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Text File | 1993-04-08 | 7.6 KB | 180 lines

                                                                                SOMALIA, Page 20

The Gift of Hope


Armed for battle, U.S. Marines find mostly smiles and waves
as they fan out into the Somalian countryside

By LARA MARLOWE/BAIDOA


    Under the blazing morning sun a hodgepodge of military
vehicles falls into sloppy formation on the dunes near the
Mogadishu airport. Somali children sneak through shell holes in
a wall to beg for food and baksheesh. Marines shoot souvenir
snapshots of each other as the convoy slowly takes shape.

    Six days after the Marines arrived in the coastal capital
of Mogadishu, they were finally going out into the countryside
where starving Somalis and relief workers alike are eager for
their help. The 700-person contingent was headed for Baidoa, a
southern Somalian town where famine has hit especially hard; it
is there, and in the remote villages beyond, that most of the
U.S.'s humanitarian mission will be carried out. It is there too
that the conflict between the narrowly conceived objective of
safeguarding food convoys and the larger needs of rebuilding a
shattered and lawless nation will be played out.

    At noon the lead armored vehicle, with Old Glory waving,
shifts into first gear, followed by 76 five-ton trucks, humvees
and amphibious light armored vehicles. Belt-fed machine guns,
mortars or antitank missile launchers are mounted on each
vehicle. Every one of the 700 carries an automatic rifle.
Marines pull on heavy desert-camouflage flak jackets and don
steel helmets. Ammunition clips snap into place. The men of Team
Tiger, the name given to the group of Marines going to Baidoa,
are expecting trouble.

    In his five-ton truck, Lance Corporal Greg Riles, 22,
laughs off predictions of danger. "Scared? With all this?" he
says, gesturing toward the olive-green steel vehicles
surrounding him. "In a way, I'm sort of hoping for a little
combat. All this time you train for this. You carry these
weapons, and you want to use them."

    The Baidoa expedition exemplifies the doctrine of
invincible force espoused by Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of
Staff General Colin Powell. The weaponry en route to liberate
Baidoa from the "technicals" -- pickup trucks mounted with
machine guns -- may look excessive, but it is intended to ensure
minimal resistance. "You have to use overwhelming force," says
Lieut. Colonel Tom O'Leary, the commander of Team Tiger. "That's
the only way you can go in smiling and waving."

    The Marines are worrying more about showers and mail. They
have not had either since landing. But missing Christmas is
their biggest gripe. They joke about the number of shopping days
left and dare one another to swim home. U.S.M.C., they say,
stands for "You Suckers Missed Christmas.''

    A red plush stocking embroidered with the name Chris and
stuffed with a toy Santa hangs inside Corporal Christopher
Sotak's vehicle. The 23-year-old received it from his mother in
the last mail shipment before Thanksgiving. On Dec. 25, "we'll
get a bag with diced turkey and gravy," says First Sergeant
Steven Fisher, 37, Sotak's crewmate. "Christmas will be when you
get back home."

    After 18 years in the corps, Fisher takes Somalia's
discomforts in stride: humidity that soaks uniforms in sweat,
swarms of flies, malaria-carrying mosquitoes undeterred by
repellent, sun that blisters the skin. There are scorpions and
cobras in the undergrowth, and the prevalent vegetation -- thorn
trees covered with needle-sharp spines -- must be chopped down
to make encampments.

    The ruins thin out at the eastern end of Mogadishu, which
the Marines refer to as "Mog," giving way to a surprisingly
green plain where donkeys, cattle and camels graze. The Marines
are entering territory they have not yet explored. Sitting on
top of their vehicles, they point M-16s toward the thorn trees
and foot-high shoots of corn on either side of the road. Hot
exhaust fumes coat their faces in soot. Each time the convoy
approaches a village, Somalis come out to cheer. "It's
unbelievable," says Fisher. "You're expecting them to shoot at
you, and they're all standing there clapping."

    Corporal Sotak served in the Gulf War last year. "I wasn't
too enthused about kicking sand for another month or two," he
says. "But this is real different. We didn't have much contact
with the people in Saudi. Here they're all around us. In Saudi
we had a defined enemy. Here you don't know who you can trust.
You don't know who's just trying to defend himself and who's
robbing everybody."

    Late in the afternoon the convoy turns onto a narrow dirt
road. Men with assault rifles are poised in the ruined
buildings; they too are Marines, transported by air to hold the
landing strip at Bale Dogle two days earlier.

    The cortege of armored vehicles parks in the undergrowth
along the roadside. Nine hours will pass before Team Tiger
begins the last leg of its 180-mile journey to Baidoa. Sotak
waves to Marines passing by on the bed of a truck. "Those are
the real grunts," he says. "When it rains, it's awful, and they
can't take stuff like this with them." Sotak opens a St. Louis
Cardinals bag holding his only sources of entertainment: a box
with a chess set and a small electronic football simulation
game.

    Marine talk drifts back and forth. Sergeant Darrell
Siler's face twitches when someone mentions the Oct. 23, 1983,
truck-bomb attack in Lebanon that killed 241 U.S. servicemen.
Had he not been on leave that day, Siler would probably have
been killed with his buddies. "There's a lot of places in
Mogadishu that remind me of Beirut," he says. His voice cracks.
"I hope nothing like that ever happens here. Our rules of
engagement are different. There we couldn't fire unless we were
fired on, and we had to get permission first. Here we can use
deadly force if we feel threatened. Maybe if we'd sent this kind
of force to Lebanon, our guys wouldn't have got killed."

    The sun sets, and the mosquitoes attack. The ends of
cigarettes glow red in the dark. Disembodied voices tell jokes,
complain about being away from home, discuss strategy and gossip
about their comrades-in-arms.

    "Have you heard those Air Force fly-boys are already
building hot showers and a PX in Mog?"

    "I hope they don't give those Army puppies from the 10th
Mountain Division too much to do. I mean, sending Army puppies
from cold mountains to the hottest, flattest place in the
world."

    "We get $150 a month danger pay in Somalia. Hell, you can
drink that in one night."

    "A vehicle crew gets to be closer than family. We read
each other's mail. We share our food, we share our water, we
share our problems."

    "I know three guys in Mog who got written proposals of
marriage from Somali women."

    "I didn't join the Marine Corps to be a Boy Scout."

    An hour after midnight, the convoy sets off again. There
is good news from Baidoa: the gunmen have all fled or agreed to
give up their weapons.

    After a last, 40-minute stop, a voice comes over the
walkie-talkie at dawn: "Tiger, this is Command. Let's get ready
to rock 'n' roll."

    The road rises to a small plateau on the outskirts of
Baidoa. Clusters of cheering Somali men, women and children
stand by the road. At the airport a hundred dejected Somali
"security guards" stand waiting to receive the men of Task Force
Hope. They have voluntarily turned their weapons over to the
Marines, and their commander, Colonel Hassan Boutali, tells
Lieut. Colonel O'Leary he welcomes the Americans and hopes there
will be no more violence in Baidoa.