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Date: July 18, 2004
Location: Arabian Desert, Saudi Arabia
It is 2 minutes to 1100, and I am seated on the bumper of my dusty Ford Explorer, in the middle of the Arabian desert. In front of me, a Saudi Master Sergeant, in desert camouflage paired with a bright red-checkered gutra is discussing how much ammunition is required to shoot a single machinegun target. The targets are tightly rolled, and the Master Sergeant feigns smoking a giant blunt. We laugh, count the requisite number of bullets, and joke in the manner of men. The
Sergeant's name is Aiyeed (eye-eed) and he rattles off a quick speech in Arabic, then asks my partner, Max, if he understands. "Of course," my compatriot deadpans "you said I'm very beautiful, a handsome man. Shukran." We laugh.
We are at the Ras al Zawr training range, on the northeast coast of Saudi Arabia, near the border with Kuwait. From my perch, I can look to the left and see sand dunes stretching out to the horizon, and to my right, the warm, blue waters of the Arabian Gulf. Aiyeed tells us his family are 'bedou' - Bedouins, and that they own over 200 camels and live in the north. Presently he and Max disappear, and I am left alone with my writing. This is done with a pen and a yellow legal pad - later, I will transfer these words to electronic media...
I have come to this remote location to train the Saudi's with machineguns and rocket-propelled grenades (RPG's)... My journey began at 3 am, when I rolled out of bed after 4 hours of sleep, shaved, downloaded some music for our trip to my MP3 player, and packed a modicum of gear for the 4-day excursion.
By 0430 we are on the road to our starting point, Ras al Gar, where we meet the convoy of Humvee's and BMR's (Italian armored personnel carriers) - along with fuel, water and cargo trucks, an ambulance, and an assortment of LandCruisers and Toyota trucks driven by officers... When the convoy departs, over an hour later, it moves slowly, barely 60 kmph, a tan, metallic serpent wending its way north along the Khafji highway. The pace is a little slow for my taste, so I take the wheel, set the cruise control on 140 kmph, crank up the tunes, and head north. No one in our vehicle (me, Max, and Major Hoffstetter) knows exactly how to get there, but a little trial and error lands us in the right spot about 2 hours later.
Some of the "error" includes zipping along at 140 kmph, engaged in a heated discussion with Max over the origin of the pictures in one of our training manuals, and looking up to see that the highway is about to end, abruptly turning into a sandy, rutted path. Max has been up this way once before, and as our vehicle hurtles toward the sand, I look over and say "Dude, are you sure we're going the right way?" Then we're off road at 120 kmph, bouncing and rattling as I work to maintain control and slow us down... Five minutes later, adrenalin still pumping, Max and I have a good laugh on the way back to the turn I missed...
At this point, my writing ceased as I went out to oversee the setup of a machinegun range... Working with the Saudis, especially for an American Marine officer, is truly an exercise in patience. They expect to shoot right away, but there are no targets set up, no distances marked off, ammunition has not been dispensed, etc... In America, this wouldn't be a real problem - whoever the officer in charge was would grab a mean, ornery old Gunnery Sergeant, and he would grab a few young Marines, and within half an hour, the range would be ready to fire. Not so here. First off, now one is really in charge, or seems very willing to take charge.
The Marines are lethargic, and ill-disposed to take action even if someone gave it. Even the minutiae have been neglected - no one can find a stapler to attach the paper targets to the wood frames... Finally, the range has been prepared enough to practice with unloaded weapons - but now it is too hot, according to the Saudis, to train. We will adjourn to our tents and return at 1530 (3:30 pm) to start training.
-- ed.
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