I don't fancy myself much of a writer, though I know I don't have much better memory (as you'll see). So I decided to write down one of the small stories (I might put down others if I remember them) my father has told me from his experience of the Gulf war.

My fathers' unit was stationed in Kuwait for a period after their expulsing of Iraq Ground Forces. They dealt with News Reporters of all kinds! From one accidentally recording a briefing (Despite what he told me, I can't for the life of me find the clip) to one getting run over during drills.

He himself had only been in for a year, (not being promoted until late into the Thunder-Runs) so I couldn't imagine how he felt just sitting in the desert, running drills ever now and then with his tank. A pervasive feeling however was one of being home-sick.

This young private (I presume?) had gotten himself a good bit of alcohol. Whether that was common, or he had gotten it in a package from home, I'm not very sure.

So, here he comes. Some twenty year old private stumbling through the night, eventually finding the CO's tent. Drunkenly, he pulled the storm flaps open and made his way inside and said something to the effect of; "Let me call home!" through tears. (Mind you, he was heavily intoxicated. If my memory serves, my father said it was an awfully nasty brand of alcohol.)

Now, the CO was rightfully confused. It was the middle of the night after all. And so after some very light convincing (of which included some very 'stern' talking to, I presume), the Private was guided back to his tent, and another night in Kuwait continued.