It was in the ramp-up to DESERT STORM,  an exercise in getting all the stuff together to fight, called DESERT SHIELD.   We had been set up in our little neighborhood called Tactical Assembly Area Henry (or TAA Henry or just "Henry") for a couple of weeks and were busy running convoys of 5000 gallon fuel-tankers from the port to the bladder farm at TAA Echo.  If you remember the newsies telling you that many of those SCUD missiles old Saddam launched at Israel and the cities and ports of Saudi Arabia fell "harmlessly into the desert"...that's were we were, in the desert under the SCUDS.  We had "hit the ground running" as they say, we were moving fuel before all of our tents were set up. 

The drivers were in the cabs of their trucks almost constantly.  They would eat MREs (the Army's bags of dehydrated meals) on the run with few opportunities to sit at a table and eat like people.  It was a four-hundred-kilometer  (about 250 miles) trip one-way.  When they got to the port the tankers were loaded at the docks and then they came right back out that 400 klicks to Echo.   In normal conditions that would take about twelve hours or so, but the main road was almost bumper-to-bumper traffic, 90% of which was military trucks moving fuel, ammunition, food, and everything else needed to sustain half-a-million GIs in the desert and stockpile enough to start a war with.  So what could have been done in 12 hours took 18 to 20 hours.  It was hard work for the drivers and the leaders who went on the convoys. 

I went on a convoy every now and then, just to be with the troops.  My main duties were in the Operations tent and maintaining our field site. 

On one afternoon there was a delay at the port, some sort of breakdown at the pumping station.  The pumping crew chief told the drivers to rest awhile, and maybe go across the port and get a meal at the big mess hall.  Whoosh...they were all gone before he could finish the sentence.  They got there just before lunch was over and everyone jumped into the mess line.  There was a conference room off the hall they were lined up in and one of the drivers mentioned that General Schwartzkopf was in there  A minor hubbub started because 1)the general was a hero to most of the DESERT STORMTROOPERS, and 2)  he was a four-star general and a general is to be feared always.  After a few minutes some reporter-type in his camo-vest and cargo pants came out and saw all these drivers lined up to eat and he tried to get them to come into the conference room because the Vice President of the United States, the Honorable Dan Quale was in that room and he was speaking to the troops shaking hands and patting on the back and all that, how often to you get a chance to meet with the Veep???

After the slightest micro-second of hesitation, our commander stepped forward and told the PR type that this particular group of soldiers, unlike the cleaned and pressed soldiers who populated the conference room, had not had a hot, sit-down, off-of-a-plate meal in weeks and after they had accomplished that, if the Veep wanted to come over and say "hi", the drivers would be more that pleased to visit with him.  PR man was aghast, passing up the chance to meet with the VPOTUS for a plate of tough spaghetti and greasy sauce.  He couldn't fathom it.  But when he asked individual soldiers, the decision was unanymous. 

I remembered this story because Blogmom wrote about Bill Clinton coming to her area and she went to see him.  Reminded me that sometimes, some things are more important than politics.