Like thousands of soldiers, I found out I was going to war again by watching the CNN news on AFN. When Cheney and Powell gave their news conference and outlined another shipment of troops into DESERT SHIELD, they listed the units that would be pulled out of Germany. When Third COSCOM was mentioned, MamaCharlie said, "That's you, isn't it?" I pointed out that they would list the units from those commands, like they had done just a month or so ago. We waited for a few minutes. My unit was one of just a very few involved in the movement of fuel around Germany. Surely they wouldn't pull a company with such an important mission. They turned the time to the reporters for questions. The first question pointed out that previously they had listed the particular units; which units from these commands would be going? Powell's answer was, "All of them". The commands were going in their entirety. That's how I found out.

The next morning we had a special Command and Staff meeting at Battalion and were given official notification. No time tables, no order of march, just that we were identified to go...get ready. The next day or two we spent in endless meetings establishing load plans and priorities of work; we had to wind down operations, expedite repairs, identify additional equipment and materials we would need for operations, and figure out who would actually be going. The last question became easier when a "Stop Loss" order was issued; no separation actions would go forward until further notice. We were notified that we would receive about sixty infantrymen from units in Germany that were not deploying, to fill us up to our required strength. It was up to us to train them to be truck drivers, fuel-handling truck drivers, in our spare time.

The time table and order of march came in a couple of days. We were issued special credit cards to purchase items we needed from the local economy (read: German stores). Recommendations included lots of plywood for tent floors and other impromtu constructions, plus tools and other specialty items...including a video-tape recorder to keep a journal of our deployment. We filled two conex containers with local purchase items that would facilitate living in a desert. We had some forward-thinking NCOs in the company who puchased power grinders and heavy gloves for the crews that would tie our trucks to the railcars when it came time to ship.

We set up crews of soldiers from each platoon to work on steam-cleaning all the vehicles and equipment that would be shipped. There could be no dirt from Europe transported to the Middle East. And the fuel tankers had to be "sniff-tested" to ensure there were no fumes in them. In other words, there was a frenzy of work going on in fifteen different directions...for weeks, with long hours and no days off at all. Fortunately for me, there were some excellent, talented, and hard-driving NCOs in my company and they worked together to accomplish every task. Sometimes, directions for some tasks arrived as the tasks were being performed. I was very proud of my NCOs. The miracles were performed, the magic worked.

Every rail-loading dock in Germany was buzzing. We were given a window of time to get our vehicles to the dock, (luckily we were assigned to the railhead in Ludwigsburg, not five miles from our motor pool) load, tie-down and ship our vehicles and conexes. Our time started very early on the morning before Thanksgiving. We had a planning meeting where we organized inter-platoon teams to do specific tasks. We would process all the equipment in the company, not platoon by platoon, until all the everything was loaded and the trains were rolling. We had a team that cut cable with a grinder. They passed cable to the lay-out crew who put the cables and turnbuckles on the railcar where a crew would do the tie-down and tightening. There was a separate crew for placing the chock-blocks. As the trucks arrived, a crew would accompany the inspectors to make any corrections as soon as a discrepancy was found. The next crew went to work removing the cab-tops, dropping the windshields, removing the tarps, bows, mirrors and making sure everything was tied, taped, or otherwise secured. Another crew would guide the trucks up the ramp onto the railcars and into place. That was the plan. I promised the sergeants that if we got the whole unit up-loaded and finished before Thanksgiving, they would have the holiday off to spend at home. The plan worked like a well-oiled machine. They gave me about three hours change.

I should point out that we were the first unit in the battalion to load-out. Not one soldier from any of the other units came by to see what we were doing, not one officer discussed with our commander how we were doing, not one senior NCO from battalion asked how it was going, or if we needed anything at all. Even though I offered to assist some of the other First Sergeants, no one wanted any help. Told you all that so I could tell you this:

Thanksgiving. Dinner on the table. Family all gathered around (except the Hyperborean Wanderer, who was off on his Argentine mission). The phone rings and I answer. The battalion Sergeant Major explains to me that the unit that was at the loading dock at that time was floundering. They didn't seem to have a grip on what they needed to do and he wanted me to round up my soldiers and head to the railhead to help them out. He was stunned when I said, "No." I explained everything I explained to you in the previous paragraph. He thought about it, then suggested that I send my platoon sergeants down there to help this forlorn unit get organized. I said, "No". He went into a tirade about those poor soldiers not having this Thanksgiving with their families and on and on. I asked if his solution to that was to take my soldiers away from their families. The final appeal was for me to go to the dock and try to give the First Sergeant of that unit some help and guidance. I pointed out that I had made that offer repeatedly and no one was interested before the fact, so I would be returning to my Thanksgiving dinner ("that couldn't be beat!...compliments of Arlo) and I would be happy to visit the dock on Friday to see if they still needed help. I was proud of the fact that throughout the conversation I refrained from pointing out how this Sergeant Major had strutted around throwing out his chest in front of the command and staff crew, spouting wisdom as the self-appointed subject-matter expert on all things transportation and how he suggested that these units had better get "read-up" on how to do this, implying that we had some catching up to do to reach his level of expertise. (Expertise that somehow never made it to the loading docks...not ONE TIME during the whole battalion's load-out.)

It felt good to say "No" to him. But he was a man who never forgot a slight. He knew that I didn't work for him and that in order to make me do what he wanted, he would have to go through the Battalion Commander who would have to call my commander and that neither of them would go along with pulling my guys away from their promised day off. But victory is fleeting. Going to war is easier when all your enemies are in front of you.

Sigh...that's another story...