Rewind less than 2 Hours from the Cuffs

photo made by: James Willamor
Sgt. David Karnes and I reunite after seeing each other last 19 years ago next month.

At a stop light Uptoon the bus driver looked down at me through her window and asked, "How's the snychro?" Just then the light turned green, she pulled away and I never had the chance to tell her.

Across the street on the same block a few hours before being detained by the police for simply doing what I felt was my job, James, Jordy and I were sitting on the little wall watching the ebb and flow of the NRA crowd. I had just got done saying out loud, "I wonder if we will see anyone famous." Seconds later I stood up in disbelief and asked my friends to please watch by bag and gear.

I trotted towards him and shouted, "Sgt. Karnes!" I felt a bit like Forest Gump on the shrimp boat seeing Lieutenant Dan on the pier. "Sgt Karnes, Bill Fehr here, Golf Co. 2/4!", I yelled again. He turned, smiled and stuck out his hand remembering who I was the instant we made eye contact. We had not only been in the same BN and Company for three years together but we were in the same platoon. I had done two Mediterranean deployments with him before we wound up in the Gulf together. David was a member of the 60mm mortar section of Weapons Platoon, Company G. I remember him being an honorable Marine who was fair, smart, fit and able to communicate without coming across as over zealous.

It had been 19 years since we last saw each other shortly after returning from our tour on the Arabian Peninsula. We stood there for a few minutes trying to briefly get caught up on where each of our lives had led us. He looked like he had not aged at all and in response he told me that I looked exactly like he remembered the last time he saw me. We exchanged contact info and said good bye again.

The experience of picking this fellow platoon mate out of the crowd within the context of having been writing Part I about my memories of the Gulf was a powerful one.

Free Billy, I got Hooked Up...

The NRA held its 2010 National(American) CONvention here in Charlotte this past weekend in CONjunction with the end of Bike Week activities. The NRA festivities started Friday during my work day so James, Jordy and I headed down on bikes and feet to get a feel for The Queen City's highest cultural accomplishment to date. It was a strange sight indeed to just quietly observe in the shade. Jordy and I sang the National Anthem in full a cappella style, no one joined in.

As soon as the Time Warner Cable Arena let out after being cooped up with the likes of Sarah Plalin and Ted Nugent, the members of the National Rifle Association walked 40 yards to waiting Coach buses the size of a Greyhounds. They were then diesel transported the four blocks as the pedestrian path(apparently the Jar has been rated:Bronze in being Pedestrian friendly) goes along the light rail directly to the Convention Center where there was more Associating to be done. This hot shuttle service exhaust into the only atmosphere we have went both ways and was constant during the transfer. The flames in the logo would explain the whole hot thing.

Photo shot by: James Willamor
All that this lady has to do when she gets to the Convention Center is flip the page and then it will read: To Time Warner Arena.

Photo created by: James Willamor

Then time passed. Josh called telling me that he had gone down and was in the back of an ambulance about to be hauled away. It was after 1600hrs, he had jobs to the Courthouse in his bag and I was 7 minutes away. As soon as I arrived to take his/our/Dicky's work, I saw his eyes and knew that he was going to be okay. I had seen his pupils look similar before at 17,000ft above sea level on the side of a glacier covered volcano and he was just fine then. Josh handed the papers to me during a strange dialogue that I was trying to not have with a Charlotte Police Officer. Then the next thing I knew I was in cuffs, a place I had never been before even at my lowest point.

Photo care of: James Willamor

Team Dicky came to the rescue when he heard that two senior CMA members' immediate futures were held in the balance between the shackles of justice and the institutionalized response of emergency over priced diesel health care reform.

At this 125th of a second, deep down Rich realizes he has to be dreaming because he has already had this dream many times before and now it was coming true. Hang in there little buddy, your gonna get paid twice what you are used to.

Photo created and donated by: James Willamor

Now for a different perspective. Shortly before I was released on my own recognizance, a young fellow walked by and gave me a glance. Another photographer was close by and grabbed this shot of me talking to Dicky as I was being checked out.

Image provided by: Cracked Out Adventures(not on crack)
This was by far one of biggest emotional transfers that I have ever rolled into while doing my two wheeled job Uptoon over the last 12 years. I have more to say and hopefully will have the chance to after the court hears my plea. I can tell you this, I am innocent until proven guilty and justice will at the least be recognized. If you have any questions, fire away.

Part I 'Bright Light'

Further up the line and off in the distance I could see what appeared to be in tact Iraqi Units marching in formation toward their surrender to the Americans. Some of them clutched small white clothes while others waved those little surrender pamphlets that had been dropped on them earlier in the campaign. The inert bomb dropped papers that rained down on Kuwait prior to us getting there were about the size of a dollar bill and the text explained in Arabic aided by a cartoon strip how easy it was to give yourself peacefully over to the Coalition. Haliburton produced and sold over 12 million of these paper tickets to the USA in just one of the many war contracts. As someone very smart pointed out to me last night, the United States' biggest export is war. I plan on devoting some time talking about the implications of that obvious truth later on in the document. The consequences for all of us under this banner of nationalism are very real and cannot be denied, contradicted, rationalized, bought, sold, simplified or actively chosen to not be thought about.

Our movement through this part of the operation seemed to slow down to a grinding halt. The sky was crystal clear and by mid day the sun's brightness shined down white hot on the desert plain. An occasional Cobra Attack Helicopter chopped loud and fast over our heads We were stopped and outside of the vehicle helping another Company from the BN deal with being surrounded by surrendering Iraqis. It was very confusing to be eye level with such desperation. These soldiers from the world's third largest Army were adamant about not wanting a fight. They were waiving the white clothes and shouting desperate to live surrender in a language that I did not understand. Their malnourished human frames made their dirty uniforms seem two sizes too big. The smell of these soldiers was even worse than we smelled to each other.

The word came down from Spartan to disarm the prisoners, bury the bolts of their weapons in the sand and point them south toward the forward moving column of support behind us. In that column were more ground support Units including Military Police and other FSSG(Field Service Support Group) folks better trained and equipped to handle such a mass surrender. We were Infantry and our job was to keep moving at the head of the line until our objective in Kuwait City was secure. Only a couple more days to go and that's just the beginning.

Part I 'Bright Light'

Golf Co. mounted up and shortly there after rolled out to catch up with the rest of the BN. Soon our movement north continued into more darkness, it was the real night without transition from day. I only have a vague recollection of what happened on that second night out. I do know that after linking up with the rest of the BN that we stopped often while our command seemingly planned our next movement forward. The radio crackled to life every once on awhile and we even heard the BN Commanding Officer, Lieutenant Colonel Conry occasionally talking to Spartan about the reasons we were checked up. Fatigue combined with the monotonous drone of the track caused me to drift in and out of an uncomfortable sleep.

On the morning of Day 3 we were greeted by a brilliant sun appearing in the east far above a cloudless sky. I had gotten used to standing on a bench inside of the track and half laying on the roof with the gun facing outboard. The three of us took turns behind the M-60 but I remember staying up there a lot, even when someone else from my team was manning the crew served weapon. I could see for miles in all directions and that made me feel better about where I was. Plus it felt good to be breathing outside of the track. During this thing called combat there were lulls in the sensory input level that are occasionally interrupted by exciting chaotic minutes. All of a sudden things began to get very active around us.

We came through a large area where I started to see other Marine Units and some of our tanks spread out across the sand. I could also see for the first time in our movement north many surrendering Iraqi soldiers. Just a few meters off to the left and right of our track some enemy combatants were sitting in small circles on the sand being guarded by American Troops that I did not recognize. The Iraqis were not blind folded. I could see their blackened lean faces contorting as they squinted up into the sun at us rolling by. I made eye contact with those willing to give me theirs. They looked so small on the ground compared to the Americans standing over them.

Give Me Something to Believe in...

I knew that this has been coming for what has felt like years. Our City, State, Country and World is now a better place because the NASCAR Hall of Fame has been officially opened with a grand plastic throw away ceremony that took place yesterday. 30million in cost overruns means nothing against the bigger picture of progress for our culture. I could have been right down there in it to bring you the up close scary futuristic toon but instead I decided to make the pictures from above and a block away. On the ground two blocks to the north of the venue completely out of line of sight to the fans I did see two huge city garbage trucks parked behind the CMPD Mobile Command Post and the CFD HAZMAT Response vehicle. The garbage trucks sat idling the 3.09$ diesel in the light rain with their orange flashers on waiting for the party to be over so that they could get to work.

I made these images from a corner conference room 250ft up in the One Wacky Fargo Building 2 blocks away.

Check these out closely, there is plenty of info transfer in each of them.

Part I 'Ghost Enemy'

All of a sudden gunfire erupted in front of us. It was a few bursts at first with seconds of silence then within no time the situation became what I would recall as mad minutes. Tracers I could see and rounds I could not were ricocheting off of the radio tower and the buildings making up the compound. Because we were behind them and could not identify one target, no one from my position fired a single shot. We just stayed as low as possible watching the minutes unfold and waiting for the outcome. I truly felt then as I do now that I was merely an observer of this thing called war. More gunfire to the front in the form of a spectacular light show. Thousands of rounds had to be going down range and across our frontage. I remember being able to see muzzle flashes out in front of me to the right just before the hot red orange projectiles zipped(853meters or 2,800ft per second) at an angle across the hill. With all of that shooting going on I thought to myself that not one shot felt like it was coming toward us. All of it appeared to be either going away from where I was or away and across at an angle. There were also a few loud bangs that started when Sgt. Funkhouser theoretically tossed the first grenade of the offensive over a wall that caused another half dozen to follow. I later learned that one of the grenades that Sgt. F threw actually bounced off of the SSGT's helmeted head. Confusion sinks deep in the dark room of the desert landscape. More loud reports of small arms unloading their lot stock ammo into the void as I watched in the prone position for a sign telling me what to do next.

It had to have been ten minutes of total ammo chaos but it felt longer as it was playing out. Golf Co. unloaded an extraordinary amount of munitions down range into a somewhat empty target. Quietness crept back in, no more shooting just indiscernible voices from across the gap yelling over the silence. The grunts were shouting commands and their statuses to each other just like in training. It was dark again in all directions. Everyone was okay and the objective was secure. We moved from our support position forward and walked across the fence that had been mowed down by the big tracks. Everyone seemed jacked, completely elated that they were alive and talking to their smiling friends who were alive as well. We did not stay on that hill very long but I remember realizing that I never saw any wounded or killed Iraqi soldiers. Two or three of their commanders crawled out of a dug in bunker and immediately surrendered when the shooting was over. Apparently almost all of the Iraqi Mechanized Infantry Unit had beat it north and west when they found out that we were were on the way. Their retreat and/or complete humble surrender would become another of those reoccurring themes during the Gulf War. Lets face it, they were decimated weeks before we had arrived. The combat sorties had relentlessly cut the Iraqis off leaving them dangling hungry and thirsty in the wind. All of that shooting had actually occurred and not one shot was fired back at us, yet anyway.

Part I 'Ghost Enemy'

Now
NPR reported on Saturday evening that the United States has changed its Pilotless Drone targeting policy. Up until this past week the human target of the American operated drone had to be identified as a terrorist that has had connections to past attacks on American Interests. NOW a target may be engaged without knowing its identity if it appears to be committing a suspicious act that may lead to terrorism. There are more of these Pilotless planes of war being flown right now than at any other time in history. The drone marks the target from above and then the bomb is dropped from a another plane that is sometimes a hundred miles away completely detached from looking at the faces of innocent on the ground. Nothing about the outcome of this call for fire is precise.

February 25, 1991
Sometime around late morning on the second day I was woken up by verbal information transfer and the loud sound of our track's Detroit Diesel Cummins motor coming to life. Spartan came over the net and told us that the BN had identified a Company sized Iraqi Mechanized Infantry Unit just over 10klicks(1 klick = 1,000meters) in front of us. Everyone in Golf Co. sat inside the red glow of their tracks listening to Spartan describe the situation. He told us that the Iraqis were dug in on a small rise that was surrounded by a tall chain linked fence topped with coiled concertina wire. Apparently their defensive position was a Kuwaiti radio tower transmitter site before the occupation. The enemy was in the ground with their BMP transport vehicles parked at the base of the hill behind them. The plan was for Golf Co. to take this position with its four platoons plus machine gun and 40mm mortar team support.

The top side hatches of our vehicle were now open allowing me to see the Cimmerian shade of day around us. One of the SAW Gunners went up on the roof as we moved forward with the other tracks. There were plenty of cautious stops between receiving Spartan's frag order and getting to the spot where we exited the track and set up our supporting position roughly five hundred meters from the fence. It was so dark that I could not see anything past a few feet in front of me. At first I remember quiet being interrupted by the sound of the other tracks delivering the line Platoons to their objective. Curtis was behind the gun and I was to the left looking into the same emptiness that he was. Small red and white lights came out of the void in front of us from the inside of the tracks that had breached the perimeter and were lowering their back hatches allowing the riflemen to get out and do what they were trained to do. There was chatter going on around our position as the rest of Golf Co. advanced forward up the hill.