By Eugenio Saenz Jr. Nov 11, 2023
In the barren stretches of Iraq during the intense Desert Storm/Shield of 1990-91, my fellow soldiers and I took turns on six hour guard duty shifts at a post nestled in the fall months, close to the Euphrates River. This post wasn’t a sophisticated fortress; it was a practical creation made from sandbags we filled and sturdy 2×4 wood.
Underneath the surface of our makeshift shelter, we dug a foxhole, a sort of underground storage space where we stashed our essentials. Ammo cans, Meals Ready-to-Eat (MREs), and a five-gallon water can were the backbone of our survival toolkit, a straightforward setup for our daily challenges.
Our routine was a simple but crucial one. We walked the perimeter of the entire base with our M16A1 rifle and chemical masks strapped to our hip, shielded by a substantial berm. It was a repetitive yet vital dance in the vast unknown of our surroundings.
The tranquility of the desert was regularly shattered by the thunderous roar of low-flying jets. These aircraft, heralding their presence with a booming echo, raced across the sky on their way to unleash havoc upon Iraqi positions—a stark reminder of the volatile reality surrounding us.
Our isolation was occasionally disrupted by the passing figures of nomads and their herds, their mysterious journeys intersecting with our military outpost. Amidst this arid landscape, a lone camel, driven by hunger, added a touch of untamed beauty to the scene. In that expansive desert, where the boundary between duty and the wild blurred, we stood witness to a profound chapter in history.