This is a reflection of events that still haunt many. To some, at the time, it was just confusion and mayhem. To others it was just a time to test themselves to see if they could establish new limits for themselves. And still there were those who knew what was happening, saw the writing on the wall so to speak, and made their mental preparations. One thing we must all remember about any event, historical, dangerous, frightening, or even mondane, is that we all generally remember things a little different. Some things are commonly percieved and hopefully much of this account will touch on some of those common perceptions.

The day began just like all the rest. There was a slight breeze that felt like heat from a furnace. The air temperature was 135 degrees Farenheit, one of the cooler days, and you could see waves of heat rise up from the endless miles of sand. We were working 12 hour shifts, and mine was almost over. about 2 hours before time to head back to the hooch, a call came in for all personnel to report to the hangar and assemble in front for information. We all had an idea what was going on, but we'd all wait for the official word. Well, the gears were in motion and the US war machine was grinding into motion by the time my shift was over. We still didn't know exactly what was happening, but we did know that too much was happening - and it was happening fast.

We got orders to widen the runway to accomodate the largest cargo planes in the fleet and to begin preparations for all of the War Readiness Materials (WRM) that were stored at our site. Yes, a tremendous airlift was under way, and they needed every available body to get things done.For almost four days we worked around the clock, taking breaks for food and water and catching a quick 30 when we could. Plane after plane came in empty and left fully loaded. They were loaded with trucks, tents, Air Conditioners, munitions, basically everything needed to establish and maintain operations where nothing existed before. Yes indeed, enough of everything to start a small town and keep it going. Just as we thought our part was over, after almost three weeks, taskings were sent for people who possessed "special" skills. I was called because of one of my special skills - a skill the military had enhanced and sharpened. I was exceptionally good with a rifle. I had earned expert marksmanship (many times over), a silver medal in Germany, and had been one of very few Air Force people to attend the US Marine Corps Sniper School. Oh yes, they wanted my special skill.

I remember when the General from the Coalition Forces came to our humble site and wanted to talk with a few of us with special skills. The only person who knew the "back stage" events was my commander. Even he was not given the script for the play, only the names of personnel needed. How long would the little excursion last? Well we were not told, mainly I think, because nobody really knew. An uncharted flight came in two days later. We were called, assembled, and loaded on the plane. In a matter of only two hours we were on our way. We didn't know where; we didn't know why - at least most didn't. I did, unfortunately I had done this type of thing several times before. I didn't think i could get surprised, but of course I was wrong. The story was that a newly established site in Kuwait needed personnel to operate fork-lifts and other equipment. All of the needed personnel had not arrived yet. So we were chosen to help establish this new site.

So, anyway, once we were in the air for about 45 minutes, the loadmaster, crewchief, and someone none of us knew, came walking up the aisle. The crew chief was holding a ditty bag and at each seat he stopped and gave the smae instructions. "Place the contents of your pockets in the cloth bag to include all monies, wallets, pictures, IDs, watches, rings, and anything else you deem valuable." I knew the drill. It was to keep our stuff safe for us - yea right! They didn't want to take a chance American property might end up in the wrong hands. Then here came a copurse I hadn't taken before, stress 501. Next we stepped into a world I had never visited before. The loadmaster leaned down to each of us and told us to report to the back of the aircraft. Seems the orders for where we were going were to be opened and we would recieve a briefing. When we were all at the rear of the plane, I looked around and you could see it in every face. This was the real deal. Something was happening that most had never even thought about. The brief silence, silence as thick as soup, was broken when the stranger began to bark instructions. We all stood there for a few seconds, I guess not believing things as they unfolded. He said, "I told you to remove all uniform items and place them in a pile on that pallet." And he continued with "...*?!!!!?* means everything, socks, drawers, everything!" This was a first for me and I knew it had to be for the others too. Well, we were given new clothes, uniforms, botts, etc. and were told to put them on pronto. We could not make any marks on them or otherwise alter any part of any item. And then, he demanded our dog tags. Ok, so now the senarion was beginning to lose its humor. Yep, this was starting to get serious. The briefing began abruptly and didn't slow down for 10 minutes. We were going to drop into a preselected LZ (landing zone) and be given further instructions on the deck (ground). Then the stranger (Colonel X as we later called him), told me and another guy to come with him. Still putting on my boots, and wrestling with the uniform, we followed along behind. Just if front of the cockpit we sat down and he began our extra briefing. The other person, Joe, was going to be my spotter. We would briefly meet with 18 other souls like us and recieve our individual assignments once we got on the ground. Once on the ground we looked for others with our uniforms and went into a tent. There i was issued a brand new M-14A1 (modified) sniper rifle. I was also issued 10 rounds to site it in and was given one hour to eat, rest, and get ready to go afterwards. Since we didnt wear rank or nametags we were all given nicknames. It made it easier to talk with each other and keep track of who was doing what. Mine was "Gunny Highway" or just "Gunny". With my very short cut graying hair I was told I resembled Clint Eastwood in the movie "Heartbreak Ridge". But in any case, that's who I was for that tour in the desert and the next. As part of the Colaition Forces my job was clear, my instructions were clear. But when (and if) I would be coming back were not so clear. My spotter's job was to protect me, even with his life if necessary - if that's what it took for me to accomplish my mission. With the few minutes we had I opened the New Testament the Chaplain gave us and turned to my favorite Psalm. As I read I tried to relax and not think about anything except what it said "...thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies..."

That afternoon we left, none knowing what the other 18 were suppose to do. My spotter and myself were a total force of two. We were separate, independent, and expendable. We had an objective, maps, and a compass. All we had to do was get to the target(s), do our job, and get back. Piece of cake - right?

The area was populated with people moving everywhere. Trucks, cars, soldiers, men, women, and children were crawling around like ants. I had to get close enough to do the job, but still far enough away I could do my job and have a chance to get out. The training from school raced through my mind as we kept easing closer and closer. In my mind I could hear, "They're not looking for you, but you're not invisible" and "The odds are stacked against you from the start - but we'll teach you how to stay alive." I had three rounds on me, and my spotter had the rest. He had a fully auto AR15 and a 9MM, and I had three rounds. I was given one primary and two alternate targets. If I could get all three great, more even, if possible - but I had to get the primary. By the way, my spotter wasn't from my unit and he had one more responsibility. He had to account for every round fired and confirm any and all targets hit. Also running through my mind was that record shot I made in Germany - 1175 meters. I put a 5.56 round in a bulls eye the size of a quarter. It set a record for the longest shot, and it still stands. I only got a silver. A German won the Gold!

My spotter let me know that we were at 2150 meters, about a mile and a half from the target - we had to get closer. We bothe had visuals on the target but were too far to be positive. At just over 1600 meters I felt like a sitting duck. I felt like I had a thousand pair of eyes watching me. I wasn't sure how much closer we could get and still be able to get out. My spotter was eyeing me as I pushed to get closer. 50 more meters, he stopped and said we were too close already. We were at 1400 meters, but still I felt I needed to get closer. We had a non-verbal argument for a few minutes and I lost when he placed his hand on his 9MM. After another few minutes I realized he was right. After all, with my scope I could count the threads on the buttons of people in the target zone. I conceded that I was close enough - but still not as close as I wanted. At the time I guess I wanted to be able to hear them breath or something. The standard rule I followed was three minutes between shots and no more than for shots in 15 minutes. But this was not the standard text book mission. I had five minutes to get in as many as possible and get the $$@$$% out.

Like I said, we were a lot closer than I realized and I knew when I began to smell the body odor of people close by. At first I thought it was me, but people from that area are unmistakeable. Even though I could see my spotter right that second, I knew within a few feet where he was. Then I felt it, I didn't see it at first. The sand close by began to vibrate slightly and then I heard the faint footfalls and the low sound of voices. It was then I remembered Murphy's Law and tried to put it out of my mind. I laid still, slowed my breathing and worked at controlling my heart rate. I had to keep focused, I had to stay calm and hope my spotter did the same. They kept getting closer! Did they see me? I can't move now, they're too close. I got to sit tight... I remember thinking. Then I heard a faint click, click. Joe had pulled the hammer back on that 9MM. What was he thinking!! There, less than three feet away, stood three soldiers - dirty, smelly, and looking more like homeless people than soldiers. And, they were still coming toward me. Then I felt the sand shift by my side as one walked past. It got very quiet, painfully quiet. If you've ever played hide and seek you can possibly imagine how I was feeling by this time. I just knew we were done. I figured any second we would be found, and then anything could happen. Somehow, for some reason, they finally moved on past and made a long sweeping loop that ended at a large building about 11 or 1200 meters to my left. We were losing time and I had to do my job.

With about two and a half hours of sun left I mechanically began the task I was picked for. With a puff and a flinch number one was on it's way - the best estimate from Joe was 1340 meters. As he watched, he held up one finger. It was done. Number 2 ws already on it's way when I felt the fastpack hit my ribs - mor ammo. I didn't have time to think. All I could do was let the training take over and try to follow my instincts. I could see blue-grey puffs, people scrambling around, as more and more began to send 110 grains of lead flying across the landscape. We were hot and I knew we only had minutes to get out of dodge. Number 7, Number 8 ........ number 11 and it was over, I was done. We had to high tail it now if we even hoped to have a chance. I had made some mistakes, I'd lost track of time, of rounds, of lots of important things. I had placed both our lives in jeopardy.

We both got out. And, later on the aircraft, and Army special (helicopter), we both discovered something that gave us chills. My left pants leg had a boot print on it and my uniform had two new ventilation holes. Joe had seven or eight new additions to his gear- but neither of us had a scratch! The next morning, before day, we all went our separate ways. The folks I left at the site were still doing their thing. I flew back on a plane partly loaded with equipment going back for repair. Just minutes over the Mediterranean we started recieving fire. Large and small pieces of metal began to spray the aircraft. It only lasted a few minutes, but it seemed much longer. While moving between two pieces of equipment I felt a burning pain in my left calf. When I turned around I felt another in my right shin. At first I thought I had snagged myself on something sticking out of the equipment. But later I realized we had received fire and I'd taken two hits. I could hardly believe it. The Army Aid Station removed two pieces of metal, one about the size of a dime and the other about the size of a match head. Both were thin irregular pieces of metal, metal from Russian made ordinance.

I was nominated three times for a purple heart - denied all three times. I was awarded five other medals including the bronze star with two devices ( for stupidity and dumb luck). Additionally, a Coalition General came to the site, walked into the chow hall, then presented me with a medal and a plaque. Pictures were taken, a few words were exchanged, then it was all a memory.

I had set three new world records (unoficially) and accomplished something that is now a part of the National Archive - I lived to tell about it.

I have seen the face of death as it walks........