Grab your helmets, here comes a war story

Many of you have heard me tell this once or twice over the years, but it bears repeating. A couple of you were there as well.

On July 11, 1991, at approximately 1100 hours, a thundering explosion shook me out of bed. I was at what was then Camp Doha, Kuwait, with the Germany-based 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment's 511th Military Intellgence Company. Some 75 Russian and German linguists strong, we deployed as part of Operation Positive Force, *the* contingency plan just in case the recently-defeated Iraqi army decided to re-invade Kuwait. I still have no clue why the Army in its infinite wisdom sent 75 Russian and German linguists, so don't bother asking -- but I can tell you that I heard more Russian radio traffic here than I ever did in Germany (probably from some border dispute with Kazakhstan at the time).

Still asleep from the previous night's guard duty, I stumbled out of the building to witness dozens of my comrades running down the street, gazing at the explosion's fallout some 1,000 meters to our north. Popular theories at the moment as to the cause of the ruckus ranged from enemy mortars to a guarding M-1 Abrams tank shooting a wayward vehicle. Or maybe a fuel tank exploded in the heat? I decided it wasn't my problem so I visited the latrine, then blearily headed back for bed.

Then a second, much louder explosion ripped across the desert, shaking the warehouse buildings where we lived and shattering the small windows atop the 20-foot walls. The curious were now running back to the barracks, convinced something in the motor pool was on fire. I hastily threw on everything I could grab in 10 seconds: boots, pants, flak vest, dogtags and helmet were all I could muster before we all gathered on the leeward side of the building. The explosions were coming fast now, one right after the other, and I won't lie -- I was scared at first.

After a quick accounting of every Soldier, our company joined the rest of the Regiment in running for our lives. It's quite a sight to see thousands of Soldiers streaking, yelling, and jumping over the fence that separated our compound from the U.N.'s, which was normally off-limits because they allowed beer. I sprained an ankle upon landing; I heard one buddy proclaim "We'd better get our combat patches for this!" (We did, later.) Over the next 8 hours, we sat quietly as the explosions still rocked the base and eventually died down. All day long, medics were carrying in Soldiers on stretchers, seemingly by the dozen. Most of them were heat injuries -- when the explosions started, the temperature was already well above 100 degrees.

We found out that indeed a fire in a vehicle in the large motor pool on the north side of the camp had caused a massive cook-off of ammunition. All of our unit's vehicles were combat loaded, meaning they carried a full complement of live ammunition just in case -- and all the extra ammo was stored in nearby containers, exposed to the searing heat. The subsequent investigation revealed that a Field Artillery unit had just returned from field exercises, and an ammunition carrier had experienced an electrical fire that didn't get extinguished before it was parked next to all the other vehicles. A Major on the scene called over a fire truck, stuck the hose in the hatch of the burning vehicle, and told everyone to run to safety. The ensuing chaos flung debris and unexploded ordnance as much as three-quarters of a mile; I even saw a whole engine on the ground, a half-mile from the motor pool.

My newly-pregnant wife and toddler son were in Fulda, Germany with the rest of the spouses. The initial radio reports they heard -- from none other than Paul Harvey -- were that at least 50 Soldiers had died as a result of the explosions which did rattle windows in downtown Kuwait City, some 10 miles across the bay. In truth, there were some serious injuries but no deaths until two weeks later, during the clean-up of the unexploded munitions, when three Soldiers were killed instantly after a tank round exploded without warning.

A couple of weeks after the incident, we had a previously-scheduled visit from Gen. H. Norman Schwarzkopf. We all stood in formation and watched as his helicopter circled the disaster site, then landed. The General awarded some medals for near-heroic acts during the incident, gave a thankfully short, hooh-ah speech in which he erroneously called us the "Blackhawk Regiment," then left. (The 11th ACR is the Blackhorse Regiment.) I found out later that "Stormin' Norman" ripped our Regimental commander a new one all the way there and all the way back. (Historically, some of his ass-chewings were legendary.) We returned to Germany in September after only three months deployed, and got a new commander the following March. The old commander, Col. A.J. Bacevich, was the only commander of that unit to not get promoted to Brigadier General. Another Colonel told me years later that Bacevich took full responsibility for the incident, even the faulty ammunition storage. The new commander was Col. William S. Wallace, now a full General.

The 11th ACR was my first unit in the Army, after nearly two years of Russian linguist/interceptor training. I've since run into many others who were there that day, and they have their own stories. One guy in my unit even had the presence of mind to take pictures of the explosions, and sold copies of the best ones (like this one to the right). One of those, which is buried in an album at home somewhere, even showed a guy sprinting from the showers in nothing but a towel and flipflops. I even later saw pics of the site taken from the air; it looked like a nuke had gone off in the center. The Army still considers that day the worst accident ever, and I'm told someone here in Kuwait actually has a safety video describing it.

[Interesting facts for you numerologists...

• Date: 7/11/1991
• 1991/11=181
• time: 11 a.m.
• Unit: 11th ACR
• Temperature: 110 F
• Hijri (Islamic) calendar year: 1411

...Coincidence?]

The German philosopher Nietzsche said, "That which does not kill us makes us stronger." I guess I'm a better man for having lived to tell the tale.