Matt Runte talks about the war he and his unit prepared for, and the one they ended up fighting.

On Valentine's Day 2003, SSG Matt Runte deployed with his Combat Engineer unit to Camp Arifjan, Kuwait.  "In retrospect, I guess it was sort of naive to think that we would have any chance of averting war," Matt says. "But at the time we were told that diplomacy was still taking its course." 

Matt's unit deployed wearing green BDU's and flak vests that were "considered new sometime during the Nixon administration."  It was with this outdated gear that Matt's unit fought in the initial invasion, and then began their year building bridges, hauling equipment, disposing of recovered enemy ordinance, and participating in the first river patrols since Vietnam.  Months later, "plates for the vests started to filter in, but in the end we only had enough for about one platoon," Matt explains. "Usually only one platoon had a mission at one time, so we would trade back and forth, but some times we would have to economize and just wear one in the front, not the back of the vest, or some times the single soldiers would waive their plates so that a married guy could wear some."

At the outset of the war, however, body armor was only a secondary issue.  "We had NBC (Nuclear/Biological/Chemical) gear that was sound and that was our biggest concern.  Everyone KNEW that Saddam would gas us."  But soon after Matt first crossed the border in Iraq, he realized that this wasn't going to be the war he was expecting.

"The enemy was showing up to the battlefield in the backs of these trucks.  They would dismount with nothing but their weapon and some ammo, and either take up a fighting position or charge at our tanks and Bradleys. 

We, of course, would cut them down - what else could our guys do?  This was our enemy.  This was the army of the most dangerous threat that faced the United States.  This was the force that was fielded by a man who, as far as we knew, was threatening the world with Weapons of Mass Destruction... but he didn't even have tanks or artillery to send to the front lines.  Just some scared people who would run to their deaths with an AK47 or an old Kalashnikov rifle.  This was the "Axis of Evil."

This is Matt's story of that first day - before the sectarian violence, before the insurgency, before the truth came out about the nonexistent WMD.  March 20^th, 2003.

Often times you hear people talk about the "Fog of War."  I never understood what that meant until my first day at war.  We were actually still in Kuwait sitting at our Attack Position still waiting for our turn to cross the Iraq border and into the unknown, finally we would all be "Combat Vets." 

Our indoctrination came sooner than we had expected, however.  That night had seen a barrage of steel rain unleashed on the enemy to the north like nothing any of us had ever seen.  Many of us had served in the active army and had seen some impressive stuff at the range.  Fewer still had served in the Gulf War and Somalia, but we were all agreed that we had never seen that much artillery pounding in our lives. 

In the morning, there was an eerie haze that had laid down over the battlefield in front of us.  It was a fog, of sorts.  I'm sure it consisted of the smoke and noxious vapors created by the impact of so many high explosive rounds on the enemy, that mixed with diesel exhaust and dust from the churned up desert sand.  It was a fog, but not like the fog from home. 

Though we were not moving we were all acutely aware of what was going on to our north.  We could still hear the pounding and firing of weaponry, and I would be regular updated from our hasty Tactical Operations Center (TOC) that we had set up between our two columns of trucks.  The TOC was getting regular updates from our Recon element who were moving with the 1st Brigade of the 3rd ID toward Nassiriha, our first possible bridge site. 

As I was heading back to my line from one of my visits to the TOC I heard the dudes shouting as they were pointing at the sky.  They had done this a lot in the past twelve hours, but usually pointed at the horizon.  As I looked to the sky I could see an explosion with debris falling from it, and a vapor trail coming out of the south east that drew a line to the site.  My best guess was that we had just seen a SCUD get intercepted by a Patriot Missile. 

I walked to my truck to call it in on the radio, and that's when we heard the thing that every soldier fears the most: GAS, GAS, GAS!!! 

The next thing I knew I had my mask and hood on, my gloves were on.  We had already been in MOPP (Mission Oriented Protective Posture) level 2 and had our protective outer garment and boots on.  I was buddy checking my driver to ensure that he was squared away.  I remember thinking that my training must have kicked in and I went into auto-pilot, because any normal and sane person would have just crapped in their pants.  Thankfully my jockeys were still clean and my buddy Babcock was squared away and just as concerned about me.  I had Babcock get inside the truck to monitor the radio, since that was the best shelter from gas that I could think of, and I went to check on the squad to make sure everything was copasetic.

Just as I left my truck, my lieutenant's driver showed up.  He had been assigned as the "resident expert" on the chemical suit and, since they were new MOPP gear he was the primary instructor on the proper wear of the suit.  As he stood there in front of me screaming his head off his gear was in complete disarray.  His hood was off, his gloves were not on, his zippers weren't even zipped.  He yelled that the LT (lieutenant) had sent him to check the platoon's gear and make sure everyone was squared away.  The "fog" had definitely gotten to him.  I sent him back to the LT to get his gear fixed and collect himself.  I continued down the line and most of my guys were taking good care of themselves and each other.  As I reached the third or fourth truck a guy grabbed me and yelled through his mask.  I couldn't understand what he was blaring, but he pointed to his battle buddy who was one of my gunners, nicknamed "Hibbie".  His eyes were wide like plates and I could see him sweating through his eye pieces.  He was bent over and his mask was making a high pitched whining sound.  I thought to myself, "the gas is here and this is our first casualty".

I mustered the calmest voice I could.  "What's going on, Hibbie?"

He wheezed and strained, leaned on me with one hand, and said in an exhausted scared voice, "Sardn't, my mask won't seal... it just won't seal!  Oh shit!"

"I want you to take a deep breath.  Now show me how you clear and seal your mask." I said to him.

After a non-cleansing small breath, Hibbie took a massive breath, heaving his head into the air.  He placed his hand over his exhalation valve and blew out has hard as he could.  A huge farting noise came from his mask.  Then, with his head between his knees, he covered his canister with his gloved hand and sucked in as hard as he could, producing a very high pitched whining sound that came from his mask.  That's when I finally recocnized the sound as his inhalation valve.  He was sucking so hard that he was inverting the valve and not getting a proper seal.  I explained this to him in short sentences and had him clear and seal in a much less deliberate fashion.  This time the problem seemed to correct itself and Hibbie's mask no longer sounded like a puppy with a marble in it's trachea.  He and his buddie relaxed and climbed into their truck.

The rest of my squad's equipment was good to go.  Some dudes were unimpressed with the "over reaction" of MOPP 4 after seeing the SCUD, others were a bit freaked out and thought we would all die.  After all was said and done, though, no gas ever came our way. 

Later on we learned that none of Sadam's artillery or SCUDS fired that day had been equipped with chemical warheads, and even farther down the line we learned that Saddam didn't even have chemical weapons.  None of that mattered on March 20th 2003, though.  That's when I learned about the "Fog of War".  It is a physical thing that you could see on the horizon and all around you, and it is a haze that invades the mind like a chemical that you inhaled.  It's acrid and it's sticky.  It attacks your senses and EVERYONE deals with it differently.  I don't think anyone has control over how they deal with it, it seems to be the luck of the draw, but after a while, most people gain control over it and learn how to live with it, becoming hyper sensitive.  It seems to confuse some people and focus others.  A few never learn how to deal with it and we protect them the best we can.