During the course of our training leading up to another six month deployment to Okinawa under the Unit Deployment Program (UDP), our squadron deployed to NAS Fallon, NV for a couple weeks of intensive flight training for the pilots and aircrew. We sent an advance party up in a van about a week before the rest of the squadron to make arrangements for our arrival. About a week before we left, the S-4 officer came up to me and asked me if I wanted to drive a second vehicle up, so we would have two vehicles for the unit while we were there. We would leave on Friday, and the squadron personnel not flying up in the helicopters would come up on Saturday in an Air Force C-130. I could pick someone travel with me, if I wanted. I said, “Okay.”
A couple days before we were supposed to leave, he came up to me again, and said I would have to carry some POL (Petroleum, Oil and Lubricants) items that couldn’t travel in the Air Force plane the rest of the unit was going to travel in. I said, “Okay.”
The day before we left, he came up to me one more time and said, “We really need you to take a Marine out to Yuma to support the detachment we had going through the WTI (Weapons and Tactics Instructor) Course, and then drive to Fallon. I said, “That’s pretty far out of the way.”
He said, “No, not really. It’ll add a couple hours, but you’ll get to Fallon in about 12 hours.” So, I said, “Okay.”
Friday morning rolled around. I got the vehicle out of the motor pool, a club cab Dodge ¾ ton pickup. When I got to the squadron to load up the POL, there were two Marines waiting to be taken to Yuma. Being the good Marine that I was, I said, “Okay”, and we loaded everything and everyone up, strapped it down, and headed out to Yuma. I was good friends with the Classified Material Control Center Clerk, a red-headed guy from Conrad, Montana, named Ivan. He was my copilot for the trip. We were both Corporals at that time.
We got to MCAS Yuma about 1400, and dropped off the two Marines where they needed to be. Then Ivan and I headed north through the desert. We drove and drove. And drove and drove some more. And then we drove some more. There was lots of desert, prickly pear, Joshua trees, cactus, and a burro once in a while. 2200 came around, and according to the map I bought, we were just a little over halfway there. About 2300, I tried to make a collect call back to the squadron to let them know that it was going to take a heck of a lot longer than 12 hours to get to Fallon. The Squadron Duty Office wouldn’t accept my call. Ivan curled up in a ball down on the floorboard and refused to wake up and drive. About 0200, I said, “To hell with it. We’re just not going to get there tonight.”, and pulled over and went to sleep.
About four hours later, I woke up and felt awake enough to drive, so I started the truck again and we continued north. Ivan and I were both in cammies, and Marines in cammies were not supposed to walk around offbase, but I figured we were several hundred miles from a Marine Corps base, and it was unusual circumstances, so we stopped at a diner and got breakfast. We finally pulled into NAS Fallon a couple hours after the C-130 landed. The S-4 Officer seemed surprised that it took so long, but he apologized about underestimating the distance.
The rest of the time in Fallon was uneventful. The S-4 Officer informed me that both vehicles would travel back to Camp Pendleton together. He was going to have only one Marine, a Lance Corporal from El Paso, TX, named Rich, in the van, so I asked him if we could have another Marine come with us, so there would be two people in each vehicle, and he said, “Okay”. Ivan and I were friends with Rich, a Marine from El Paso, TX, so we all talked to a fourth Marine , a Panamanian national named Anthony, and he agreed to ride along with us. We left bright and early right after C-130 with the squadron personnel and the last helo crew took off. I was still driving the truck, and Ivan was driving the van. We knew how far it was back to Camp Pendleton, and most of the road ran through barren desert, so I went a little over the speed limit. As in, I don’t know how fast I was going because the speedometer didn’t go over that far. It was busy bouncing against the retaining pin over around 90 mph. The road was straight, but undulated, so it was kinda like an easy rollercoaster. Going so fast added to the effect. We would float over one crest, and then down through a swale, and then up over another crest, and then down through another swale. Ever few minutes we would see a car up ahead of us. Every time we went over a crest, it would be closer, until we finally blew by it. This went on for miles and miles. Then, I saw a car up ahead that looked like it had skis or a box tied down on the roof. Each time we went over a crest, I tried to figure out just what was on the top of the car. We finally got one crest away from it, and I turned to Rich and asked him, “Is that a cop car?”
No sooner than the words were out of my mouth than the “box” on the roof of the car started to blaze away. Yep, it was a cop car, alright. I pulled over behind him, and Ivan stopped the van behind me. I stepped out of the vehicle and stood by it. The police officer walked to the back of the truck, looked at the vehicle number and “USMC” stenciled on the tailgate, looked up at me and said, “You know, if you weren’t in the Marine Corps, you’d be in a whole lot of trouble right now.”
I said, “Yessir.”
He put out one hand and said “Fifty-five”. He put out his other hand and said, “Sixty-five. Try to keep it between them.”
I said, “Yessir.”
He walked back to Ivan and talked to Ivan for a second. Ivan told me later that he had asked him how fast he was going. Ivan told him he didn’t know, because the speedometer didn’t go that high. Then, as he walked back past me to his vehicle, he smiled and said, “We all deserve a break once in a while.”
I said, “Yessir. Thank you, Sir.”
We got back in our vehicles and proceeded on a much slower pace. Which was a good thing, because one of the tires on the truck decided to blow. We got it off and took it back to a little town we had just gone through. There was a family operated shop in the town, and one of the older brothers told his teenaged brother to fix the tire. All they had to balance the tire was a liquid level, instead of a computerized cage to spin the tire in. The tire was over $100. I didn’t have much cash on me, and it was a government vehicle, so I used the GAO credit card the S-4 Officer gave me to buy gas with to pay for the tire. We went back to the truck and mounted the tire, and started off agin. It became immediately apparent that something wasn’t right, because the truck started to shimmy and shake all over the road. We turned around and drove back to the garage and said that something was really wrong. The older brother took off the tire and placed it on the balancing thing. Apparently, the kid had really placed the wheel weight in the wrong places, and made the wheel more out of balance than it already naturally was. He took the weight off and put them where they belonged, and the truck drove a lot better, although we were on pins and needles for the first few miles, waiting for it to go wrong again.
This time, our route back to Camp Pendleton was more direct, and we went right through Las Vegas. Rich almost scraped the van against the concrete barrier protecting the offramp, despite my several warnings to slow down before the curve (“Rich, we’re going to fast for the curve on that off ramp.” (pause) “Rich, we’re going too fast.” (pause) “Rich!, Slow down.” “RICH!!”) We stopped at Circus Circus and hit the $3.99 all you can eat buffet, the perfect thing for young hungry Marines. We even drove in civilian clothes this time, so we didn’t have to worry about stopping and getting out of the vehicle. The S-4 Officer even approved an overnight stop, so after supper we got two hotel rooms and crashed for the night. I don’t think any of us were old enough to gamble at that point.
The next day we arrived at the squadron and unloaded the POL we had brought back, then took the vehicles over to the motor pool and cleaned them and turned them in. The Gunnery Sergeant in charge was pissed at me for using the credit card to buy a tire. “Why the hell didn’t you call the nearest base and have a wrecker come and take care of it?!” “Because I didn’t know you could do that, Gunny!” And the SDO, a Captain who had just joined the squadron before we left, apologized for not taking my collect call during the trip up to Fallon.
So, what is the moral of all this? I’m not sure, but there must be one in there, somewhere. Well, for one, beware S-4 Officers looking for volunteers. And have no faith in their abilities to judge distances and travel times. And second, make sure you are the one driving whenever you have a person from El Paso in the a car with you and decide to get off the road for a while.
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