It was freezing when we reached Fort Drum, New York, an active United States army base where my unit—the 283rd Transportation Company—was to mobilize to Iraq. The 283rd had four platoons with a total of about a hundred soldiers. I knew only one person because the unit had been crossed leveled, meaning it was comprised of people from all over the country. Given that I am from Hawaii, when I compared where others were from—New York, Wisconsin, Kentucky, even Puerto Rico—I realized that I came from a greater distance than most. Despite the fact that I had never met many, I, like the others, had been training and preparing for a month, so when we all arrived in Fort Drum, we quickly became a family.
Upon landing in Kuwait, it sunk in that I was not dreaming. I was being deployed to Iraq. Unlike in Fort Drum, the sunburned as we stepped off the C130 aircraft. I stepped into the sand and followed others into tents where the various units were briefed. While some would staff the dining hall and bank, others would deliver helicopter fuel to different bases. My job would be the latter. The war had been going on for a year. I was taking part in the second stage. I had enlisted as a soldier and knew it was my responsibility to do a good job. Personally, I did not see a reason for being there, but because I was in the army, it was my honor and duty. I had volunteered fully knowing the circumstances. I was happy to do my job because I thought it important to help fix the problem.
Our training was minimal. Basically, we learned as we did the missions. The trucks that were in Iraq were old. Back in the United States, in advanced individual training, I learned to drive on newer models. I had to overcome the challenge of learning how to drive the old trucks.
We were told some about the enemy, but it was kept brief. The main problem is that, aside from carrying weapons, the enemy looked like every other Iraqi. There was one group, however, who wore all black and that is how we identified them.
After the briefing, we unpacked. We would stay in Kuwait for two weeks before actually heading north to Iraq. Because there were so many kinds of people from different parts of the country in my unit and because we were still getting to know one another, a certain amount of tension arose. At some point, however, we had to learn to put our differences aside and realize that our survival depended on each other.
One day we received word to gear up and get ready to move out. We packed and mounted “five tons,” a kind of cargo truck that is armored on all sides. As we rolled out, we also put on our “kevlars,” our helmets, and locked and loaded our weapons. The feeling of adrenalin was memorable.
I was only eighteen and had just graduated, not only from high school in Hawaii, but from “88M school” in Fort Leonardwood, Missouri, where I learned how to drive various vehicles, including the trucks used in Iraq.
In high school, I became involved in the Junior Reserve Officer Training Corps (ROTC) and it’s fairly typical to enlist in the military upon graduation. My long-range plans are to become an army officer, however, instead of commissioning after training in a college-level ROTC program, I first wanted to experience life in the lower ranks so that, as an officer, I would be better able to relate to those I was leading. I hate those who become involved in ROTC while in college and think they know everything. It was a respect issue for me.
When I enlisted after high school, I never thought that I would be fighting in a war but I decided that if I was to die that I rather die doing something for my country. My parents thought that I was crazy. Eventually my mother grew to understand, however, my father disapproved.
As the truck left the gate at the Kuwait base and we pulled out on to one of the main roads, we were on the lookout for enemies. I was beginning a very new experience. We had been trained to shoot anyone that opened fire on us. Insurgents, also known as the enemy, by now are well-known for setting off roadside bombs. Luckily, there were no problems as we reached the base camp in Iraq. There were more buildings and less sand than in Kuwait. It was actually a city.
We unloaded and went to our rooms, females on the bottom floor and males upstairs, all broken down by platoons in the bays. Aside from the two weeks in Kuwait, I had never slept so far from home. The next day my unit was split up to go to different areas and my platoon drove further north. When we reached our destination, all I saw were the tents where we would live for the next three months.
In the morning a group of non-commissioned officers accompanied those we were replacing on a mission to become accustomed to the environment. As our platoon took over, I had to quickly learn the mapping system which shows where all the friendly forces were in relation to us. I was in a commander’s vehicle which is the lead truck and has radio contact with the base and other infantry units. Those behind us had fuel tankers connected to them. There were no real problems on the first few missions. We delivered different amounts of fuel to various helicopter bases. I had adapted pretty well to the environment although it did get quite hot especially with all the gear we had to wear.
While in Iraq, I became real close with a couple of people. One was my “battle buddy,” Joseph Bowser, who was from Kentucky, and the other was Matthew Carello. Joe became like a father to me and, in turn, I became like a daughter to him. In fact, his youngest daughter and I were the same age. In contrast, when Matthew and I were off-duty, we would hang out together and because we were around the same age, we had more of a brother-sister relationship.
Soon after I turned nineteen and we had been in Iraq three months, I learned a life lesson from incidents which unfortunately had serious consequences for both Joe and Matthew. The first affected Joe. He and I were in the same truck. While I drove, he was my assistant, acting as security and making sure no one shot at us. As a result, we went everywhere together even when we were off duty. Everyone in the platoon knew of our close relationship. Once a week, Joe routinely phoned his fiancé and I usually accompanied him. On one particular day, however, which I still cannot explain, I went to take a shower. We arranged to meet at a tent where there were computers for us to use. After my shower, on my way to meet Joe, I was walking with another friend who insisted we go to the chow hall first because she was so hungry. As we entered, a loud blast rattled the building. We dropped to the ground and someone screamed. Immediately, I thought of Joe, however, we were not allowed to go anywhere.
Finally a couple of my NCO’s came. I told them that Joe was making a phone call close to the where the attack took place. They tried to help me find him, but there was so much confusion we had to return to the tent. As my squad leader took attendance, he asked if I knew where Joe was and I explained about the phone call. I worried. Something was not right. Suddenly, I heard someone enter the tent and say, “Bowser has been hit.” I froze while the NCO and the rest of the platoon tried to comfort me.
That night I could not sleep for crying and the next morning I hoped it was just a bad dream. I had to come to terms with the fact that the explosion had been real. Later, I found out that although Joe was alive, he had lost his leg. Days after Joe had been hurt, I was on another mission, delivering fuel, when we suddenly had to stop. One of the gun trucks had been hit with an improvised explosive device (IED) and it was Matthew’s. It had been a bad week for me. Matt’s truck had been hit with an IED and metal had gone through his foot. The good news was that he was alive. We had called for a helicopter to get him out and he later returned to the states.
IED’s, like the ones that wounded Joe and Matthew, have become a frightening part of the daily reality of the war in Iraq. I had one other close call while there. During a mission, when I was supposed to be in the commander’s truck, at the last second, I was switched to one that was positioned third behind the commander’s. We delivered fuel to a base camp an hour away, however, on the way back things went wrong. As we pulled up near an Iraqi checkpoint, I suddenly saw a cloud of smoke and within a second heard a loud explosion. The command vehicle was in flames and the rest of us started pulling security, looking for someone or something to shoot. We got the two soldiers out and near safety where they could get medical treatment. The passenger suffered only a minor concussion, however, the driver took most of the impact and had to be medivaced back to base an hour away and then flown to Germany. He suffered shrapnel wounds, but lived.
When we returned to base, we were still in shock because it had been some time since anything major had happened. I had explained to my roommate that I was the person that should have been hit. Originally, I was supposed to drive that vehicle. I still wonder about it and although I am not religious, while in Iraq, religion grew on me pretty quickly. Iraq made me realize the importance and power of religion.
Virginia Wong is a sophomore, majoring in Communications. At the end of her deployment, she returned to Fort Drum where she was able to reconnect with Joe and Matthew . She eventually returned to her home in Hawaii and applied to Norwich upon the recommendation of her platoon leader, Captain Jonathan Bruce who graduated in 1994.
