Threat of Mideast War Worries Departing Guardsmen

For the second time in four months, James Bruhl flew out of the Channel Islands Air National Guard base Monday, bound for Saudi Arabia. He was not eager to go back.

“The first time, I was not as apprehensive as I am now,” Bruhl said as he waited to board one of two C-130 transports that carried about 45 medical technicians and nurses to the Persian Gulf. “The actual threat of war did not seem as great.”

With barely a week left before the Jan. 15 deadline for Iraq to leave Kuwait, the imminence of war weighed heavily on the guardsmen and their families as they said goodby at the base near Oxnard.

A band played “The Stars and Stripes Forever” and other upbeat patriotic songs, but the mood on the cold, fog-shrouded Tarmac was somber and apprehensive. “This time there’s more anxiety,” said Bernie Donato, who spent most of September in Saudi Arabia. “I wish they’d resolve it one way or the other--preferably peacefully.”

Like Bruhl and Donato, nearly half of the guardsmen who left Monday had already done stints in the gulf ranging from a month to six weeks. When they went in September, they were volunteers. This time they had no choice.

“We all were activated,” said Bruhl, a hospital administrator in Oceanside. “It would have been fine with me not to go. It’s hard when you have three kids.”

But Bruhl and others said they are ready to do their duty.

“We’re trained to do the job; now it’s time to do the job,” said Maurice Costello of Simi Valley, an Air National Guard member for 23 years. “You can’t come and take the money without having to pay it back.”

Members of the unit--the 146th Aeromedical Evacuation Squadron--come from all over Southern California. The squadron is part of the 146th Tactical Airlift Wing, which until last spring was headquartered at Van Nuys Airport and drew much of its membership from the San Fernando Valley area.

In civilian life, most of the squadron members work at hospitals or other medical facilities; in combat, they stabilize wounded soldiers and transport them from the front lines to military hospitals.

Costello, a registered nurse, was thinking about combat as he said goodby to his wife, Carol, and sons, Sean, 12, and Chris, 20.

“I’m glad I’m going and not him,” Costello said, motioning to Chris. “Unfortunately, I think it will come to shooting. . . . It doesn’t look good.”

Children made up about half of the 150 friends and family members. Some, such as Amber Husband, 5, were excited.

Referring to her aunt, flight nurse Sharon Ulmer of Sepulveda, the little girl said: “She’s going to fight the man in Saudi Arabia.”

Nine-year-old Meghan Pizzo said she understood what was going on. “That guy is trying to take over Kuwait,” she said. But of the involvement of her father, Frank Pizzo, in stopping Saddam Hussein, Meghan said: “I don’t like it.”

Pizzo, a landscaper from Westlake Village, enlisted in the guard only in March. “I joined to learn the medical field,” he said as he and his wife, Shelley, held hands with Meghan and their other children, Kelly and Michael.

As for combat, Pizzo said: “I never thought it would come up. I hope it’s not going to happen, but I think there’s a 50-50 chance.”

About 7:40 a.m., the goodbys were cut short by a shouted command to start boarding the giant green C-130s.

Staff Sgt. David Higgins hugged his bride, Elizabeth April, goodby. The two were married Dec. 20 inside a C-130 at the base in a ceremony anticipating Monday’s departure.

Mike Hacia, 27, kissed his mother, Anna, and started for his plane. Then he turned back and kissed her again, a little longer this time, and said: “Bye, Mom.”

“There’s just too many men in my life who had to go,” Anna Hacia said, noting that her father, her husband and her two older sons also served in the military.

But Mike Hacia did not say farewell to his fiancee, Kimberly Kasa of Studio City. They met in the squadron, and she was deployed Monday too.

“I wish they had sent me to ‘Nam with my girlfriend,” said Hacia’s brother, Rich.

At 7:52, the propellers on the four-engine C-130s were started, one at a time. The noise was deafening. Fumes blew over the crowd. But nobody was ready to board the buses that would take family members back to their cars.

Pushing against the yellow ropes lining the taxiway, they waved toward the tiny round windows as the transport planes disappeared in the mist. Then the crowd rushed to the opposite side of the roped-off area, hoping for a final look as the planes took off.

It was too foggy.

Earlier, Susan Montgomery of Canoga Park had spoken of the last few days spent with her husband, medic Dan Montgomery.

“We’ve been trying to get some quality time in,” she said. “You take it for granted until the time finally runs out.”