The Edge of Hell
When I ponder the politics of this last year, I think of growing federal debt, rising interest rates, critical race theory, DEI requirements, radical progressives in Congress, wars, and a president in cognitive decline. But during the holidays, I’m often drawn back more than thirty years to a dark period of my life that taught me to see the most precious blessing.
Years ago, while working on the family ranch, a farm tractor had run me over. The dirt road I drove along had given way under the weight of the tractor with me still in the driver’s seat. Fearing it would turn over, I jumped out and tumbled down a steep embankment. After rolling to the bottom, I lay face down in the loose dirt. I turned my head and glanced back up the slope.
The tractor had remained on its wheels, and I lay in its path. I glanced back and thought, I’m about to die. The tractor cut across my back but, instead of crushing me, I made a dirt angel impression in the silt. My back hurt for days, but the accident only reinforced my teenage male notion that I was somehow invincible.
Twenty years later, on Christmas Day, 1990, I stood on the deck of the USS Missouri (BB 63) under the command of Captain Kaiss as we sailed past Singapore. I had hoped the ship would pull into port, refuel and resupply. In a time before email and cell phones, the stop would allow me to phone my wife and young children, but there wasn’t time for a pause. We were on our way to war.
In August of 1990, Iraq had invaded Kuwait. Supplies, equipment, and personnel poured into Saudi Arabia for Operation Desert Shield, the defense of the region, and the Missouri would be in the fight. I was the senior enlisted man on a team of intelligence and cryptologic specialists assigned to the ship.
In February, Desert Shield turned into a shooting war between Iraq and the United States and its allies. This was called Desert Storm. I felt confident that Saddam Hussein could throw his entire military my way and I would be fine.
The Missouri led other ships north through an Iraqi minefield into the main conflict area. During the night of February 25th, the ship arrived off the Kuwaiti coast with the HMS Gloucester. Captain Kaiss ordered the guns of the Missouri to fire. For hours, hundreds of shots arched through the night killing Iraqi soldiers and destroying their positions. Then an orange glow appeared on the horizon. The captain shouted, “Incoming missiles. Everyone hit the deck.”
“Incoming missile. Brace for shock,” spread over the shipboard public address circuit (1MC) to every compartment, except where my team worked. Our speaker had failed.
However, in our darkened compartment, we saw the missiles coming as images from overhead drones and telemetry data. As chaff rocketed into the air and Phalanx cannons traced red lines across the sky we relayed word that the first Silkworm missile splash into the sea. A second one crossed aft of the Missouri and disappeared into the night. For a moment, I thought the attack was over.
Then a third missile zipped past. I watched as this last missile turned and flew back toward the ship—and me. My gaze fixed on the growing fireball. I was about to die.
United States Air Force planes flying over a burning Kuwaiti oil field in 1991
HMS Gloucester had fired two Sea Dart surface-to-air missiles and destroyed the Iraqi weapon. I stared at the drone screen and then the telemetry to reassure myself as the others cheered. Finally, I took a deep breath. I was alive. I thought of my wife and children. I wanted so much just to hug them tight.
Saddam Hussein soon realized he had lost and ordered hundreds of oil wells destroyed as his forces retreated in panic. At dawn, I walked onto the main deck and stared into hell. Though we remained several miles off the coast, oil wells had become huge torches of red flame. Long black plumes of acrid smoke choked the air and blocked the desert sun.
I turned my gaze toward the sky as the black clouds parted, revealing bright sunshine. Those rays of light seemed to bring the voice of God to me. “You’re not invincible, but you’ve always been in my hands.”
