108                                  U.S. MARINES IN THE PERSIAN GULF, 1990-1991


battlefield, where flaming oil from sabotaged weliheads shot skyward across the
horizon and a thick gray cloud spit flecks of black oil on everything below.
    On the second   night of the war,  the command       convoy was suddenly
surrounded by armed Iraqis. Confused radiomen screamed warnings about "dis-
mounted infantry!"  Some Iraqis appeared ready to surrender, others remained
prone behind sand berms with rifles pointed toward the convoy.   It turned out
that the Iraqis were indeed surrendering, but the convoy was immobilized for
three hours while the Marines n~unded them up.
    The night was so black that when the driver of one llumvee stepped out the
door to relieve himself, a Marine with the same plan from another vehicle
bumped into him.
    "I was so scared, I nearly shot him," the shaken driver said when he
returned to the Humvee.
    When the convoy finally began to move again, the inky darkness created by
the thick layers of oily smoke forced traffic directors     carrying   faint red
flashlights to physically walk the hulking armored vehicles and trucks through
fields of mines and unexploded bombs.
    The movements became so treacherous that the convoy finally pulled into a
small campsite that had been cleared of explosives.  As armed Humvees formed
a safety circle around a small patch of sand, their drivers warned us not to step
beyond the ring because of the mine dangers, Marines began setting up a
makeshift radio command center.   Forbidden to use any light except dim red
filters because of fear of discovery by enemy troops, the young Marines worked
by feel in virtual blindness.
    During the brief nightly respites from the race through Kuwait, the troOpS
slept beneath their Humvees or inside their armored personnel carriers. For the
most part they lived on adrenaline and MREs, the packaged military rations
called Meals Ready to Eat.    MREs developed a major following among the
desert's rats and mice.  During a stay at one Marine supply center near the
Kuwaiti border before the ground war, half a dozen large rats invaded our tent
nightly, waking us as they gnawed through the brown plastic pouches and
nibbled their way through the contents.
    Months of desert living had taught troops to adapt to austerity. With several
weeks between showers, many men shaved their heads bald to avoid dirty hair;
the women brushed baby powder through their locks to absorb the oils of gritty,
showerless days.  I never did--I never had any baby powder.     I just wore my
camouflage hat.  The companies that produce baby-wipes must have prospered
during the war--no commanding general or grunt left for a desert tent or fox-
hole without the moist towelettes that became invaluable in a waterrationed
environment.
    In three days of rolling through the Kuwaiti battlefields, there was something
strangely missing--bodies, casualties of war. Eventually hundreds of Iraqi bodies
would be found half buried in bunkers and draped over burning vehicles, but
during the fast-paced carnpaign, entire areas of the battlefield appeared devoid
of death.