The fever-pitch of chasing after the 3rd Armored was over; we were operating at a much more relaxed pace. So I quit running with the trucks and concentrated on improving living conditions at Nellingen. The drivers wouldn't have to be sleeping in their trucks so they needed to have a company area that afforded them a better deal than they had had. I know, it was only 100 hours of a war, but they had been involved in every minute of it and deserved a rest. Between Truck and the platoon sergeants and myself, we put together a fairly good field site. The run into Kuwait and back could be done in a day so the drivers could rotate a little, get some free time, sleep on a cot, and eat a real meal.

Most of the other units had pulled out of Nellingen and moved back to Echo or further south. There was a huge Trailer Transfer Point at Nellingen; truck companies would pull trailers into the TTP and drop them, and other units would pick them up and move them elsewhere. Transfer Point. But it was almost empty. One afternoon my mess sergeant came up to me and told me that there was a refrigerator van parked in the TTP (Trailer Transfer Point) and it had run out of fuel. The refrigeration unit had quit. The only thing those trailers were for was food or medicine. The ones that hauled medicine weren't usually the larger ones and almost always had a red cross on a white square on them. He said that it would only take a few hours in the sun for the temperature in the trailer to rise enough to spoil whatever was in there. We strolled over to the TTP and looked the trailer over. The only markings on it were for a 1st Infantry Division unit, one that was a couple hundred miles away the last time I had heard. Since there were no other units around and no one there who out-ranked me to make a decision, I told him we should open the trailer, see what was in it, and make sure nothing went to waste.

That evening while the 515th Trans was enjoying 1st Infantry steaks and potatoes (fresh potatoes, not re-hydrated ones), fresh fruit, and fresh veggies, I asked the mess sergeant why he didn't think of just fueling up the refer unit and starting it up again. The combination of pain, confusion, and indignation that crossed his face was priceless...but he couldn't answer ... his mouth was full.

Soon all the companies from our adopted battalion were located in Nellingen, too. They brought some of the supplies from Echo with them and we were able to improve the tents and living conditions. And shortly after that, the 515th was moved back to Echo. Naturally.

It worked out okay. We set up in Echo and scrounged around the desert for stuff left behind by other units. We got plenty of plywood and other lumber; we found some of our old friends from our early days at TAA Henry and established new "accounts" with them. Echo II became our best site, ever. We set up camoflage nets to cover the area between the command tents, Ops, the mess tent, and an extra mess tent we "acquired" and turned into a theater. (We had a large-screen TV and tape-player and built benches from some of the scrap lumber we found). The area between the tents became our "patio", complete with picnic tables and plywood floor. The work load thinned out as LRP 8 filled up and wasn't the focus anymore. We had to send a platoon at a time into Kuwait City to start filling up a Log Base there. The wrinkle came a couple of weeks after we started our new mission: we couldn't convoy through Iraq anymore. So we were back on Tapline Road to the coast and then north into Kuwait. About twice as far as it needed to be.

The operations guys outdid themselves creating the "House of Pain" (their name, I have nooooo idea), a shower complex with closed-in stalls and deep drain sumps. The stalls surrounded a common area, covered with a ceiling kind of like a breeze-way. A place where you could come in out of the wind and weather to wait your turn for a shower. They had used the shower units we had brought from the port and improved on them greatly. The doors to each stall provided enough coverage - roughly from neck to knees - for me to approve it for co-ed use. It became a very popular gathering place in the evening; nothing is more social than being naked in the proximity of the opposite sex...even if all that could be seen were heads and feet. At least I didn't get any complaints.

One April afternoon, after we had been re-setablished in Echo for a few weeks, I got visits from two Sergeant Majors in the same day. You could go for days without seeing even one. The first visit was from French, the one I liked, the one who was my current boss, telling me that an order of merit list had been established for the return of units to their homes. The units that had been farthest forward, had been more at risk, were going to be the first to rotate out. Since we had been moving as part of the 3rd AD, we were manifested with them. The schedule put us some time in May. I thought that was pretty cool, but I also thought that May was a long way from April.

That same afternoon, the other Sergeant Major, the one I still don't like, the one who used to be my boss and had kicked me and the 515th to the curb when we first arrived in the desert, showed up to tell me what a great job the 515th had done. He toured our site and commented on all the "amenities" we provided our soldiers and informed me that he was so impressed he was going to bring all the other First Sergeants from his battalion to see what a fine place we had here and have dinner with us and celebrate the great victory, and blah, blah, blah. If I hadn't had the first visit, I might have actually been taken in by this charismatic gent. As I watched the taillights on his Blazer fade into the dusk, I knew that whatever animosity he had once had for me...he still had...and in a short amount of time we would be released from our attachment and returned to his vindictive, petty, loving care. But showing me off to the other First Sergeants? Dinner with my troops? I knew something was up but I didn't have time to worry about it; I had company coming and had to get ready. I went back to my tent and read a magazine.

If your mess guys know their business, and mine did, they can do wonders with very little. For a couple of weeks we had been served some of the best shrimp dinners, fixed in myriads of ways, that I had ever eaten in a mess hall. We had come into possession of a large number of cans of de-hydrated shrimp. On the evening of the "Big Visit", the mess guys made a shrimp jambalaya that would rival any you could find in Louisiana. Served with fresh biscuits and real butter (don't ask...I didn't), it was a special treat. We all ate on the patio and sat around afterward discussing the bits of the war we had experienced...some of these First Sergeants were very good friends of mine, and some were strangers, but it was good to see them and have their company for awhile. Just before leaving, the Sergeant Major, the one I didn't like, pulled me aside and mentioned the order of merit list and that he had a couple of soldiers in the battalion that he wanted to reward by getting them home sooner than the rest. Seems that the 4th Trans was a few weeks behind us on that list. So he was just gonna have the S-1 guys cut orders reassigning these soldiers to the 515th, knowing I would be happy to help him out.

A smart First Sergeant might see this as an opportunity to mend fences and get back in good graces with a difficult boss. So I told the Sergeant Major, the one I didn't like, that I would be happy to receive those soldiers; all he had to do would be to contact my Sergeant Major, the one I liked, of the 6th Trans Battalion, and arrange things with him, since I was not yet back in the 4th Trans Battalion. I was sure he, the Sergeant Major I didn't like, would understand, being such a stickler for following the chain of command and protecting his battalion's assets and all.

There are some memories that fade, some that stay vivid. Some come to you at odd times, some can be conjured up at will. Some are priceless...some bring joy years after the fact. The Sergeant Major, the one I didn't like, provided me with a lasting memory that evening. It took him at least ten minutes before he could even speak to me. I saw in his face the struggle to maintain a calm exterior while still holding out hope of making me see reason. Finally, his nature...his petty, vindictive nature, won out and he smilingly informed me that he fully understood my position...and motivations for that position. He further reminded me that in a few weeks we would all be back in Germany, back at home in good ole Flak Kaserne, where he was the SERGEANT MAJOR and I would PAY for this evening for the rest of our tour together. It probably aggravated the whole situation that several of the First Sergeants had drifted over to within earshot of our conversation. They, to their credit, did not break into loud laughter, but the muted snickering didn't do much for his demeanor.

I once more watched the taillights fading into the evening, the other First Sergeants saying their goodbyes and complimenting me on the dinner, the tour, and the floorshow. I was only half paying attention. I was thinking about the materials and tools and lumber that had been purchased in Germany for my soldiers that they never got to use, the weeks of scrounging around to replace those things plus the basic items that they should have had but were deliberately denied. And I was remembering the phone call on Thanksgiving day when he, the Sergeant Major I didn't like, wanted me to send my guys to the railhead to load another unit's trucks. I was wondering what life would be like once we were all back at Flak and the bill for this evening came due...I tallied it up and called it a good trade.