Memoirs of an Outlaw: Life in the Sandbox

Chapter 24: Incoming

On one particular hot May night, our platoon had just come back from a patrol. It was around 2:00 a.m., and most of us had already fallen asleep. I was in a deep sleep, which I sorely needed since I wasn’t getting much. I knew it was a good sleep because I was dreaming, which I hardly ever did out there.

I was back in the United States having a big, juicy steak at the dinner table with my family. We were all talking about how we were doing and current events. I was trying to talk my dad into accepting the idea of me getting a motorcycle. My mom was just giving me a look as if to say, “You’re crazy.”

The dream slowly faded away. Another picture popped into my head. Jets were flying overhead, but I couldn’t see them, I could only hear them.

Swoosh!

Swoosh!

Swoosh!

There was lots of commotion. I stirred from my sleep to discover that the noises weren’t a dream but reality. I didn't realize what was going on until I saw a streak of light glow through the tent ceiling and then heard an explosion in the near distance. Our base had come under attack by a huge missile barrage. People were rolling off their beds. Some were trying to throw their flak jackets and helmets on and were searching for their rifles. Some were already running out of the door with their gear on backward. Others tripped in all the disorder and were getting trampled on. It was utter mayhem. As I look back at it, it must have looked somewhat amusing: thirty-two men with nothing but their boxers on, grabbing their rifles, tossing their flaks and helmets on hurriedly, running for the door and screaming for everyone else to get out.

I rolled out of my bed and hit the wooden floor with a thump. My breathing started to escalate. Everyone was running for the bomb shelter outside. However, since everyone was trying to get to the same place, they were causing a pileup. So I lay on the floor, grabbed my flak jacket and helmet, and covered my upper torso with it. I looked over and saw a few others do the same. It was pointless to try to run at this point.

As suddenly as it came, it stopped. I listened for a few more seconds and then slowly rose from the floor. A few others stood up and followed me out of the tent to the bomb shelter. It was possible that another barrage would soon follow so we wanted to be better protected. I walked outside to see everyone huddled in both bunkers. But it wasn’t only my platoon; all the other platoons were hanging out in the other bunkers.

Of course, as Marines like to do, everyone made fun of one another. We were teasing each other about who ran faster, who was the most scared, who didn't put his stuff on the right way, or who might have pissed his pants. It was actually quite a funny sight and humorous once it was all said and done.

After it was determined that the coast was clear, we surveyed the damage. None of our living quarters or equipment were damaged.  The missiles had landed a little farther out, some hitting open areas of land about fifty yards away and some going into the lake. The only thing that was damaged was a port-a-john on 2/1's side of the base. A missile had actually struck it and blew it to pieces. Shit was everywhere—literally. I believe the total count was about forty-two missiles that had landed within the walls of Camp Baharia.

I went back to bed that night happy that I still had my life and no one got hurt. However, my heart was racing, and I was still a bit on edge. That had to be one of the scariest nights I ever had.

After that night, I made sure that my gear was more accessible. Mortars continued to bombard the base almost daily. None ever came as close, but a few did cause some inconveniences, such as our gravity shower getting blown up. But we became used to it, and some guys were actually able to determine whether the mortars would even come close to hitting us. I became so accustomed to it that I wouldn’t run to the bunker until after the first one hit the ground, and then I would run like hell if it was close.

To this day, I am still a bit affected by loud noises and sounds that sound like missiles and mortars. It was funny to see me on my first Fourth of July back home. People must have thought I was nuts.