Somalia Can Be Scarier Than Iraqi Scuds, Some Gulf Vets Say

An unsuspecting Marine master gunnery sergeant, fresh from Camp Pendleton, was positioned on a crude privy when he learned his first lesson about the strange dangers of Somalia.

Suddenly, a teen-age sharp shooter with a slingshot launched a rock from a wall about 100 feet away and clipped the Marine, who, without moving, coolly commanded six troops with rifles to attack the wall.

The boy fled, and soon the Marines had established a new defensive line--and hoisted heavy green camouflage over the stricken commode near the Mogadishu airport.

Welcome, men and women of Marine Air Wing Support Squadron 372.

An advance unit in a buildup that has already rushed 3,000 Marines to Somalia, these Marines--who arrived several days ago and find themselves sweating profusely by 7 a.m.--are discovering that the greatest surprises are perhaps their own notions of danger and humanity.

The master gunnery sergeant’s heroic quasi-combat has been their only comedic relief in a tortured land that some Persian Gulf War veterans declare is scarier than facing Iraqi Scud missiles.

“At least with Scuds, we’d have a warning,” said Cpl. Robert Ijames of Escondido. “Here, behind any wall, an AK-47 could have our name on it.”

These 120 Marines spent their first nights atop windy cots in a small aircraft hanger whose front, back and roof somehow had been destroyed. Their greeting had been graffiti formed by automatic-weapons fire and gibberish painted on the walls. They slept under a glittering sugar bowl of stars and snored oblivious to the blunt crack of sporadic gunshots nearby.

It is still early in this relief effort, and the Marines are learning the ropes.

The Leathernecks who dashed ashore during the Dec. 9 amphibious landing may have dramatized to the world that Americans had come to stabilize the starving, burned and bullet-pocked nation.

But these Marines of the 372nd are the ones who will help purify the water for drinking and build the forward bases for aircraft to open and protect routes for humanitarian aid and military supplies. They figure they will be here six months until the U.N. force is prepared to take over.

Being here isn’t easy.

“It’s barbaric, it’s like a country where time has stopped,” said Ijames.

Staff Sgt. Cam Boldan of Oceanside, a cheek full of chewing tobacco making him resemble a chipmunk in winter, added: “Nobody can really understand until they get here. I felt safer” in the Gulf.

During Desert Storm, the Marines faced an enemy usually at a distance and had technology to detect troop movements and missile launches. Here, many youths walk around with knives or hatchets; random shots have flashed from the urban combat nightmare of dilapidated buildings.

Marines patrol the town in armored vehicles, their fingers near the trigger. The children smile and wave, the older ones stare. The troops, although believing they are wanted, still are wary.

“You just don’t want to get comfortable in one place for too long,” said man with a heart tattoo inscribed “Mom and Dad.”

“When we stop, we see their eyes are moving. We don’t want to take off our helmet or flak jackets.”

It’s not only the danger and fear that the peril will be worse inland that is providing the baptism for this unit. So far they don’t have showers. For days, they’ve taken canteen baths, employed baby wipes and still have become odoriferous just by sitting still in the humidity and blazing sun.

They’ve also moved from the wrecked hovel of a hangar to a line of tents between the airport and the beach. Screaming jets land and take off at hardball-throwing distance from where they sleep. Toilet facilities, for now, consist of taking a shovel out to the sand.

Despite privations, they remain close, even courteous with one another. To help relieve the strain, they liberally lace conversations with every sexual and barnyard vulgarity known to Western man.

These are warriors of the ‘90s. Even Marines discuss their feelings with each other and with most anybody who asks. “We’re Marines but we’re human. We have a sense of fear,” one Leatherneck said.

High among those fears is disease. The “doc,” Navy Chief Petty Officer Michael Roach of San Diego, is mostly treating sunburn, cuts and insect bites. But he said the troops are worried about going home with something more permanent. “Everybody’s real concerned about malaria. That’s what everybody feels is No. 1. Diarrhea you can fix,” said the 20-year veteran.

The troops all wince at the utter destruction of a civilization, where some people live in makeshift cardboard domes next to the stench of the dead buried in shallow graves. Yet, despite their compassion for the listless and forlorn population, they have a divided sense of whether they should be in Somalia, with some feeling America should be taking care of problems at home first.