It was a warm, bright spring day in 1991, in the Persian Gulf. My unit had just received word to pack up and get ready for the trip home. We had been waiting to hear those words for a long six months. As we packed up our supplies and personal belongings we realized that we had a lot of food left over and needed to do something with it. We thought of passing it on to other units, but there were no units in our area that would be staying. We had heard of a refugee camp called Safwain just 70 miles north of us on the Kuwaiti Highway.

An SFC and I loaded up our truck the, "Big green monster" with all the food left over from our six months of hell. At least to me it was hell. The heat by day the cold by night. The overwhelming sandstorms that made you lose your direction. The sandstorms scrubbed the paint off the sides of the trucks and made it hard to breath and even harder to see. The rains when they did come came down so hard you couldn't see ten feet in front of your face. The never ceasing smell of oils wells burning in the distance. The sand fleas, the rats that always seemed to be running around the tents, the spiders the size of dinner plates that could jump five feet in the air, all this added to my vision of hell.

We left the heavily guarded compound were my unit was staying in Kuwait after the Gulf War. We pulled on to the rough Kuwaiti Highway. The Kuwaiti Highway was shot up from machine gun fire and bombs that both the Americans and the Iraqis dropped on it. I looked off to both sides of the highway and saw craters where bombs had been dropped. Where telephone poles once stood high they now laid on the ground. I saw tanks blown up and burnt almost to the point of being unrecognizable. I saw the remnants of a time gone by, of lives

destroyed and wrecked cars. While traveling down the Kuwaiti Highway I could see the oil wells burning in the distance and I could smell the stench that came with that sight. It was over powering. I kept thinking about everything I learned during by this time in my life. It made me realize how much I had and how little others had. How I took for granted running water, a hot meal a roof over my head.

We turned off on to an unmarked dirt road the seemed to go on forever. The dust and the sand kicked up behind us leaving a haze of filth in the warm spring air. A layer of dust seemed to be over everything. The air always seemed to taste of dirt and oil. We lumbered along the road for what seemed an eternity when we came to another dirt road this one with a sign that pointed to the west saying Safwain Refugee Camp, 20 miles ahead. We turned down this road. Awhile later we came to the Refugee camp. We pulled into the camp passing rows and rows of razor wire. We passed a little girl with dirt on her face and a look of suspicion in her eyes. She wore dirty and torn clothes. It looked like she might not of had a bath in days. I could see the

look of hunger in her childish face. Her dark hair peaking out of the scarf she wore to keep most of the sand out of it. Her dark eyes looked at us with a hunger no child should know. She looked at us, the strange people in the green uniforms, with pale skin and blonde hair. The little girl watched as the truck moved slowly down the unmarked road to what we thought was the center of the camp. The Kuwaiti people watched us with suspicious stares and wariness, wondering what these strange people were doing here? What did we

want? When we got to the center of the camp and the people realized what was on the back of the truck. I could see their faces brighten at the sight of all that food. This was the most food these people would probably ever see at any given time in their lives. We started to hand out the food to the people who were quickly gathering around the truck. They were grabbing the food out of our hands quicker than we could give it to them. The face that stands out the most to me is a young man holding a small child pleading for food. He was dirty and looked like he had not seen a square meal in a long time. He was wearing old clothes that looked liked they had not been washed in a long time. His face wore the expression of an old man who has lived a long hard life. The child in his arms looked hungry and close to the point of malnutrition. The child was wrapped in old blankets. The others that gathered around this man looked the same. They all wore the face of old age. I had never seen faces so bright at the sight of MRE's (Meals Ready to Eat). Most of the soldiers I knew including myself would have preferred to starve than to eat another MRE. We had just began handing out the food when a soldier dressed in green camouflage with an M16 slung over his shoulder came over and told us we had to stop giving out the food. The soldier said the refugees would start to get unruly and try and climb all over the truck to get to the food. Reluctantly we climbed back in the truck and slowly made our way back up to the front of the camp.

leaving behind. I could see the faces of the people and the toll the lack of food and running was having on them. The lack of being able to call somewhere home. These poor people were living in tents, washing their clothes in buckets. Taking baths out of buckets when there was enough water for a bath. I couldn't imagine having to live that way for an undetermined period of time. I knew I was going home soon to hot and cold running water, to heat, to a hot meal and everything else I took for granted. On our way out of the camp we passed the same little girl we saw coming into the camp she waved to us and I waved back. I tossed her an orange that I was saving for my own lunch. The little girl smiled the biggest, warmest smile I had ever seen. She seemed very grateful for such a little item. I could see her waving back at us and as we turned on the road leading back the way we came, I saw the mother of the little girl come out and see what had just

happened. Her mother waved to us. As the truck slowly lumbered back the way it came, I waved to the people I had to leave behind. With the dust kicking up behind us we left the sight. We dropped off the food at a distribution point so it could be handed out to the people who needed it more than we did. With the sun setting in the west, we returned back home down the same destroyed highway. I could see the oil wells burning brighter on the horizon. The smell of the burning oil was in the air. The stars were on their way out. I was a feeling of sad for the people being left behind to rebuild a country that was destroyed by war.

This Poem is for all you Angels who served in Nam no matter what your job was:

Listen now I've a story to tell about some women who lived
through hell.
They came to us, not on wings of Doves, they came to us from choppers above.
They fought in the war in a special way, Twelve, sometimes sixteen hours a day.
She may have been a Nurse, or volunteer, If only for a second, we forgot our fears.
They came to war, not with guns to fight, But only a smile to brighten our life.
So listen now to this story I tell, About these women who lived through hell.
Theirs is a story of pain and strife, And of mens' agony, and fight for life.
She can tell you stories of how she cried, while she held someone close while he died.
She will tell you stories of blood and pain, That in her mind will always remain.
Listen now to this story I tell, About these women who lived through hell.
For they were young like you and me, How much more special can they be!
How many young men did she see die, While at night in her tent she could only cry.
How many young hands in the night did memories we have, both you and me.
She was like a sister we could not see, She brought some happiness to some you see.
She is our sister- true, not by birth, And in my heart she will remain, while I walk this Earth.
They fought in the war by our side, And like our sister, they often cried.
Let us not forget the stories they tell, For they were our sisters who lived through hell.

Dedicated to all our Sisters
You are not forgotten

Darrell L. Nichols, dnick@cbpu.com

I am a disabled Gulf War Vet. I was in the Army 1997-1982, stationed at Frankfurt, Germany. I was in the Army Band. We played for the hostages when they were released. When my son was born I got out of the Army. I reentered the Army in l987. I had to go through Basic Training again! I was stationed at Ft. Bragg, N.C. My unit was 1st COSCOM, 7th Trans. Bn. A/DACG (Arrival/Departure Airfield Control Group). I mainly worked at Pope Air Force Base at "Green Ramp". Working with the Air Force was great. They knew their job and would always help us Army people. I was involved in "Just Cause" (Panama), St. Croix, and the Gulf War. We processed paratroopers, passengers, equipment, supplies; and also did load plans for the C-130, C-141, and C-5 aircraft. I was sent to Saudi and a month later my I.D. card expired. It didn't matter if I was supposed to be out of the Army--the contract I signed said in the event of a war I would be in "for the duration". After downloading troops and equipment at Dhahran, our unit was sent to "Checkpoint Charlie". The engineers made us a runway for the C-130's and helicopters to land at. We were the main forward supply area for the 82nd and 101st Airborne units. A MASH unit and a morgue moved in next to our tent city. Our wartime mission get supplies to the forward units and get the wounded and dead to the rear. When I got back to Ft. Bragg, I reenlisted. Six months later I found out I would be "involuntarily separated" due to downsizing. When I was out-processing I had the opportunity to sign up for the Mont. G.I. Bill (I wasn't eligible before). I paid them $1,200. from my "severance pay." The bad part about receiving this severance pay is I can't receive any disability checks until the "severance pay" is paid back. Catch-22!! This will still be 5 years from now. The best thing I did was get the G.I. Bill $. I am a 40 year old single parent getting ready to start my 2nd year of college. I took the bad along with the good. I have done more things and been more places than a lot of people ever will. I hope my daughter will be proud the her mama "wore combat boots"!!!! I am proud to be a female Gulf War Veteran!!! E-mail: twinkel@willmar.com

I was with a Cavalry Division in Saudi during Desert Shield/Storm. During my time in Saudi, I thought I was doing OK. Since coming back from Saudi though, I have had many health problems, some of which I have serious problems talking about. I went to counseling for about 3 years, but I don't feel any better from it. It seems to be getting worse instead of better. What makes matters worse, I'm now in a remote overseas location, soldiers here are supposed to be so highly motivated and physically fit, you dare go to someone and tell them that you're too broke to keep going, or even tell them you need to see Mental health, so I just keep going. I wish someone out there would find a cure for whatever it is that ails us.

I was on my first year anniversary in Las Vegas having fun and losing money, when the hotel notified me and my husband that the military called. I return the call first than my husband called his unit, they told us to return home ASAP. We returned home just to find out that we were deploying to Saudi. I left in September 1990, believing that my husband would be home with our daughter. We were told that the Army would not send both me and my husband well that was wrong. The first time I had the chance to talk to my husband he told me he sent me a goodie package and that his unit still was not going to deploy. Well let me tell you one day I looked up and my husband was looking at me and I thought I was dreaming. My husband was in the same warehouse I was in and he beat my goodie package over there. The hardest part of having to deploy was leaving my 3 year-old daughter. But through the years I learned that it was Gods will. Those months in Saudi brought me and my husband so close and it brought my husband to Christ. Still today me and my husband look back and cry and laugh at the times we had in Saudi. I am sure that Desert Storm was a message from God for everyone who deployed. Some came back better people, some came back worse than they started out, some found they could not trust their love one, some found that a lot of trust in their love one or ones, some found closeness in strangers, and most importantly some gave their life to Christ. So for those who felt the war was in vein, I ask you to take a moment and really think about it, because I believe some good has definitely came out of Desert Shield/Storm. However, I do believe that I would still be in the Army if there was no Desert Storm, but life goes on and so should I. Thank You.

I volunteered to go to the Gulf. Yes you read right. I VOLUNTEERED. My National Guard unit was already put on alert, so I thought " Why not go active duty to get there quicker?" It sure worked. I went on active duty on November 20, 1990. By December 27 or 28 I was at a place called Cement City outside of Dhahran. This was so exciting for me. I was 20 and just learning to "spread my wings" so to speak. I made so many friends and found out later that I even had a nickname of "Ice Princess." I was told I was the nicest person someone had met but guys were scared off by my being aggressive in knowing what I wanted and going for it. The war was a time to make friends and grieve the ones you lost. Yes my brigade lost a tank to either enemy fire, which is unlikely, or to the more likely friendly fire. One of the most depressing days I had while I was in the Gulf, was the day we received a call from the Red Cross. The Red Cross was running one of the two refugee camps in Safwan, Iraq. My unit was running the other. The message my partner and I received was that the Red Cross center in downtown Safwan had a patient to be picked up. If you have ever driven in rush hour traffic, try imagining all that traffic on a line street. Once we got to the Red Cross center, I got out and went in to see what type of patient we were to transport. I asked the first Red Cross employee I saw where the patient they had called an ambulance for. He called this Iraqi couple with three plump little girls over. In the mother's arms was a tiny bundle. The mother literally dumped the bundle into my arms and turned away laughing. I had the distinct impression they were saying stupid American. I asked the Red Cross employee for a name to return the baby to. He said that the family didn't want the baby boy. This little boy was being starved by his family because they couldn't afford him. He was unable to cry or do anything for himself. I was in tears by the time I made the short walk back to my vehicle. My partner asked where the patient was and I told her I was holding him. This was especially hard on her since she had a two year old at home with her mother. I told her to get us to the MASH unit as quickly as possible. On our way out of Safwan we hit a car in the rear end. We just backed up and went around the guy. We were both in tears by the time we got to the hospital. I got even more upset when I went into the Emergency treatment area and no one would help me with this baby. Finally an LPN came over and we started feeding drops of fluid into this baby's mouth and massaging his throat to get him to swallow. We did this for about a half an hour before the baby started to cry. He started crying just as one of the doctors walked through a connecting door. Needless to say he, the doctor, went ballistic. I went back to the same hospital with three more patients two weeks later and found out that the baby was gaining weight and had very good hopes of being adopted by a Kuwait family who would love him. I am very glad I got the chance to be a part of history. I know some of you think I was crazy for actually volunteering to go to war, but the funny thing is my National Guard unit was providing additional support for my active duty unit.

I am a Desert Storm vet. No I didn't volunteer to go there. No one usually volunteers. I want to explain that women do the jobs they have to do. I joined the USAF in 1973 when women were just really starting to join the military. I joined to protect my country and the freedoms we have. In 1976, I wanted to change jobs and become a Loadmaster. Thought it would be great. But guess what..it wasn't open for women. Combat position. Well, I feel I could have done an excellent job. So I looked at other possibilities and decided on Disaster Preparedness. Here you go out on major accident responses, teach Chemical Warfare, and plan. I've seen dead bodies. [I've seen dead bodies] from pilots who couldn't eject. Any dead body is a horrible sight and yes, to some degree women and children is usually a sight not too many of us want to see.

During Desert Storm, I was located in Bahrain....Maybe not on the front line, but we still had SCUD Missile Attacks. I trained all the people there on how to wear their protective equipment, monitored for Chemical and Biological agents, and protected our area. I was in charge of night shift in the Survival Recovery Center. Any time there was an attack, we sounded the alarm and monitored afterwards. You have to be a team player. I filled sand bags, put up tents, attended meetings with the host nation (where women aren't looked upon too favorably anyway) and had some great rapport. We had all services at our base and I worked with each one of them to ensure we had a plan for survival. There were some women who did not want to be there, in fact I had one working for me. At times I wish I hadn't taken her and I had a choice because of her training status. But I felt she would learn from the experience and she did. My husband at the time was very jealous that I went and he couldn't. So I really had no support from him during my 8 month tour of the Gulf. Women and men showered and went to the bathroom in the same latrine when we first arrived on site. We are all adults and there were no problems. When we arrived in Bahrain there were 44 women to one dormitory room. We had to hot bunk and we got used to it. Then another room came open and the top 10 NCO's moved to that room. In November we moved into tents and we put them up. We filled the sand bags to go around the outer edges, and we made it look like a living area just like the guys. Most of the guys we worked with, understood that we were there to do a job and that we could do it just as well as they could.

I feel I learned from this experience and I would do it all over if I was tapped to go. I still have 7 years on Inactive Retired status to go. Yes, no one wants to go to war, but if a women can do the job and she wants to go, don't hinder her. Work as a team and a lot can be accomplished.

I served in the Gulf for Desert Shield and Desert Storm. I was wounded on January 25,1991 near KKMC. I was hit by shrapnel and debris from a SCUD and had a real bad head injury. I was in the Army hospital from Jan 91-May 92 and then in the VA hospital from May 92-June 93. I had alot of scary and some bad experiences in the hospitals I was in, but I also had some good people helping me. I had to learn to read and write again (which I have done). I still have alot of problems and sometimes my attitude isn't very good. I don't really want to tell about my experiences because it hurts to much. I can express some of it in a sort of poem. If you would like to post one of them it would be okay. I am still trying to get my life back and I still see the day I was wounded as a bad thing, one that destroyed my life and career. Maybe some day I will be proud of the medals and glad I was over there, but I am sorry I don't feel that way right now. Anyway, you may not even want to post one of my poems because its kinda negative, but it does say how I feel. I understand if you don't post it. I never say much about the war because everyone needs so badly to believe it was a neat, clean little war and that nobody's life got destroyed. Thanks for this web site and thanks for taking the time to read this. Here's one of my "poems".

They were all so proud of this war, proud of the "acceptable losses. They were so worried about body counts, they didn't count bodies at all.

They were so proud of the "smart bombs" and "scud killers", the high tech weapons of the nineties, they fail to remember the people, those few "acceptable losses."

She was a soldier and very proud until one day her life was shattered, her blood was spilled in the desert sand. They said a Scud had gotten through but it had exploded harmlessly over the desert...funny, it didn't feel that harmless to her as she lay in ICU trying to remember her name and her life and why she was here.

After years in so many hospitals and years of struggling to put the pieces back together, all she knows about being one of the "acceptable losses" is that it is all so horrible, so totally unacceptable.

It is not very patriotic for one of the acceptable losses to stand up and protest and scream at how unacceptable being a disabled vet is to her. It is not good to resent being nameless in a system that she is tied to for the rest of her life...the VA.

She thinks if she could only stand up and scream at the injustice of it all, she would feel better. But her biggest fear is that she would scream and no one would hear her or she would be thought a bad soldier or a traitor or worse....

I just read all the excerpts that the other women veterans wrote. Wow! I was so excited to read this and find it. I served as a Vietnam Era Veteran at Camp Lejeune. After my active duty time I went in the Reserves. No, I never thought I'd get called up for Desert Storm. I really enjoyed reading what Beth, from PSD, wrote. I went to a Fleet Hospital,too. I was at FH-6 on Bahrain Island in the Persian Gulf. Everything you said about Fleet Hospitals is true. Our biggest fear was Scuds and whatever they might be carrying. We had more than three scud attacks per week,though. We had them almost every night, and sometimes twice a night. I remember taking my turn as NOD, or Nurse of the Day [Supervisor]. I had to keep tabs on 14 wards and another nurse kept an eye on the OR,ICU's, Lab, Pharmacy, and outpatient areas. That night we each made our rounds and then tried to lay down and sleep about 0200. Of course we slept in our clothes- those great "Camis." We hardly dozed and that piercing scud siren went off. We jumped up and put on our gas masks, rolled down our sleeves and took off. I ran to each ward checking with charge nurses to see if their patients all had masks on. It was a mad scramble. Most everyone had theirs on, but a few patients. One guy didn't even have the charcoal canister screwed into the gas mask. Instead it was lying loose in his canvas mask carrier. I remember grabbing it and putting it on his mask and thinking, "If the scud has chemicals, and If it goes off, We are in deep trouble!" It sure seemed as if the adrenaline was going that night as well as most others. I ended up working mostly nights, those great 12-hour shifts from 1900 to 0700. I hardly slept more than 4 to 5 hours a day. One thing that always amazed me was how the media portrayed this war. I sure didn't sit in the sand and read novels! When we didn't have patients, and we did have them, we constantly checked and rechecked our equipment, IV supplies, and had numerous in-services on patient care and trauma. We kept each other going and the comraderie that was there is like no other you will ever find in the civilian world! We had some fantastic corpsmen, nurses, doctors, Seabees and chaplains. We all looked out for the welfare of each other. Our humor and that special trust we had in each other is something the military is unique for. I must also put a plug in for the Arab people I met there. If you were sensitive to them and respected their culture, you could get along fine. That is all anyone really wants and deserves. Another nurse and I sang the Star Spangled Banner over the PA system on the plane as we hit US airspace. It was emotional and exciting. What a change from sand and the call of the Muslim minarets calling people to prayer 5 times a day! There is more, but I have to go. I will check back to read other people's experiences and see if I know anyone. Thanks for having this web site!

11 Sep 96: Six years ago from Victoria's journal. Sept. 11, 1990...Mobilization

"Got the call about an hour and half ago. I was kinda speechless. The First Sergeant said 'Raging Bull' and I kinda sputtered. He'd already taken care of calling the platoon. I've spent time calling and communicating to those I love. T. said to me it was all so much real and I was going as her personal representative to the front lines of changing history, making history....so much to do."

I remember when that call came, even now, so many years later. I'd known for weeks, we'd been on alert since just after the invasion of Kuwait. Still, to actually hear that I was being activated; I was numb. The next month and half were spent at Fort Stewart, GA, locked down in the National Guard Barracks waiting to leave at the shortest notice. We finished our train-up validation and then it was just wait, and wait. We kept getting manifested to fly and then an active duty unit would bump us back. Our Battalion was already in-country, the first Army Reserve unit in, there with our higher HQs, the 16th MP BDE (ABN).

I remember how I felt...numb, scared, unsure.....going to war when I thought I'd never do so. Responsible for 33 lives and if something happaned to the company commander...responsible for the whole company. I kept wanting to wake up from this dream...and it was real.

The following was made up from all the people there in Saudi. We sure had a lot of fun making it up. I realize that you had to be there in order for most of it to be funny or mean anything to you, but you never know who might drop by the web page and "remember when". Just try to picture yourself out in the middle of nowhere, with lots of sand all around you, tents everywhere, people running around in cammies, sirens going off, lousy food, and just trying to deal with "life in the desert". So here goes.

1. Inform your friends and family that your home is now your command, and you are the CO of it. Uniform of the day required. No Air Force pockets allowed. No walking on your grass. Inspections will be held on short notice, at inconvenient times, when it is coldest. Warn everyone that you will be observing their behavior for yearly evals or fit reps and they should act accordingly. Leave orders to be piped on and off your command as warranted. Remind everyone who wishes to speak to you that they must use the proper chain of command. Annoy everyone with the statement "It's a fine Navy day". Invite neighbors to the commissioning of your command. Allow them to become plank owners. Colors daily at 0800. Wake neighbors. If you're up, they should be too.

2. Move into the smallest room in the house, establish 6 feet of personal space. Measure exactly.

4. Drag in all useful-looking pieces of wood that can be found. Transform them into furniture. Redecorate in early crate and plywood theme. Hang fly strips to add to the ambiance.

6. Sand-bag rooms, 4 high-2 wide. If you need more sand bags, procure your neighbors. If confronted, feign ignorance.

9. When fire or ambulance sirens go off, race out of your house and dive in your luxury bunker. Don mask. Forgive neighbors who notify local psychiatrist.

10. Sand-bag mailbox to protect precious mail. DEMAND daily delivery. Request that you receive "to any occupant" mail. Write "free" instead of using a stamp. This is your right as a Desert Storm Vet.

12. Run lawn mower, fans, and appliances continuously, to simulate generator noise. Remove muffler from car.

13. Refer to your bed as a "rack". Get in to rack dressed. Lie stiff and straight in one spot. Don't turn all night. Wake up in pain. Cough constantly. Suggest to the Dept. of Navy that FH 15 racks and mummy bags be used, in the future, as instruments of torture on would-be dictators and aggressor nations.

15. If you have to get up to go to the bathroom at night, make enough noise to awaken others. Walk as far as possible--maybe to a neighbors house, to use bathroom. Always carry your own toilet paper.

16. Instead of summoning people, "request their presence". Be gone when they get there.

17. Privacy in the shower is not allowed. Invite strangers regularly, in groups of two or three. Run out of hot water during shower.

18. Never leave your hooch without full combat gear, including trusty fly-swatter. Carry bottled water everywhere. Wave your ID at all entrances. Wear all the unnecessary gear you can hanging off your web belt--in order to convey an image of "combat cool". Sunglasses mandatory.

19. Post family laundry schedule. Provide each troop with mesh bag, pin, ID# and indelible marker. Wash all clothes together, in hot water, to promote shrinkage and discoloration. Make sure you return it wrinkled and damp.

20. Write or stencil your name and SSN on all possessions, clothing items, pets and children.

21. Each morning, stand in confusion in front of your clothes closet. Try to decide what to wear. Give up and put on cammies.

22. Sew large extra pockets on to legs of all your pants. Stuff them full. There should be one pocket large enough to fit an MRE.

23. Rename your kitchen the "Mess Facility." Refer to all meals as "chow." Establish chow times. Make family members wait in line.

24. Provide little or no fresh food--only canned, dehydrated or fake. Cook it to death. Serve from a huge pouch or bottomless pan. Never prepare quite enough for everyone. Chlorinate ALL foods, especially Jell-O, pudding, and all potable foods. Add just a pinch of sand to all dishes.

25. Serve food on partitioned metal trays. Use over-sized utensils. Do NOT allow the use of knives or napkins. Attempt to cut meat with spoons.

26. When finished eating, form line. Pour all un-consumed liquids into a very prominently displayed bucket. Make everyone look at it immediately after eating. Scrape off plates into large metal trash can, then bang plate loudly on side of can for good measure. Wipe hands on pants.

28. Use words like "Evolution, in-theater, in-country, procure, promulgate, retrograde, re-entry and as you were" whenever possible.

31. Call cadence when traveling in groups of 3 or more. Most senior marches on far right. Be consistently off step. Post road guards when you cross streets.

32. View everything as potential "Kodak Moment" or photo opp. Carry camera everywhere and shoot anything that moves.

34. Walk into the wrong house (tent) at least once or twice. Pretend to know where you are and what you are doing. Exit gracefully.

35. Advise others that your occasional and unpredictable jerking/ducking movements, swatting motions (even in the absence of flies), glutten oooh-rahs, and reflexive salutes are merely side effects of your most recent military evolution--and you are not yet fully evolved yet. You WILL be by the next war.

Oh my. I haven't laughed like that in a long time. It really brought back some funny memories of being over there. The one that really struck me the best was "If you see a line, go stand in it." It really was the funniest thing. People would just go and stand in a line and not even know why they were doing it or what the line was for. They just stood in it.

Have you ever woken up early on a snowy morning and wondered what you would do for the day? You're sitting around your woodstove having a cup of coffee and your husband is outside shoveling the newly fallen snow when...

The phone rings. Your daughter answers it. It's your Commanding Officer from your Reserve Unit. What could he possibly want this early in the morning and WHY is HE calling ME?

My Commanding Officer first of all apologized up one side and down the other for calling me that early in the morning. He couldn't believe that he had to make this call. He stumbled all over himself trying to get his words to come out. Then, finally they did. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but you have been activated for Desert Shield." Huh. Did I hear him correctly? What was that he said about activated? What did this mean? Where was I going? When was I going? For how long was I going? Wow--what a lot of questions pop into your head at a time like this!!

The suddenness of it took me by surprise. We had been watching the TV for a long time and wondered who would be activated from this family. Seeing as my husband was a Seabee, we both thought it would be him. But now, come to find out, it was me, a housewife/disbursing clerk in the Naval Reserves. I was shocked to say the least.

My CO kept saying he couldn't believe it and that he hated to make this call. He told me I would be going with some of the people in the Portland Hospital Unit. There were about 5 of us all together. He only knew when we were to report to Portland, and that we were all going to go to Ft. Dix in New Jersey. Other than that, he didn't know any more.

We talked quite some time on the phone, then I hung up. I went right to the door and called to my husband and told him he had better stop shoveling and come inside: I had something important to tell him. He did. Then I told him that I had been activated. He was shocked too. We talked and talked and talked about what my Co had said to me. We both didn't really know what to expect!

We spent most of the day talking about how to work the household and do the finances. I called up mom and dad. I also called my brother, as I had just agreed yesterday, that I would go up there and take care of his kids while he and his wife went off to Europe on a vacation.

The rest of the day was pretty much a blur. We talked about so many things but there were so many unanswered questions we both had. Why me?

I never thought in a million years, never mind a two-year stint in the Naval Reserves, that me, a common housewife, would ever go off to war. But, that is what happened.

In January 1991, I was recalled to Active Duty by my Commanding Officer of my SIMA reserve unit--the only one out of the entire unit. A simple phone call early one snowy morning would change my life forever. I was being recalled for Operation Desert Shield to an unknown destination for an unknown period of time. Why me? I am just a Disbursing Clerk (payroll). Why did they need me?

I had a little over one week to plan, to pack, to arrange for child care, to communicate with my husband, who at the time was doing his two weeks ACDUTRA, and to get the financial state of affairs in order. It was hectic and scary at the same time. The fear of the unknown is a great mind bender!

The day finally arrived. I found out that there were 5 other people from the Portland Reserve Center who were also going, besides myself. They were all HM's (hospital corpsmen) and one PN1. As we were assembling in the waiting area at the airport, many feelings and thoughts were rushing through my head. What if I never come home again, what if ... To see the look on my two little girls faces was enough to tear my heart out. Would mommy come home again? And this tore me up worse than anything, my father starting to cry. I asked him if he ever thought during his lifetime, he would ever be seeing his daughter off to a war, and he said no, with tears in his eyes. Don't turn back, just go straight, or your heart will break and the tears will flow more and more.

We flew out of the Portland Jet Port and arrived in Boston, then on to Philly. Off to Ft. Dix, NJ to spend some time with our dear friends, the US Army. They trained us and lectured us on the how-to's and the how-come's of this mission. In class, out of class, marching, learning how to march (like we couldn't remember way back to boot camp or something), learning how to deal with being away from home and the biggie--how to keep yourself from getting chemically or biologically safe. We had to learn how to fire weapons. Here's my take on that: How many housewives do you know that carry an M-16 around with them while they do the vacuuming? We had to learn survival skills. We had to reach deep into ourselves and reassure ourselves that we were going to make it home again, no matter what it took.

The end of Jan., and off we go to fly wherever, by way of Germany. It was a long ride with the greatest of stewardesses and pilots. (We were told that each pilot and each stewardess volunteered to fly us there.) The "welcome" we got when we landed in Germany was outstanding. The Red Cross was there with open arms and food and phones and pieces of paper you could send a message home on saying that you had made it to Germany safe and sound. But the journey was not yet done...

Off again, to that unknown destination, gas masks by our side and wandering minds as to our future and our fate. Many hours later, the pilot tells us we are getting close to our destination, so we all look out the windows of the plane. All we can see is sand...sand...more sand.

Then, the pilot finally tells us we will be landing in Al Jubail, Saudi Arabia. There was absolutely dead quiet on the plane. You could have heard a pin drop. What people must have had going through their minds.

Having never been to a war before, I must confess, I was scared. Who wasn't? Only a few of the "newbie young guys" were gung ho to get this mission accomplished.

This was a history-making adventure, as we would find out. This was the first time the Navy had ever used a Fleet Hospital during wartime. So, we were all part of history. The entire hospital was stored in caves in Norway, in anticipation of a war with Russia. It was then all loaded onto ships and shipped to Saudi Arabia where it was assembled by the great Seabees, as well as by the rest of us.

There is a beauty in war that not too many people who never go don't understand. That is that when things need to be done, there is no real delegating of authority. Everyone works together, shoulder to shoulder, side by side. Everyone, Officers and Enlisted, join forces to get the job done together. Each is an equal during war. So, there are some nice things to be said about a war.

The site where the hospital was to be assembled was a site that was already under construction by the Saudi people. There were perimeter sidewalks and some roads, trees and other things that were already in place when the site was surveyed for the hospital. The Seabees were in charge of getting all the tough stuff done first and last. They are definitely the backbone of the Navy and should be given more credit than they got.

Many days were spent waiting for the hospital to get built and many days were spent waiting around for your turn to go and help. This was a hospital built entirely of tents--temper tents for the hospital, and general purpose tents for berthing, mess, and misc. The hospital tents were set up with heating and air conditioning.

We finally got the hospital proper built and then it was time to build PSD. Well, that proved to be an interesting proposition. First of all, PSD was an afterthought. They weren't planning on sending us, then changed their minds at the last minute. So, needless to say, PSD was not on the blueprints. They hemmed and hawed about where to put the tent for us and finally decided a good place for it would be beside the post office and right next to the helo landing area. We tried to erect our tent during a pretty windy day, which proved quite interesting, but we managed. (Putting PSD beside the Post Office was fine, but with the helo landing strip on the other side, proved to be not such a good idea, as each time one of them landed or took off, the flaps of the tent really "flapped in the breeze" and the sand flew into the tent getting all over the computers, etc.

The hospital was in full service quite quickly, up to it's 500 bed capacity. For two months, there was much anguish, frustration, boredom, depression, anger, rage, and the occasional pranksterings that went on. It was scary at times, fun at times, and great friendships were made. Each day seemed like an eternity. We were all suffering from the "I don't know why we're here" syndrome. And the rumor mills were alive and living in and around the hospital, day in and day out.

We had plenty to keep us busy. Finding our paperwork, our manuals, our anything that we thought we should have for our office was an ongoing problem. We had to go to another Fleet Hospital and run off copies of manuals, we had a PN build desks for all of us out of the crates that the hospital contents came in, we had to use an ISO container to keep the personnel and pay records in, and we had to get, find, beg, borrow and steal computers to use. We even had to have a Saudi safe maker make us a safe to keep the money in. It was a challenge, but we came through.

The nights were the worst time for most of us. You went to bed with your gas mask beside your bed, never knowing if a scud was coming your way. You got pretty used to it, and pretty much expected a scud siren at least 3 times a week, sometimes more. You panicked, you tried to maintain your composure, you survived the night and you were thankful. "Don't leave home without it" was how you felt about your gas mask. It was your buddy and you took it everywhere with you.

There were other hospitals around us too. There was a British hospital right down the road from us, a Norwegian one too. One of the great things I remember about all this was a day I went on liberty to a place that had two outdoor heated swimming pools, and seeing all the different uniforms from around the globe scattered around beside the pool. And the combat boots, and the guns. And, oh, the trading of pins, and clothes, and ...

The war began and the war ended just as quickly. The hospital really didn't see all that many casualties. We were fortunate. Not a huge loss of life. Not a lot of war casualties, but many casualties due to human error, whether it was getting hit by a car or drowning in a pool or having a truck accident or whatever else.

In closing, I realize that it takes all of us to fight a war, but I sure hope we never have to do this again. I really believe the first time was a drill and the next time will be the real thing--much nastier, much longer, and they will use chemical and biological weapons. Let's hope things don't escalate like that again over there, EVER. And remember our motto: "We did it in the Sand".

I was with the 119th Trans Co, 24th Trans Bn, 7th Gp at the Port of Dammam, KSA from Sept '90 to Aug '91. Worked as a "cargo specialist/stevedore". Now volunteering as the Washington State Referral Coordinator for the NGWRC, Inc. Anyone wishing to contact me, write to AMehl@ix.netcom.com

Women Who Served in War