Mons, Belgium

Present Arms Radio

January 1991, Mons, Belgium

I worked at a place called S.H.A.P.E.. (Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe). SHAPE is basically the military side of NATO HQ. Apparently, in 1953, when France kicked NATO out of France, the geniuses at NATO decided that NATO’s next location would split the military and the diplomatic sides of NATO into two parts. The diplomats in Brussels and the military, 30 minutes south in a town called Casteau near Mons Belgium. The reasoning…. That in the event of war, the Soviets would attack the military first and leave the diplomats alone to discuss the situation. Serioulsy.

S.H.A.P.E is the home of the SACEUR, the Supreme Allied Commander of Europe. He is one of 16 American generals stationed there along with various other high level C.I.A. officials. The SACEUR is a member of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and reports directly to POTUS. The other generals and officials directly support the SACUER in that role. Needless to say, in January of 1991, the SACEUR and his staff were playing a huge role in Desert Storm. This means that they needed to be secured along with their residences. The SACEUR had his own team in place. He and his family always had hard cars and protection 24/7. (It was actually funny to listen to the high schoolers on base talk about having the SACEURs kid in class along with a bodyguard.) However, the other generals and CIA officials needed to be protected at a time during Desert Storm when manpower was very limited.

So, let me set this up. I was not a special operations soldier. I was not even in combat arms. I was a radio repair geek. Plain and simple. I ran radios, I worked on radios, and I did anything with communications that they asked me to. Yes, I understand that we are always soldiers first, but I was by no means a combat soldier. I happen to know weapons very well. I have no issues with them and I’m an “expert” shot, but I signed up for the easiest job in the Army that I could find and I just so happened to land one of the easiest assignments in ALL of the military. Life was awesome....then, a war breaks out…Damn! (foreshadowing here…life just took a sharp left turn.)

Spoiler Alert. Belgium in the middle of winter is fucking cold. Down to your bones cold. A damp cold that just permeates your clothing. On January 13th we started mobilizing to guard and protect all the Generals and “officials” homes while still manning all the communications that the SACEUR needed for the war. We didn’t have enough manpower, not even close. So, we began the most grueling 6 week operation I experienced in my entire career in the Army. 100+ hour weeks on our feet in the freezing cold, guarding homes in and around the city of Mons, Belgium.

The home I was assigned to was occupied by a Major General in the Army and his family. His house sat at the end of a cul-de-sac on the outskirts of the city. We were dressed in a non-military outfit. Black ski-caps, black trench coat. Under our coat we had out flack vests (bullet proof vests.) We wore our “Class A” pants and our combat boots. We removed all our ID and dog tags. We had our M-16s, 40+ rounds of ammo and some of us even had an m-16 with a 203 (Grenade Launcher) although, I don’t recall them ever issuing ammo for the grenade launcher (That would have been a shit show.).

On January 13th, I started a series of 16 hour shifts on with 4 hours off with an occasional break of 12 hours on, 4 off. It was grueling. Keep in mind, we were guarding houses with and M16 and a radio. To all our knowledge, that was all we had. We froze on 16 hour shifts. We sometimes went days without food and a shower. We were exhausted. We knew nothing of backup or what would even happen if we called for help. All we knew up to this point was that we did our radio checks on the hour, and we got a reply.

“Quebec 21, This is Showers, Radio Check”

“Rodger Showers, this is Quebec 21”

I was “Quebec 21” MP HQ was “Showers”

It was at the end of the first week where I had the craziest experience of my military career. I was walking around from the cul-de-sac to the backyard down the driveway. The backyard was separated from a large field by a low-cut row of hedge. In the field, about 200 yards back, was a stack of hay bales. I had just finished walking to the back hedgerow and was moving back up towards the driveway when I heard a loud and distinctive gunshot behind me, then another. I remember that while I was still facing away from the shooter, I kicked my feet up and landed dead on my back. I completely knocked the wind out of me. I rolled over and locked and loaded a round and scanned for the shooter. I was completely, and wholly in FULL PANIC MODE. I saw him standing on the stack of hay bales with his rifle (may have been a shotgun) pointed right in my direction. I flicked my selector lever to “Semi” but I don’t remember if I put my finger in the trigger well. Then it dawned on me to use my radio. I rolled my weapon away and shuffled for my radio which was now buried under me and pulled it out and got off my transmission for help.

“Showers, this is Quebec 21. Be advised I had a shooter 200 meters behind me. Two shots fired.”

A reply said in the most calming sounding voice you’ve ever heard. ”Rodger Quebec 21”

In the Army, we all learned to shoot at 350 meters. That’s how we all learned on the M16. I did fantastic, earning the badge of “Expert.” That’s the best you can get. What you don’t learn how to do is shoot while you are shaking like a leaf, which I was. I hit all my targets at 200 meters on the range but this guy was very likely to live even after if I expended my 20 round magazine.

It was right then I saw him moving and aiming elsewhere.

“Showers, be advised, I believe this is a hunter. He is moving on.”

In the calmest words you’ve ever heard. “Rodger, Quebec 21”

Now, I don’t know what backup we had, if any, so I expected nothing less than nothing, then I started hearing over the radio some odd reports.

“Showers, this is Quebec 25, I just had had an armored helicopter buzz my position.”

“Showers, this is Quebec 22, Same thing, flying low and fast..”

Then, I started hearing the “thumps” of a helicopter. They kept getting louder and louder. I think that’s when it started “dawning” on me what was happening. I walked out towards the cul-de-sac as the thumping got louder and it was then I realized that I had SERIOUS backup. An Olive drab helicopter with a canon mounted on the nose and a large Belgian flag painted on the tail came into the cul-de-sac and began a hover. It dropped below the tree line. I started another panic.

I was able to see the co-pilot through the glass door. There was a wrap around glass on the helo that enabled me to see his left hand and as he descended below the tree line. He looked at me and gave me a gesture, which obviously meant “Where is he?” I pointed towards the field which now had this poor farmer/hunter soul halfway between the hay and his house. The helicopter rose up and chased the poor guy, making a 180 around him as he ran for his house, cannon fixed on him. The pilot couldn’t have been more than 50’ off the ground. As this was happening, a van load of Mps screams up in an olive drab VW van with a squad of MPs with shotguns that took up positions along the hedge. It was quite the scene for a little quiet Belgian cul-de-sac. I was mortified. I felt awful for this poor guy. What the hell did I do?

I never found out what happened to him, but I can say that after that, every morning, the neighbor came out to greet me with hot coffee and a biscuit. It was unsweetened and without cream. I hated coffee at the time, even with cream and sugar, but I enjoyed the warmth of it and the company. It gave me something to look forward too during the next several weeks of miserable duty. I remember sipping the horrible brew while keeping a smile and letting the neighbor practice with his young son their English skills with me. They were good people that went out of their way to try and help with what they could see was a miserable assignment, but I’ve always wondered what happened to that poor farmer.