Grandpa’s War – Part 31 – Recon: Kuwait City

After the highway of death, Kuwait city felt a little more like a graveyard.

People have heartbeats, and their heartbeats is what makes a city alive. Kuwait City was still pretty empty and since there were no heartbeats, it felt dead. As we got closer, I noted a small veil of smoke over it.. I was reminded how H.G. Wells described London in War of the Worlds. He spoke of how the city lay in state in her somber robes.

That piece flashed into my mind as we approached.

We stopped at a sign just outside the city and got this picture

One of the more memorable pictures I took was of my platoon at the city limits sign of Kuwait City. In the back of our minds, we knew it wouldn’t be long before we went home. We were letting our hair down a little bit more.

Kuwait City was a mess.

The Iraqis had torn the city apart and built fortifications almost everywhere.

Some houses had been sandbagged rather heavily and turned into fortresses. Some places they burnt, like the Kuwait City Sheraton.

As we drove past the Sheraton, I took a picture of some of the few people I saw out and about.

And everytime I looked at that picture, something about it bothered me. I looked for years wondering what I was missing.

Finally, one day, I caught it.

One of the men is wearing a Mexican sombrero. To be perfectly honest, I’d have expected to see him not in Kuwait, but in Juarez.

We eventually arrived down at the beach.

At the risk of sounding like some backwoods hick, I’d never seen a body of water so vast. I’d never seen an ocean and the view left me spellbound. For several long minutes I listened as the waves flowed in. I’d closed my eyes and try to compare the sound to anything I’d known before. The closest I came was wind through the pines.

It was a calming sound.

Then I opened my eyes and looked at the reality of what was around me.

The Iraqis had built fortifications along the beach. They expected the Marines to do a landing by sea just like they did in the Pacific. Or like the Army did on the beaches of Normandy.

They turned the beaches into a maze of fortifications, wire, and minefields. Somehow, they could never conceive that we’d just bulldoze through their land defenses and come in through the back door.

Had it come down to a sea landing, the battleships would have destroyed any fortifications with their big guns. Gunnery during the Gulf War was pinpoint. Even with the New Jersey class ships, you could almost pick what window you wanted a round to go through and send it through it.

We didn’t dare try to wander about too much and explore the area. When they left, the Iraqis left a fair number of mines behind.

But we got close enough to see the beaches were strewn with wire. The idea was the wire would tangle up feet and cause Marines to fall. At the very least it would form an obstacle.

We didn’t do any souvenir hunting. It just seemed too dangerous.

As Lt. Bielecki put it, “You want a souvenir? Get home in one piece.”

The Iraqis destroyed a lot, but didn’t touch this work of art. I’m not sure what it is (reminds me of a sail). I thought it was beautiful. All things considered, I’d have thought it would have been torn down, but wasn’t.

I’m glad they left it alone.

One rather interesting thing occurred while we were looking about. A Mercedes convertible pulled up with two girls in it. These were the only Arab women I saw while in the Gulf not covered in black robes.

Both girls had their hair done. They wore makeup and jewelry. They wore clothing that looked like it came from the finest boutiques in Europe. They smelled wonderful.

I haven’t a clue who they were. They parked, got out and gave us all hugs. In letter perfect English, they thanked us for giving them their country back.

Then they got back into their convertible and drove back the way they came.

The entire encounter was like something out of the Twilight Zone.

We mounted up and soon left Kuwait City behind.

We’d get that twilight zone feeling one more time before leaving Kuwait behind.

All photographs Copyright – Richard L. Muniz

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