March 18, 2003
In the middle of the afternoon, I was dozing in a little hollow in the sand, my head on a sandbag in the shade of the maintenance deuce and a half. Spec. Willie Cooke, who drove the medic track, and Spec. Emeka “Easy” Ezekwem, one of the mechanics, sat down beside me in the shade and began talking God and war.
Easy: “We say, ‘The baby lion or lioness, it does not die in a strange land. If it must die, it must get to its own root, or house, to its own land to die. God knows why I am here. God has a purpose. You read that Bible, you see God’s promises.”
Cooke: “You know what ‘Bible’ stands for? It’s an acronym. B-I-B-L-E. Basic Instruction Before Leaving Earth. You know about that?”
Easy: “Psalm 24 says the Earth is the Lord’s and the fullness therefore, the world and they that dwell therein. For he has founded it upon the seas and established it upon the flood…What this means is that the whole Earth belongs to God. God founded the whole universe from his own glory. So whatever happens is from God. Nothing happens without his purpose.
“Let everyone be strong in faith. Don’t allow your weakness to overcome you. Devil will come and tell you, you are going to die. What you do is rebuke that Devil, say, ‘You are lying!’ I am not shaking, because I am a confident child. I have faith in my God, and he will see me through.”
Cooke: “I believe that wholeheartedly, 100 percent. You can sit here and think about war and scare yourself to death. But I have confidence I will be all right and the whole company will be all right. I look at it as fear and I look at it as joy, because I know I’ll see my wife and children at the other end.”
Easy: “A lot of people have fear because the flesh is weak.”
The word came that afternoon that it was time to break camp. GIs were breaking down the platoon tents. We would sleep in, around or on the tracks that night. The GIs worked into the night. Everything was going into the tracks.
“It … won’t … be …. long!” Spec. Johnny Smith sang, drawing it out in gospel tones, as he loaded gear into the welded steel bustle rack on the side of the fire-support Bradley.
“Halleluia!” sang Spec. Robert Baxter, the Bradley’s driver, shoving gear into the cramped track’s hull.
“I … see … the … light!” Smitty sang.
“That’s a fucking flashlight!” Baxter said.
Posted by Jules Crittenden at 9:34 am on Sunday, March 18, 2007
4 Responses to “March 18, 2003”
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March 18th, 2007 at 4:48 pm
Maybe I missed it, but what camp in Kuwait was this?
During this same time frame I was sitting in the old 1950s barracks at Ft. Stewart eating Chinese delivery, watching CNN and wondering if they were going to ever send us to the desert or if we were just going to be sent home. We had about another month until we were told-rather suddenly-to get ready for the flight which took us to Kuwait via Delaware and Moron, Spain.
I’m loving the look back Jules. BTW, I was at Shiloh NMP on Friday and saw that one of the Union generals was named Crittenden. Any relation?
March 18th, 2007 at 6:29 pm
Camp Nowhere … they had moved out of Camp New York several weeks earlier to make room for the 101st, and had set up on empty desert in somewhat rougher camps … no communication with the outside world, no PX, no rec rooms. Lots of piss tubes … 2nd Brigade called its place Camp Spartans. 4/64 was Camp Tusker, A Co was Camp Assassins. It was out in the vicinity of New York, heading toward the Udairi range. The minute we left, those places ceased to exist.
Re Kentucky Crittendens, no. At that time, my people owned a pub about 10 miles from the hamlet of Crittenden in Kent, UK.
March 18th, 2007 at 9:46 pm
March 18, 2003
March 18, 2003 Critter In the middle of the afternoon, I was dozing in a little hollow in the sand, my head on a sandbag in the shade of the maintenance deuce and a half. Spec. Willie Cooke, who drove
March 18th, 2007 at 9:46 pm
Bill’s Nibbles // Open Post — 2007.03.18
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