The Sandbox
Copyright© 2025 by Vonalt
Chapter 3: Welcome to the Sandbox
The Sergeant picked up my bags and asked me to follow him. He led me to a waiting camo-tan SUV and held the door open for me to get into the back seat. He came around to the front passenger door after placing my bags in the rear. He climbed in just as the waiting driver put the SUV in gear and pulled away from the administration building.
We drove a short distance to a site with new construction. The SUV came to a stop, and the Sergeant hopped out, came around, and opened my door, asking me to follow him. He then went to the back of the SUV to retrieve my bags.
I was roasting while standing outside in the evening heat. I could feel perspiration drip down my back and forehead. I took my service cap off and wiped my forehead with a bandana I carried.
“Don’t worry, Major, you’ll get used to it,” the Sergeant said as he led the way to my quarters. “It’ll take a while. You’ve got to make sure that you drink plenty of water, and some of that good old fruit punch energy drink. That’ll keep your electrolytes balanced.”
The Sergeant led me down a narrow walkway flanked on either side by officers’ quarters. The buildings were a cross between cheap motel construction and a yurt, with roofs made of heavily reinforced polymer.
I noticed as I followed the Sergeant that each room had the occupant’s name posted beside the door. He stopped halfway down the row, set my bags down, and opened the door. I felt the blast of air conditioning that was like stepping into a walk-in cooler.
The Sergeant took a moment to show me how the shower, toilet, and environmental controls worked. It wasn’t all that different from home, though there were a few quirks. He warned me to check my bed before getting in every night as some of the local nasties could be fatal.
“Just wonderful,” I thought.
The Sergeant was kind enough to mention that there was a 24-hour mess hall with an extensive menu just one walkway over if I was hungry. He closed the door behind him after that, and I was finally alone for the first time in 36 hours.
My stomach rumbled, and I was desperate to get something to eat and then catch up on sleep. I wanted to take a shower and change into a clean uniform first, though. I didn’t want to look like a slob in front of my fellow officers.
The quick shower felt good, and I was ready to head to the mess hall less than thirty minutes after arriving. I noticed a packet with my name on it on the desk. Inside was information about when I was to officially report to Central Command Headquarters, and where the offices were located. The packet also included a map of the complex, along with hours of operation.
I noticed a small manila envelope among the papers. I opened it and found two keys, which I assumed were for the door to my quarters. I tried them both and confirmed that they were.
I gave my orders a quick scan and saw that I had a 24-hour period to adjust to the desert heat, which seemed more than fair. I’d get settled in, rest up, and be ready to work the next day.
I noticed a pamphlet titled ‘Things to Do When Off Duty’, printed on a laser printer, as I was leaving for the mess hall. I decided to take it with me to read while I ate.
I left my quarters, remembering to lock the door behind me. The directions the Sergeant had given were spot on and led me straight to the mess hall. A sign over the entrance welcomed everyone to the ‘Camel Inn’.
Inside the mess hall felt nearly as cold as my quarters, like stepping into a walk-in cooler. I later learned that the air conditioning was set to a constant 80 degrees; it was the extreme outdoor heat that made it feel so chilly by comparison.
Looking around, I saw that the ‘Camel Inn’ consisted of a small salad bar, a cooler stocked with snacks, fruits, and premade sandwiches, as well as a grill and a deep fryer. The crew staffing the ‘Inn’ was made up of three enlisted personnel: a short-order cook, a crew member who kept the salad bar and coolers stocked, and a third who maintained the mess hall’s cleanliness.
I walked over to the grill to see what my choices for a hot sandwich were. The cook greeted me, “Good evening, Major. Could I interest you in a Camel Burger and some onion rings?”
I think my reaction to the thought of a burger made from camel amused the cook, because he had a grin on his face. “It’s not really camel, but 100% beef imported frozen from the USA,” he said, laughing. “It’s the name we gave the sandwich. This is the ‘Camel Inn’ after all.”
“OK,” I answered. “I’ll take one special, and there will be hell to pay if I find out afterward that it really is camel!” I said this with a smile to let him know that I was joking along with him.
I went to sit down when the sandwich and onion rings were ready, and decided to check out the mini-salad bar as well. It had the usual tossed salad and other side dishes you’d find at a typical salad bar. I helped myself to a few sides served in disposable bowls. I stuck with bottled water to stay hydrated. I was preparing to leave after finishing my meal when I noticed a self-serve soft ice cream machine and sundae fixings. I naturally had to fix myself a small strawberry sundae. I left the ‘Camel Inn’ feeling stuffed.
I had been looking at the ‘Things to Do’ pamphlet while eating, and discovered that there was an officers’ club. I wondered how they managed that in a country where alcohol consumption resulted in severe punishment. I followed the map and found my way to the officer’s club. I was surprised upon entering, as it looked more like a lodge hall than any officers’ club I had seen in the movies. There were tables and chairs, a couple of pool tables, and it was quiet. I noticed people playing board games, and a couple of chess matches were underway, along with some card games. There was even a TV lounge where someone had a pre-recorded baseball game playing. I was about to leave when an officer, another Major, approached me and greeted me by name. I was about to wonder how he knew who I was when I remembered that our last names were on our uniforms.
I noticed the name on his uniform was ‘Carroll’ while talking to him. He informed me that he was a Brigade Staff Officer. He said that he was one of the officers who assisted the Commander when I asked what he was responsible for. It turned out that that was exactly what I would be doing as well. I left the officers’ club after getting to know several other officers, and walked around to familiarize myself with the surroundings. I was pleased to see that beside the ‘Camel Inn’, there was a central food court area with several American fast-food chains. I spotted the Arches, KFC, the Whopper, and the Hut. I would be able to get my fix of junk food every so often.
I decided to call it an early evening and head back to my quarters after walking around a little more. I saw a note taped to my door when I arrived. It was from the armorer, asking me to stop by to get my sidearm and orientation at my convenience. I decided to go early the next morning and get it out of the way. I slept well that night and was up early the next day. I went to the ‘Camel Inn’ for a quick breakfast after a shower and a fresh uniform change. Looking over the posted menu, I decided on oatmeal, fresh fruit, and a cup of tea.
I had to ask where to find the armorer and was directed toward the sound of gunfire. It didn’t take long to find the armory. The range was busy, several enlisted personnel were sighting in their rifles, while others were shooting handguns. I asked for the armorer, and a soldier pointed to a small Quonset hut-style building near the range. I went inside and was greeted by a man who looked like he knew John Moses Browning, he looked that old. I told him that I had a note requesting that I come to the armory to get my issued sidearm when he asked what he could do for me. He asked if I had any shooting experience, and I answered, “Some.”
He went into what looked like a cage in the back, and came out with a shoulder holster and a Beretta pistol, the official sidearm of the United States military. He retrieved some forms and began filling them out, copying information from the box and verifying it by examining the handgun. He then asked for my military ID, copied information from it, and handed me the forms to sign. He placed some supplies and ammunition on the counter after I signed, and asked me to follow him out to the range. He explained that I needed to qualify before he could release the pistol to me when I asked why.
Using a pulley system, he attached a human silhouette target and ran it out to the predetermined distance of 30 feet. I had to get five rounds into the chest area to qualify. He loaded a magazine, handed it to me, and I inserted it into the pistol. I put the hearing protection he gave me on, and charged the slide. I wish that I could say my grouping was the size of a quarter, but I’d be lying, the five-round grouping was closer to the size of a coffee cup.
I told the armorer that I had been trained by an FBI shooting instructor when he asked where I learned to shoot. He accepted my explanation and decided not to press further. We went back into the hut where he signed off on the card and handed me my new sidearm, a shoulder holster, a couple of magazines, and a box of fifty rounds. He laughed and warned me to be careful not to shoot myself in the foot as I was leaving. I looked around to see if anyone was actively carrying on the way back, but I didn’t see anyone armed. I put the pistol and extras in the bottom drawer of the dresser once in my quarters, figuring that’s where they would stay until I went home.
I napped and took my meals at the ‘Camel Inn’ for the rest of the day. I wanted to make a favorable impression when I reported for duty in the morning. One thing that I needed to check on was laundry; did I do it myself, or was there a service that handled it? I hadn’t seen anything about laundry in the packet I was given.
I returned to the ‘Camel Inn’ at suppertime, and noticed several senior officers eating together. They all looked at least ten years older than me. I wasn’t sure how the other staff officers would accept me given my rapid rise in rank. As the saying goes ‘In for a penny, in for a pound’. I went over to their table after getting my meal from the salad bar, and asked if I could join them.
I outranked about half of them, but they were all at least ten years older than I was. They introduced themselves, and I did the same. Most commanded army units or served as staff officers at the Brigade level. I told them that I was part of the command staff responsible for intelligence analysis when asked what unit I was with. I noticed the looks that they exchanged and immediately realized that I would have to prove myself to this group.
I noticed that I wasn’t really included during the general conversation at the table, which mostly revolved around family, hometowns, and sports. I decided that I wouldn’t go out of my way to impress them since I didn’t fit in. I did mention that I had only arrived the night before and hadn’t seen anything in the information packet about laundry, so I asked if we did our own.
My question was met with a collective eye roll from most of the men at the table. One officer took pity on me and confirmed that yes, we did our own laundry. I thanked him and quickly finished my meal, then got up, wished everyone a good evening, and walked out.
This group was clearly used to the ‘good ol’ boy’ way of doing things, and it was obvious that I wouldn’t be part of it. I’d have to find or form my own circle of friends. I decided to explore the food court to see what treats they had to satisfy my sweet tooth instead of returning to my quarters.
I saw quite a few men my age as I wandered around, but they were enlisted personnel. The Army has an unwritten rule: enlisted personnel don’t associate with officers, and vice versa. I spotted a table of noncoms around my age and stopped to ask if there was anywhere nearby to get an ice cream cone or sundae. They were friendly and told me there was a Dairy Queen just around the corner from where they were sitting. They assured me that it would have exactly what I was looking for.
I found the DQ, ordered a small sundae, and walked around exploring the food court. I noticed there were soldiers from countries other than the U.S. billeted here this time. I saw officers from France, the UK, and Poland, I think. It was an interesting bunch, for sure.
It was approaching 2100 local time, so I made my way back to my quarters, planning to turn in early. I heard loud shouting from both a male and a female on the way, and it didn’t sound like the female welcomed the attention. I went to see what was going on and came upon a male who had a woman pressed up against the side of a shipping container, and he was clearly accosting her.
I made my presence known, and the male soldier turned toward me and started to take a swing. I was close enough to grab his forearm and used the momentum of his swing to execute a judo throw. He landed on his back, the air knocked out of him.
I began shouting, hoping to attract attention and get security involved. The woman he had assaulted appeared either to be in shock or had briefly lost consciousness; she wasn’t fully aware of her surroundings.
My shouting worked, as a couple of enlisted men carrying sidearms and wearing MP armbands arrived and began assessing the situation.
One of them got on the radio, and several other security personnel arrived in a Humvee shortly after. A Lieutenant among them immediately took charge of the situation and came over to ask what had happened.
I explained that I had been walking back to my quarters from the food court when I heard loud voices, one female, one male. The female voice sounded like she was in distress, and the male voice was aggressive. I had gone over to check on them. That was when the male soldier attacked me, and I put him on his back with a throw.
The female soldier was more coherent by that time, and gave a similar account. She said that she had been walking back to her quarters from the food court when the soldier came out of the dark and accosted her. That was the last thing she remembered until just then.
Two of the MPs restrained the male soldier, placed him in cuffs, and frog-marched him to the Humvee before driving off. The crowd dispersed once the excitement died down, and I returned to my quarters.
I didn’t sleep well that night, replaying the events of the evening in my mind. First, there was the slight from my fellow officers, then came the visit to the food court where I was treated warmly by the enlisted personnel, and finally, there was the confrontation with an out-of-control enlisted soldier.
0500 came sooner than I wanted it to. I slowly made my way out of bed and put on my running pants, T-shirt, and running shoes. I needed a morning run to drain the stress that had been building in my body. Grabbing my room key, I locked the door behind me.
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