Mideast Notebook: Families wait for news

KUWAIT CITY, Kuwait — I think I understand why the Pentagon decided Operation Desert Storm was a fearsome enough name for a war.

A few days back, I headed out to watch the Marines test their big guns — the M1A1 tanks’ 120 mm main gun, the 155 mm Howitzers — on large chunks of the desert at a place called the Udairi Range. After turning off the highway, we drove for about an hour over land as flat and desolate as the surface of the moon.

As we got closer to the range, the air turned so dark you couldn’t tell where the sky ended and the sand began.

We were swallowed by a sandstorm. It was unbelievable, like being in a tornado at the beach. (Yeah, I know, that would be a hurricane, but imagine a hurricane with tiny stones for raindrops.)

I decided to take some photos and interview some Marines. The company commander offered to tether me with a rope, against the possibility that I’d lose my way in the storm, doomed to wander forever with the Bedouins in search of water. I think he was joking.

For the Marines, visibility was cut to less than 100 meters. For me, a lack of foresight and a lack of goggles meant I could barely see my hand in front of my face.

If you’ve ever tried taking a picture with half of Kuwait’s desert in your eye, it’s not a good idea. It feels like every grain of sand is sharp as glass and seems to weigh at least a pound. Huge chunks of sand bounced off my eyeball.

The Marines cancelled their shoot, peeking out from the tanks to watch as the sandstorm raged around them.

Don’t worry, there will be no ham-handed attempt to use the sandstorm as a metaphor about war, the Middle East or weapons inspections.

It was, though, one of the more memorable days here. It’s hard to describe what things are like. More than 100,000 troops are in the region, steeling for a war that appears inevitable.

It’s hard to miss the military buildup. Long convoys of American military equipment — led and trailed by machine gun-topped Humvees — clog the freeways around Kuwait City. More than half of the country is closed off for military maneuvers.

The main bases and fledgling desert camps are sealed off; the only time we see the troops is when we’re escorted out by the military for public affairs opportunities.

Sometimes it’s as if there are as many journalists here as soldiers. It amazes me how much money is being thrown around. One cable news network, which will not be named, has about 200 people in Kuwait City, has rented an entire hotel and has budgeted $37 million for its “Showdown With Saddam” coverage, or whatever it’s being called.

With an investment like that, and with the possible ratings spike they’d get if hostilities began, what do you think they’re all hoping for?

There’s a strange confluence between some of the young soldiers and the media, both itching for the shooting to start.

But that’s not the way many families feel at home. No ratings or politics are involved. They’re just worried.

A few days after I survived the sandstorm, some of my stories and photos about the Marines started hitting the paper and the Web site. Immediately, my e-mail was flooded with sincere, almost desperate messages from the Marines’ mothers, fathers, wives and other loved ones.

“You took a photo of some of the guys from 3rd Battalion, 7th Marines,” one e-mail read. “Is there any way you can send me a larger version? It’s my son’s unit, and I want to see if I can find his face. I haven’t heard from him since he left and any sign that he’s doing OK would be a Godsend.”

I got another message from the mother of a 19-year-old lance corporal mentioned in the story.

“You have no idea how much it means to me to see his name, to almost hear his voice saying those words,” she wrote. “You can not imagine the angst felt by a mom who just wants to know that all is well with her baby. I feel this is God’s way of telling me, ‘All’s well.’”

It was a sobering reminder of why everyone is here.

The troops are here to carry out orders from the president and possibly to invade. I’m here, as Stripes always is, to tell those troops’ stories.

Part of me hopes a sandstorm is the most exciting thing I have to write about.

Mideast Notebook is an occasional feature by Stars and Stripes reporters working out of the Middle East. Contact Joe Giordono by e-mail at: giordonoj@pstripes.osd.mil