After a few days living on one of the piers at Dahran, we learned the ship with our equipment on it was coming into the port of Dammam. We arranged buses to move us up the coast and lived on another pier for a few days while our equipment was processed and staged. Then we had to move to another assembly area to organize into a convoy with other units. Early on the morning of the 22nd of December, we rolled out of town towards the VII Corps Reception area. It was dark when we arrived there, and the promised tents were full to over-flowing, so we ate cold MREs and slept in our trucks. The next thing I knew, my commander was pounding on my shoulder saying, "Hey! Top! Wake up! We're on the surface of the freaking moon!" I sat up, rubbed a half pound of sand out of my eyes and looked around. Have you ever seen a parking lot that was ready to be paved? All flat and smooth and gravelly? From horizon to horizon the only thing that broke up the vision of the parking lot was a small group of tents behind us. They were all empty, by the way, the other units having pulled out while we slept...after eating whatever hot chow was available. So we got our directions, ate another cold MRE, and headed Northwest. "Just go to the intersection and turn left" they told us. It was about three hundred kilometers to the intersection, the only other paved road we saw all day. We passed the entrance to King Kahlid Military City, continued on for several miles until we came to the fifty-five gallon drum painted red and turned left. Then straight ahead for eleven miles to the fifty-five gallon drum painted white and turned right and looked for the stakes with our unit number on them. When it started getting dark I suggested to the commander that we just grab some of the stakes that were sticking up all around and paint our unit on them and park. He allowed as how that would probably be a viable solution if we didn't find our own by nightfall. We did, and we parked and had another MRE, and set up our camp. The next morning we got tasked from our higher headquarters to start running fuel to the storage site at Camp Echo. So less than twelve hours after finding our fifty acres of sand, we were in full-scale operation moving fuel from the port to the bladders in the desert. But that isn't why I started writing this, it just seemed that some sort of baseline needed to laid down for the rest of the story.
With the majority of our soldiers engaged in convoy operations up and down that port road (someone named it Tap Line Road; I never knew if that was some clever persons sense of humor or some map designation. In any case, everyone called it Tap Line Road), the company leadership split into teams and started combing the desert for support. We had only the water we had been issued at the port, MREs which were dwindling, and nothing else. We had been detached from our home battalion and our new battalion was still in the States. So we scrounged. My Truckmaster, a little Japanese Hawaiian named Tanaka, was brilliant enough to hold back two of our 5000 gallon fuel tankers to use for hauling water. They had been steam-cleaned in Germany before we could load them on the ships so we could safely use them for shower water and washing and stuff. I say he was brilliant because that simple foresight saved our lives many times over. A sergeant from a supply company saw our tanker filling with water at the KKMC water point and asked if it was possible to take some water to his unit; they had showers but no water. He was directed to see me and Truck and soon we had plywood floors for our tents and the supply company had twice- weekly deliveries of water in their showers. We found a Puerto Rican National Guard unit that was in charge of the Class 1 issue point (Army talk for where you get the food). Our Puerto Rican Mess Sergeant made contact and soon we were eating hot "Tray-Packs" instead of MREs. And so it went all across the desert, as units starting arriving and filling up the space, the demand for water increased and so did the "riches" of our unit. But that is just another ramble. What I really wanted to write about was driving in Saudi Arabia...what fun.
As I mentioned, there was only the one paved road within 100 miles of our campsite, TAA Henry. And Tap Line Road was the only other paved road west of the port. Trucks carrying everything imaginable (and some things you couldn't possibly imagine) for the waging of war were moving from the port to the stockpiles in the desert and back to the port empty. The closer we got to the invasion day, the more crowded, and dangerous, it became. Every transportation company I ever heard of was rolling up and down Tap Line, and the Army went out and bought a whole shipment of Peterbuilt trucks that arrived in the port to go to the Pete dealer. They threw infantrymen into them, put flatbed trailers on them and put them on Tap Line, too. Every truck in the Kingdom that could be bought or hired was moving supplies. This is the stage...it is set.
I have driven in a lot of different countries, in lots of different environments, all kinds of weather, even in places where the indigenous peoples shot at you. But Saudi was a whole new experience. The speed limits, traffic signs, rules of the road are strictly enforced - and no one knows how to be strict like an Islamic nation. BUT...if you have a friend on the police force or a cousin , or are somehow related to the Royal family...then all bets are off. And did I mention that the whole Kingdom of Saud is inter-married, cousined-up, and friends with everyone else? So the rules only apply to the hapless few who don't have a connection. The foreign workers. See, the Sauds don't work. They hire Philipinos to drive their trucks, Koreans to do their housework, Americans to fight their wars and so on. We tried to be very careful of the laws and traditions at first. The female soldiers were not allowed to go around in their tee-shirts or have their heads uncovered. No Bibles. Lots of other stuff like that. We were also told not to stare or even make prolonged eye contact because they believe in the "Evil Eye", whatever that is. That lasted a couple weeks. It was hot, dusty, smelly, and foreign. The rules just made us mad and so we started ignoring them. No one noticed. Drifting again. Back to point.
The thing about the traffic was that the Saudis were not very understanding about all the trucks slowing them down. So they passed everyone all the time. The road to KKMC and Tap Line were both two lane highways with paved shoulders but they were raised above the floor of the desert about three feet. So if you pulled off the shoulder you had a serious drop-off to deal with. On one particular day I was driving the commander and a couple of others up to KKMC in my Army Blazer. A long line of trucks hauling M1 tanks was in the oncoming lane. A Saudi Mercedes truck (driven by a Philipino) moved out into my lane to pass the offending tank-haulers. I had to pull over onto the shoulder to avoid a head-on which apparently was no concern for the Merc driver. As he went past us, I turned in my seat to issue a greeting and express my opinion of his driving when everyone else in the Blazer started screaming. I looked to the front and saw another Mercedes truck that had pulled out to pass the first Mercedes truck. This Mercedes truck was on the shoulder...MY SHOULDER...and bearing down on us at a closing speed of well over 100 mph. I jerked the wheel to the right and prayed that at least two of the tires would stay on the ground long enough to get us off the road. I figured that a roll-over was far preferable to a head-on with a truck that weighed ten times what our Blazer did. Bless Chevy for making at least ONE good Blazer. She made the sharp turn at over 50 mph; I was able to keep her upright as we blazed down the bank and out across the desert. The commander wouldn't let me chase him down and shoot him so we continued toward KKMC driving about 200 yards off the road, just moseying along. I tell the story like it was an amazing thing but you know, I'll bet there are hundreds of GIs who weathered the STORM who could tell identical stories. We lost more soldiers on Tap Line Road in the build up to DESERT STORM than we did to enemy action during the shooting phase of the war. MamaCharlie and I have a little thing we say to each other whenever we have a close call on the road..."Whatchagonna do with all that adrenaline, now?" On that day I had enough and to spare...sang it off all the way to KKMC, much to the displeasure of the commander...just gimme that old time Rock and Roll.