War Stories by Oliver North Page A

patrols deep into enemy territory, and evacuate casualties. That means their “Frogs,” or “Phrogs”—the nickname Marines gave to the twin-rotor CH-46 Sea Knight helicopters nearly forty years ago—must be constantly maintained. Right now, in the middle of a sandstorm, that’s difficult at best.
    After the PAO security briefing, Griff and I walk over to the flight line and find Marine maintenance technicians wearing gas masks sothat they can work on aircraft in conditions that can only be described as “extreme.” It’s now nearly noon, but conditions have not improved. The wind, blowing steadily at twenty-five to thirty knots, howls like a banshee through antenna guy wires. The storm has the strange effect of turning daylight into dusk, blotting out the sun, and giving an orange hue to every structure, man, and machine. Visibility is still less than twenty yards. The air appears to be foggy, the way it does along the Atlantic or Pacific Coast when there is a large storm offshore. But the “fog” in the air isn’t water vapor, it’s dirt—tiny particles of sand that the Marines inhale with every breath and swallow with every mouthful of food. It whips through the air, jamming weapons, seeping into every crevice, and clogging the intakes of jet engines and the filters of the gas masks we all carry everywhere, all the time. Griff asks one of the maintenance technicians who has just climbed down from one of the birds if the dust and dirt will affect the performance of his aircraft. The Marine veteran, tongue planted firmly in his cheek, replies, “Dust storms aren’t allowed to affect us. It’s contrary to Marine Corps policy.”
    As we’re walking back to the squadron area, my Iridium satellite pager goes off, informing me to call the foreign desk at FOX News Channel in New York. Brian Knoblock, head of our overseas operations, asks if we can bring up our satellite videophone and do a live report for FOX & Friends on how the storm is affecting war preparations. We are in the process of setting up our equipment when the “Great Giant Voice” blares that the base is under attack by incoming missiles and to take shelter immediately. As bad as it seems, apparently the sandstorm isn’t affecting Saddam’s rocket forces. We grab our flak jackets and helmets and run for the nearest bunker. This time, Griff has his gas mask.

CHAPTER THREE
    GOOD TO GO
    Â Â Â  OPERATION IRAQI FREEDOM SIT REP #7
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  HMM-268 Forward Operating Base
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  Ali Al Salem Air Base, Kuwait
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  Sunday, 16 March 2003
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  2330 Hours Local
    I t’s been an exhausting but productive couple of days. As soon as the sandstorm passed, Gunnery Sgt. Dennis Pennington, a weapons and tactics instructor, arranged to fly all the helicopter gunners—the Marines who man the .50-caliber machine guns mounted on the left and right sides of the CH-46 helicopters—out to the Udari range so that they could test-fire every weapon in the squadron armory. Griff and I videotaped the entire exercise as Gunny Pennington, a very experienced combat veteran, coached young Marines who had never fired a shot in anger on rules of engagement, how to lead a target, and the best way to protect a helo that has to land in a “hot” landing zone (LZ). They came back sweaty, dirty, and tired—but confident that they were ready if and when the shootingstarts. Gunny Pennington’s encouraging assessment: “They know what to do and they know how to do it.”
    Everyone here believes that war with Iraq is imminent. President Bush met in the Azores today with Prime Minister Tony Blair of the UK, President José Maria Aznar of Spain, and Prime Minister José Manuel Durao Barroso of Portugal. Marines here repeatedly asked Griff what news was coming from the conference. When the four heads