The Kuwaiti Navy, CG and Homosexman on SkyDrive
By Steve Chance SBU-12
This story is about the Kuwaiti Navy and Coast Guard. Something that you have to know about the Kuwaiti Navy and CG is that there are only three things that they are afraid of. The Ocean. The Dark. And each other. When I was told that I was being sent out to act as a liaison officer for NSW assets in the Persian Gulf. Man, I thought I had hit the big time. Like my years of experience were not only being recognized but also rewarded. Little did I know. they just needed a form of maritime referee to keep our guys from getting shot up by friendlies. But what is it that they say about friendly fire? Basically the job was for one of our guys to ride on each of the Kuwaiti boats with a radio and a GPS and watch the Radar. We would look at course and speed of contacts and then come up on the radio and say “hey you this is me. Are you around this lat long? Going this fast? On this course?” When the answer was affirmed then we would tell the Kuwaitis to “STOP POINTING YOUR FUCKING GUNS IN THAT DIRECTION!” It went on all night but the operation was a success because we kept those dipshits gainfully employed doing nothing long enough for our guys to get some real work done.
We were living at Ras Al Kwaliah which already had a reputation because a week before GW-1 a group of Iraqis came over for a “Grip and Grin” to their base.. Not only were they given a tour they were allowed to take pictures and notes. Needless to say they showed up a week later in the form of an amphibious assault on Prayer Day of all days. Being that it was a prayer day there was a skeleton crew aboard. It was a pretty easy takeover. Story is that they came ashore and asked who was in charge and when the CDO said, “I’m in charge” they killed him. Pretty much set the tone for the rest of the day. Then they just walked into admin, got the command roster and recalled everyone. Genius! But remember this is second hand information told to me by Kuwaiti Navy Officers who in my humble opinion are kings of bullshit. Very tough leaders when sitting with a bunch of Americans but honestly as far as leadership goes, these guys couldn’t lead a band of fags to a dick suckin party. This base was a sore spot in their history because the enemy had played the ultimate Okey doke on them so when you came aboard in those days you needed to know the secret handshake. They didn’t even give slack to their American protectors. That would have been a good thing to tell us before we got there. Unfortunately our American representative there was about one hundred and fifty years old and still a LCDR. He listened to marching band music and would start humming loudly to his favorite selection… in the middle of a brief. He had strange little figurines in his office and held entire conversations with himself. He had about as good a job as he was ever going to get and was completely insane. During the long unintelligible rambling of our first meeting he never told us that the gate guards would fuckin shoot you until you died from it if you didn’t first stop your vehicle turn off the lights and hold your hands out the window with your ID cards showing. Thanks Grandpa. We survived but having a Kuwaiti screw his rifle barrel into my ear yelling in Arabic (I hadn’t been to language school yet) really reallllllly pissed me off.
We continued to ride the boats and after a while out of sheer boredom found our way over to the gym where there were stacks and of unused workout equipment covered in dust and cigarette butts. There was a basketball court that they used to play indoor soccer. I was impressed we finally found something they could do well besides sleep, smoke and fondle each other. It got hot and some of the guys were removing their shirts. Immediately I noticed a majority of these guys had some serious scars to their upper bodies. Long curving scars from their chests straight across and some with them starting at their chest and crossing down to their abdomen. As little respect as I had for these guys I did have to bring myself back to the realization that these guys are from the Middle East. War is something very familiar to them. Rather than look away I asked a few of them. Assuming that these were battle wounds I asked. So where were you when you were shot. The one looked back at me puzzled. “I was not shot Mr. Steve.” “No?” I said. “That’s a pretty big scar. And he has one. And he has one too. These aren’t scars from the invasion of Kuwait?” I asked. “No Mr. Steve” they said together. “These are from our machine guns”. “The machine guns?” I yelled.” What Machine guns? The ;50s?”… At this point I know that anyone that is reading this that is a Boatguy is already thinking the same thing right? They’re not timing their fuckin 50’s. I pulled out a headspace and a timing key that I always kept in my pocket, held it up in the air and said. “Do any of you know what this is?” Not a sound. I told them that they needed to headspace and time their 50’s or more of them are going to get blown up. They told me that Allah would time their weapons. Ok. Can’t argue with that.
The next day we are out and I’m on the flying bridge of the Sambuk a Kuwaiti Patrol boat and we are heading toward the K.A.A. I’ve got a plugger in my lap and three radios in my ear and I’m playing referee duty again. I’m in between the two 50 cal gunners about one foot on either side of me. I guess they saw a bump in the ocean and I heard both of them simultaneously rack a round in the chamber. All I could think about were the guys in the Gym the day before and their exploding machine guns. I un-assed that flying bridge quick.
This operation went on a few days longer and I guess it was successful. I was on the sidelines baby-sitting Kuwaitis and keeping them busy while our guys went and did real work. We had some down time so we headed to Camp Doha to check out their PX. They had Gatorade and sunflower seeds and Copenhagen, everything a Boat guy needs. It was about an hour drive from Ras Al Kwualiah up the seventh ring road. About half way there I can hear Chris Moore talking to himself in the back of the Suburban, Joe Riffey is driving. I turn around to see what he is babbling about and I see that he has a video camera and is doing his own narration. He turns the camera on me and says “and here is Steve. Tell us what you think Steve.”
Ok. You gotta stay with me on this part… In 1993 I was in Jordan for a big exercise. It was us and the Jordanian Navy and Jordanian Army and we were all staying together in tents at the Navy Base. One night I was standing watch around our little part of the camp and unfortunately I was wearing night vision because on that night I got a full night vision view of just how far two Arabs will take a game of “grab ass”… without getting too graphic. Everyone has heard the stories I’m just sorry I had to see it. The next day I was told to go into town with a Jordanian Army Sgt. and get gas for the fuel bladders. This guy spoke pretty good English and on the way to town we talked and he seemed pretty squared away as well as in a leadership position so I decided to ask him. (Big mistake) what the hell was wrong with his people and why the hell did he let his guys run around at night playing pin the tail on the new guy?? HE BECAME ENRAGED!! He glared at me and said. ”Mr. Steve. If we find a man who is a homosex all the men take him to the high building and we throw him off!! Then all the man take a stone and put it to his head until he die from it!! Because we don’t like a goddamn HOMOSEX MAN!!” I sat back and was thinking. Ok hot shot. Whatever. And couldn’t help but think of that line.. Thou doth protest too much. Ya know?
Ok. So now were back in the Suburban going to Camp Doha, Chris has the camera in my face and I say, ”Mr. Chris.. If we find a man that is Homosex all the men take him to the high building and throw him off. Then all the men put a stone to his head until he die from it!! Because we don’t like a HOMOSEX MAN!!” I followed it up by giving my personal opinion… We all got a big laugh out of my impersonation and went to Camp Doha got our Scooby snacks and hauled ass back to Ras Al Kwualia. We new the secret handshake at this point and smoothed right into the base. It was prayer day so it was a pretty mellow afternoon. Chris decided to take a walk down toward the water with his camera in hand. He was narrating and shooting video but damn those Kuwaitis still weren’t over getting their ass handed to them seven years earlier by alleged “friends”, The base security folks converged on poor Chris and wanted to know what he was doing with a camera. After a little discussion they said that it would be ok if they were able to view the footage he had so far just to ensure that he was a “friend of Kuwait.” If everything was cool, he could have his camera back. Chris said. “No problem”. So they took the camera and Chris came back to the barracks and told us what happened. He said. “There’s nothing on there to worry about. Oh shit. Except for Steve doing his impression of HOMOSEX MAN!!” Next thing I know I’m talking to a Chief who started out by saying. “Look.. You may have to leave the country. Quickly”… Apparently the upper echelon of the Kuwaiti Navy Base didn’t appreciate my humor.