For the Love of a Marine

by Sharon Kimbra Walsh

  “Fuck!” Joe exclaimed. “What a bag of dicks.” He quickly went on to describe the Taliban camp to the Sergeant then said, “We need to get the hell out of here, put as much distance as possible between us and the bad guys then hole up, wait for the sandstorm to blow over. Get the men together. I need to brief them then we’ll move.”

  Joe and Sergeant Eastman called the squad together and Joe explained about the Taliban camp and the approaching sandstorm. The men were accepting of the worsening weather. They were well aware that the screening sandstorm could offer some protection to the enemy on the prowl at night. The Taliban were used to living in the desert and dealing with storms that started up suddenly and disappeared just as quickly as they came. Inclement weather did not impede the enemy’s night patrols and this would create a disadvantage for Echo squad. On the other hand, the sandstorm would also hide their own movements.

  “Okay, now you know as much as I do,” Joe continued. “I don’t need to tell you that the weather is gonna get much worse. We need to find some place to hole up and wait it out. We’re not going to be able to make it back to base in this wind and with the decreasing visibility. You’ll want to wear your goggles, shemaghs and your ponchos. Make sure that all your emergency kit is at hand. Try to keep the sand and dust out of your weapons. Any questions?”

  He glanced at each of the marines in turn, but they were all shaking their heads. Their expressions were unperturbed, as though they were faced with sandstorms every day.

  “Okay, you have five to get your gear sorted out.”

  The marines spent the next few minutes organizing their individual equipment. Part of their desert clothing was a neck and head shemagh, a scarf that used to cover the head beneath the helmet, face then wrap about the neck. There was space left for the eyes and it would keep out much of the windblown sand and dust. They put on their ponchos, generally used for rainy weather but under which they could carry and shield their weapons, protecting the delicate mechanisms from the harsh particles picked up by the winds.

  By the time all this had taken place, the weather had deteriorated considerably. The wind was now battering at them continuously, with curtains of yellow sand sweeping across the ORP and wind buffeting the men’s bodies, causing them to turn away from sharp particles of sand that stung raw exposed skin. Breathing in the furnace-like heat burned the nostrils and throat, and with all the combat clothing now worn by the men, they were all sweating freely, and they now had to shout to be heard if they needed to converse with one another.

  Having sorted out his own equipment, Joe eventually turned to face the men. “Okay, let’s get out of here. Remember, stay alert, stay quiet and watch where you’re going and don’t stop or stray out of sight of your buddy. We need to get as far away from here as we can before we find some place to lie low. Keep your eyes peeled for the Terries.”

  Moving out of the ORP, once away from the shelter of the rocks, the full force of the storm hit them. The sandstorm was approaching from the south, and to get back to the base they had to march into the wind that was coming from that direction. All thought of completing the patrol in formation was gone. To spread out would be to risk losing a man in the deteriorating visibility. They bunched together, maintaining a meter’s distance between each other, those on the outside surveying the terrain for any movement from somebody tracking them. Visibility was almost non-existent with windblown sand forming and reforming around them, obscuring their surroundings. Breathing was difficult so Joe called a number of brief halts so that his men could rest and take on water.

  Their march was slow, hindered as it was by wind and uneven terrain with its boulder-strewn ground, gullies and outcroppings of rock thrusting up in hazardous formations. The men fought against the increasing strength of the hot wind—which was always against them—and eventually it began to take its toll. Now and again a marine would stagger—blown off balance—or stumble over an unseen obstacle hidden by the curtains of blowing sand. Their passage grew slower as the men grew more and more weary.

  Joe glanced at his watch. It was 0230 hours, or in Army slang, o-dark-thirty, meaning very early in the morning. If they had been back at the ORP, they would have been working on a watch system whereby half the squad would be asleep while the other half would be on watch, turn and turnabout. Now here they were, trying to plow through a raging sandstorm that, he had a sneaking suspicion, had not reached its peak. When and if it did, they would be in serious trouble if they were caught out in the open. It was about time they discovered some form of shelter and got some shut-eye.

  When Joe spoke into his microphone beneath the smothering shemagh to radio Sergeant Eastman, he was disconcerted to discover constant static issuing from his radio. He used his call sign and when Sergeant Eastman answered, the transmission was considerably broken up.

  Joe halted the squad and ordered them to take a rest. The men turned their backs to the wind and sand and Joe made his way to Sergeant Eastman’s position. Joe knelt down on one knee beside his assistant patrol leader, and turning his head, lowered the shemagh from his mouth.

  “We need to get the men into some form of shelter,” he shouted, immediately wincing at the hot sting of sand and dust on the exposed skin of his face.

  Sergeant Eastman nodded, wiping his mouth with a gloved hand. “I’ll keep an eye out for something suitable,” he yelled back.

  Joe rose to his feet, went to the front of the squad and gestured them onward. He judged that they were a good distance from the Taliban encampment and so could begin to scout out some form of shelter. Visibility was now extremely poor and he would not have been able to see an enemy approaching even if he had wanted to. His priority now was getting his Marines to a location where they could rest, take on water and eat. He had no concrete idea how long the sandstorm would last, just the base’s two-day estimate. The big ones could take days to dissipate, the smaller ones just hours. He hoped the base was wrong and that this was one of the latter, otherwise they could be stranded for days and run out of food and water. The storm appeared to be causing interference with the radios, which meant that any transmission to base would probably not be received, so in effect they were on their own.

  The soul-destroying march went on before Sergeant Eastman approached Joe from out of the sand-laden gloom and tapped him on the shoulder. “Over there,” he said. “I saw a good spot when the sand cleared for a second.” He gestured to his left and Joe followed his pointing finger.

  For a split second, the curtains of sand parted again and he saw that there was a low wall of rock in a rough L-shape. If they sat against it facing north, it would protect them from the wind and sand that was blowing in from the south.

  Joe gestured toward the selected location and the men, showing relief in their sudden turn of speed, headed in the direction he was pointing. On reaching the wall of rock, Joe called the men into a group.

  “This is as good as it’s gonna get,” he began, shouting to be heard. “Now, words of warning. Do not wander away. If you need to take a piss, only go a couple of feet away from the next man. If you’re someone who gets embarrassed at doing bodily functions in front of others, deal with it. Put your bergens at your feet to create some kind of barrier. Eat some chow, keep rehydrated. Cover yourself with your poncho when you go to sleep, otherwise you’ll find sand and dust in places you didn’t know you had. I want every alternate man to take first watch. The rest of you get some sleep. I suggest two hours on and two hours off. I don’t know how long this will last. I don’t think it’s at its worse yet. Hopefully it’ll blow itself out by tomorrow. Any questions?”

  The men shook their heads wearily.

  The rock wall was not exactly the most comfortable of places. There were stones littered everywhere and drifts of sand had built up. Echo squad spent precious minutes clearing along the base of the wall until most of the stones were removed then they all sat down with each Bergen placed at the feet of its owner so that together they formed a barrier. The men
ate some rations, grimacing at the cold taste and the effects of sand and dust getting into their mouths. Nobody complained. Some lit cigarettes and used their ponchos to shield themselves from the flying sand. Some of the men turned their ponchos backward so the hoods could cover their faces to completely shield themselves then promptly went to sleep.

  Joe took first watch while Sergeant Eastman attempted to get some sleep. He sat listening to the howling wind and watched as the curtains of sand whipped across the terrain in front of him. He knew not to stare at one area for too long. With the strange light and the constant movement, it would strain his eyes and he would become tired too quickly. He wrapped himself in his poncho so that he could just barely see and relaxed back against the hard rock. He glanced along the line of men and saw that they had obeyed his orders to the letter. The men alternated, either observing their fields of fire or sleeping.

  Satisfied that for the moment all was as it should be, although he would have liked a more concealed position, Joe returned his gaze to his own field of fire, his eyes constantly moving from left to right and back again. Now his body was at rest, although still alert and ready to respond to any danger that presented itself, his thoughts turned to Katie back at Base Independence. He wondered how she was dealing with the sandstorm and hoped that she was safe. He assumed that the base had battened down and dealing with the storm as it usually did, prohibited movement unless it was unavoidable, all flying suspended for the present and all vehicles moved to sheltered locations.

  He pictured Katie’s face and felt the warm feeling that arose whenever he thought of her. He missed her more than he would have thought possible and knew that before she returned to the UK, they would have to talk. He now knew that he loved her and did not want to lose her. After all these years of fighting and his commitment to the Marines, he had reached a decision that she was going to be his priority from now on. If he had to persuade her to leave the Army and join him in the States, then that would be his goal. He knew that it would be hard on her. She loved her job, was obviously competent at it, and if she rejected his offer then he would have to accept her decision. His heart sank as he thought of how lost he would be without her if she insisted on staying in the UK when their tours finished. The thought of returning to the US without her was something he could not begin to think about. Dismissing the intolerable thought, Joe tried to force his attention back on his surroundings and the worsening sandstorm.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Back at Base Independence, Katie jerked awake from a sound sleep at the sound of Giant Voice booming its feedback prior to an announcement. As she sat bolt upright in her camp bed, her first thought was that this was another alert because of another incident. Her heart immediately began an anxious pounding and her mouth went dry. Torches came on from the direction of other camp beds and murmurs of protest and startled questions came from the dark.

  Katie groped for her torch beside her and turned it on, directing the beam at her watch. Its luminous dial told her that it was 0200 hours in the morning. She threw back the sleeping bag and sat on the edge of her bed.

  Giant Voice boomed again and burped forth static. Katie stood up. “Okay, ladies, let’s listen to what it has to say.”

  The women obeyed and the tent became silent.

  “Attention all personnel. A sandstorm is approaching the base,” Giant Voice announced. “Please restrict your movements outside unless it is unavoidable. If venturing outside, please wear appropriate eye and head protection. Avoid driving vehicles unless absolutely necessary. Cover all generators with tarpaulins and seal all tents, showers, and toilets. That is all.”

  “Oh crap!” Wanda exclaimed, joining Katie beside her bed. “Absolutely wonderful. Just what the doctor ordered.”

  Katie clapped her hands. “Okay, ladies, let’s get the shower tents and toilet sealed, the generator covered and our own tent sealed. Let’s go.”

  Knowing that sandstorms moved very fast, and if it had already been sighted, they only had a few minutes in which to get everything prepared, the women moved quickly, racing out to the back and zipping closed the shower tents, checking that all loose objects were stored safely, the toilet locked, the generator covered and sealed with a tarpaulin, and the tent flaps at the back of the tent zipped closed.

  Due to the unreliability of sandstorms and the danger they could pose, Katie ordered the women to get dressed and organize their equipment ready in case they had to leave suddenly. She was just putting on her own combats and getting her bergen ready with a clean T-shirt and underwear and a book to read and was finishing an equipment check when her pager beeped. Withdrawing it from her combat trouser pocket, she saw that a message from Sergeant Webster at the CTH was scrolling across the LED screen.

  Make your way to the CTH. You can wait out the storm here. Bed and shower facilities available free of charge.

  Katie turned to her friend. “I’ll be waiting it out at the CTH,” she explained. “The Sergeant wants me there before the storm gets any worse.”

  She finished dealing with her equipment, put on eye protectors solely used for this sort of situation, wound her shemagh around her head, face, and neck, completely covering all areas of exposed skin, and finally put on her helmet. She pulled on her combat gloves and slung her bergen onto her back. Turning to the other women and with her voice muffled, she said, “Okay, ladies. You heard Giant Voice. Stay protected. Don’t go wandering around. You could get lost. If you need to report to your sections, do so before the sandstorm gets any worse. As Giant Voice says, wear your goggles at all times outside and keep all exposed areas of skin covered. I have to report to the CTH, so good luck everyone and stay safe.”

  The women wished her goodbye and Katie went to the entrance to the tent and unzipped the flaps. She ducked outside, and before re-zipping the tent, took down the notice on the outside, picked up the teddy bear and placed them both inside the tent flap.

  She instantly became aware that a wind had risen. It gusted strongly, bringing with it sand, dust, and earth that swirled around in stinging clouds. Katie could feel the heat through her shemagh and combats and she felt smothered. Miniature sand dunes had already started to build against the sides of the tents. Canvas flapped with crackling sounds and the wind moaned and wailed down the narrow alleyways between the rows of tents. Katie began to walk toward the road. The wind pushed at her back one minute then from the front the next. She bent her head against its force and plowed her way forward. If the wind, dust, and sand were this bad in a confined place such as the base, what could it be like for Joe on his patrol? She wanted him back here, safe, preferably with her somewhere private, but realistically that wasn’t going to be possible and she had to deal with it until she saw him—if the storm dissipated as quickly as it had birthed and he got back to the base safely.

  Now she battled her way along the road toward the CTH, her torch fitfully lighting her way, its beam barely piercing the spiraling tornados and billowing clouds of sand and dust. It was stifling inside her shemagh and by the time she arrived at the CTH, sweat had started to trickle down her forehead and the wool was moist and cloying against her nose and mouth.

  She thrust her way through the doors and into the cool, almost chilly, interior of the building. Once inside, she quickly removed her helmet, unwound the shemagh, removed her glasses, and ran a hand through her damp hair. The air-conditioning was cold against her flushed skin and she stood where she was for a few minutes, letting the refreshing air play on her face and hair. She could hear voices from the R&R room and headed toward it. On entering, she found it almost full with two trauma teams and two CTTs on duty. Sergeant Webster greeted her. “Grab yourself a coffee, Katie, and join us.”

  Katie nodded, dumped her bergen in a corner of the room, and poured herself a cup of the bitter coffee. She sat down on a vacant chair and sipped at the hot liquid.

  “What’s it like out there?” Sergeant Webster asked.

  “Not very nice,” Katie replied. �
�The temperature is rising and the wind is getting stronger. If it gets much worse, it’s going to be hell.”

  “Well, let’s hope our guys stay safe out in the field,” Corporal Wendy Turner, a trauma nurse, responded. “I hate to think what they’re going through if they’re out on patrol.”

  Katie nodded, the nurse putting her exact thoughts into words. She couldn’t bear to think about Joe, what he might be going through out there in the desert. She hoped that he and his squad had found a safe place to hole up in, out of the storm. She missed him so much and the suppressed panic she was feeling at his absence and the threat of the danger he might be under was increasing as time went on. She finished drinking her coffee and disposed of the plastic container then got to her feet. “Me for sleep,” she announced and turned to Sergeant Webster.

  Anticipating her question, Sergeant Webster said, “We’ve transferred all the patients to Ward One. We’ll use the beds in Ward Two.”

  Katie nodded, collected her bergen, and wishing everyone a goodnight, made her way slowly to Ward Two. She selected a hospital bed at the back of the ward and drew the green curtain around it, sealing it off from the rest of the room. Turning on the small bed light, she set her bergen on the floor and sat down on the edge of the bed. She gazed abstractedly at the green shimmering curtain then covered her face with her hands. She was tired and felt agitated. Her fears for Joe and her feelings for him were wearing her down. She knew she had to regain control of the way her life was heading but ultimately that would mean breaking it off with Joe and retreating back to her old lonely lifestyle. This action was something that she could not bear thinking about. It was too late to backtrack. She finally found herself admitting that she loved him. It was inconceivable that she could forget him. There had to be another way she could finish her tour in one piece emotionally. The brass were so right. This type of relationship caused nothing but heartbreak, but Joe was there in her heart to stay.