Ok, boys and girls. Its sea story time. The scene: 1991, the Persian Gulf War, onboard the USS Germantown (LSD 42). We were anchored just off Ras Al Mishab, Saudi Arabia, having dumped off our Marines for the liberation of Kuwait. Rumors reached the ship that there was a satellite phone center near the port (this was before the day of easy communication between ships and those we left behind at home). It was determined that we needed to go check this out. The landing party was headed by the XO, and also included the navigator, the bosn, the dentist, and me (maybe one or two others). We piled into the ships 40 footer and made for the beach. Upon arrival, we hunted around the harbor and couldnt find out anything about this phone center. The XO decided that our mission was a failure, but before we headed back to the ship, he was going to go have a meeting with his counterpart onboard USS Denver, which was tied up at the pier. We were welcome to join him or wait on the pier. We elected for the latter. Not a few minutes after he walked up the brow, a stakebed pulled up, filled with Navy SEALs. We asked about this phone center. One of them said thats where were headed, want to go? We climbed in, and soon the truck raced off. Mile after mile went by, but then... the truck pulled up next to this gigantic tent with a little forest of satellite dishes nearby. The Promised Land! We all went in and called our astonished parents, wives, or whoever. But then... we had all made our calls, and came outside. The sun was low in the sky, the stakebed was gone... and we had no idea where we were. We started walking in the direction we thought was back to the port. After a little while, some Egyptian trucks pulled over for us. We were divided into two groups and loaded into the back of their trucks. No one was real sure what they intended to do with us, given the language barrier. The trucks drive for a while, but then it becomes apparent that theyre stopping (we cant see anything). They get us out, rather roughly, at a crossroads. Im thinking - so, this is where we get killed, execution style. But eventually they make us to understand that they need to turn off, and cant get us any closer to the port. We resume walking. Then a bunch of Saudis pull up in what I can only describe as an urban assault vehicle - what looks like a camper, painted camouflage. They haul us back to the gates of the port. We walk the rest of the way to the pier, and to no ones surprise... our launch is gone. So were stuck. We pilfer some MREs and water from pallets on the pier, and consider our options. Finally the nav remembers that he knows his counterpart on the Denver, and goes aboard to call back to Gtown and summon a boat. We know were in trouble at this point. In due time, the 40 footer comes back, and begins the journey back to our ship. No one talks. The XO is waiting at the quarterdeck, a grim expression on his face. He jerks his thumb toward the bow. Go see the Captain, he says. Gloomily, we head up there. Amazingly, the Captain is completely cool, wanting only to know whether its feasible to get the crew out to the phone center (we conclude that its not, regrettably, in view of the distance involved). He offers a mild caution not to wander off again. The upshot: its a good thing I wasnt captured by the enemy, or a bunch of you assholes would have apparently concluded that I deserted. With respect to Mr. Bergdahl, its important to remember that no one has absolutely any idea what was going on with him at the time he was captured. There will be an investigation to figure that out. In the meantime, the thing to do was 1) get him home, and 2) figure out whether hes done something worthy of punishment later. The idea that we should have just left him to rot in an enemy POW camp is just abhorrent. #bergdahl
Posted on: Thu, 05 Jun 2014 00:21:34 +0000
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