Grandpa’s War – Part 2 – Everyone’s welcome at the Dew Drop Inn!

“The buses won’t be here until after sunrise,” someone said. “Just have a seat and try to get some rest.”

That I can do, I thought.

Along with all my buddies, we dropped our bags and rucks in the sand. I sat down. Then with jet fighters screaming down the runway, helicopters flying overhead, and engines whining, we lay down and slept.

The next morning was a blur. The buses arrived, and I have a vague recollection of getting my stuff and boarding the bus. I had to have been three quarters asleep, and many times felt like I was sleepwalking. I put my duffle in the overhead bin, sat down, and looked down at my feet. There was a hole rusted through the bottom of the bus. As we started off, I looked through the hole and watched the road passing under us. I found it remarkable that the bus was even running.

I should have felt concerned.

I didn’t. Instead, I fell asleep again. I woke up once to see my side of the bus headed into another bus. Horns were honking to ward off the near collision.

I remember saying to myself, “Boy, go back to sleep. You’re about to be part of something you don’t want to know about.”

Remarkably, I did go right back to sleep. And the collision never happened.

It felt like I slept forever but according to my watch, less than an hour had passed. When I woke up, we were just a stone’s throw from a large oil refinery.

We were at a large tent city. Someone with a sense of humor had made a sign. They’d hung it up like one would a city limits sign, or a sign for a fancy hotel. They called the place the Dew Drop Inn. We’d be there for a week or so until our vehicles caught up to us.

Here’s some stuff I put together that came straight from the old photo albums. When I wrote it, I put it together with the idea of trying to get across the living conditions there.

Compared to some places we ended up, this place might as well have been summer camp.

Here’s some more stuff straight from the old photo album:

 

 

 

The Dew Drop Inn had a small PX in a tent. The first few days we were there, I went to take a shower. The old Casio watch I’d worn for years got wet and gave up the ghost. I went to the PX and bought a new one. I paid for it with a check (it was AAFESS – thanks TW for giving me the correct spelling – so my check was good.)

The check never cleared. Even after we got back to Germany, it still hadn’t cleared. It wasn’t until over a year later that it finally hit the bank. It was my account in Germany, and by that time I’d moved on, and that account was closed. I had other concerns by this time rather than a check that never hit the bank. Uncle Sam collected it from my taxes years after I was a civilian.

The tent we were assigned was erected on a cement floor. I wondered when they’d poured those, and how much pre-planning had gone into it. A few days later, I saw engineers pouring more tent floors. This wasn’t that planned, but an ongoing task.

Our meals were served at an open-air mess and Pakistanis cooked for us. Food seemed to be doled out with an eye dropper and I always felt hungry. The MREs we received were raided for extra calories.

A typical breakfast was some kind of cereal (frosted flakes, corn flakes, etc.) in small single serving boxes. The front of the box was perforated, and you cut along the lines. If you spread the resulting flaps apart, you’d find a small, waxed bag that held the cereal. You cut that open, poured in your milk, and you had a DIY bowl. I recall getting eggs, and I want to say sausages (that might have been wishful thinking). There was always toast, and an occasional pancake. All of this was served on paper trays or plates and with plastic utensils that broke way to easily.

This was some of the last food we’d see that didn’t come out of an MRE bag. It must not have been all that good. I remember very little about it.

The first few days we were there was spent just getting some rest and adjusting. Then we did small classes, the so-called basic skills stuff every soldier is supposed to know.

About a week later, our HUMVEEs caught up to us. We were relieved that they’d arrived safely. We’d stowed a lot of gear inside them, and it was all there. SP4 Doty had traveled on the ship with them and kept an eye on things. He said he’d had a good time on the voyage.

We still had no idea what was going to happen next or how long we’d be here.

Previous – Leaving on a Jet Place Next – The Mission