission and was returning to the LOG,
I met him at the front of the vehicle.
“There are some pissed off Marines out there, but for the most part,
everyone is happy that we are standing down. You know Witch, this could
have gone either way so count your blessings because if we would’ve gone
into the City things could have been a whole lot different. The enemy is on
the run and pretty much that’s that.”
Gunny made his way back to his Commander’s spot and started
writing on a small pad. Sometimes I wondered just exactly what he wrote
and if he still has that pad today. I’m sure that Gunny was detailing every
event, but I never chose to ask.
The Marines were fired up, you could see them in vigorous
conversation, laughing, hoisting American flags, and lots and lots of Texas
flags. One crew of Marines had two Devil dogs wresting on the ground and I
laughed and thought, “where in the hell did they get the energy to do that?”
but the energy was in the air. We had won the war and it was like an
“anything goes” attitude reigned supreme.
The two prisoners I had been watching stood up and with the
universal hand sign, “what about us?” and I just looked at them, pointed and
gestured for them to walk south. Somehow they knew the war was over, and
we knew they were just men who were trying to get home.