Every day new signs of impending war appear. Yesterday all forces poised to attack Iraq were told to switch to Zulu time, an adjustment often imposed before military operations to keep everyone in sync. The announcement sends the chronologically-challenged scurrying in search of an extra wristwatch - 6pm in Kuwait, which is 10am in Washington, will become 3pm Zulu, which reflects Greenwich Mean Time. The clock is ticking.
Tick..tick..tick..
Power shoppers flood the aisles, stockpiling items needed for the Kuwaiti desert and beyond. Soldiers scoop up newly stocked packets of Baby Wipes, a commodity as prized as ammunition. A major holding a box of Tide wonders aloud whether he will be able to hand-wash his laundry in the Euphrates River.
Robert Woodward of the 101st Airborne Division holds up a pair of swimmer's goggles. "I made a key purchase," he says. "My friends who were stationed in Saudi said the army stuff doesn't work very well." Shopping carts at checkout registers suggest a Homeric catalogue of the dusty life to come: flashlight batteries, Ziploc bags, bandanas, orange lightsticks that glow for 12 hours when snapped, spare bath towels, Chapstick, sleeping mats, Vaseline lotion. Subtle psychological changes can be sensed in the camp. Many now hoard toilet paper. Scavenging is rampant. A length of heavy cord lying on the road provokes an interior Socratic dialogue: can I use that? Will it fit in my pack? In the mess hall, soldiers bound for the field gorge themselves on ice-cream and doughnuts, not so much for the culinary pleasure but to stockpile memories. Soldiers pack the camp barber shop for a final buzz cut, aware that every extra millimetre of hair means hassles in the desert. The waiting room television is tuned to CNN coverage of anti-war protesters in Washington. Large issues - Iraqi compliance or deceit, international support or opprobrium - seem curiously distant. Here the focus is war-fighting, field-craft, survival.
Take care, boys.
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