September, 1987.  National Training Center, Ft Irwin Military Reservation, Barstow California…

     The dawn slowly creeps up over the desert mountains, to reveal some 65 men in dusty camouflage uniforms milling about 16 M60A3 Patton series tanks.  Some are checking the tracks with a hammer; tapping every link, listening to the chink, chink, chink sound that signals a good seat on the wedge bolt that connects the tracks.  Others are studying the map, checking ammo, doing a bit of cleaning, or catching a few minutes nap before the long trip ahead.  The tanks are dirty, the men are dirty, the desert is dirty.  25 days of constant training have taken their toll, but all eyes occasionally glance to the front of the column, watching for the signal to mount up.

   As the sun peeps over the horizon, a Captain climbs aboard the lead tank and waves his arm in a circle above his head, giving the signal we have been waiting for.  What was leisurely a moment ago becomes a scramble to secure tools, books, cleaning supplies and to get into each crewman’s respective position on the tank.  I am no different from the rest, and rush to get my drivers compartment in order.  In the first light, sixteen 1200 horsepower twin turbine diesel engines roar to life.  The smell of diesel fumes is everywhere; it cannot be escaped from, and to this day, whenever I smell diesel exhaust, it takes me back to tanks.

     We sit quietly, waiting the order to move.  After the mad dash of a few minutes ago, the waiting is annoying.  20 minutes later, the command comes over radio.  It is one word: “Moving.”  As the tanks in front of me begin their convoy, the Tank Commander comes over the intercom and says “Let’s go…”  With 56 tons of steel, ammunition, and gear around me, moving at the (relatively) breakneck speed of 35 mph, I hear the strains of Stevie Ray Vaughan’s ‘Voodoo Chile (Slight Return)’ coming over the tape player we have hacked into the tank’s intercom.

To this day, whenever I hear that song, it takes me back to that exact moment in time…

Well I stand up next to a mountain....Chop it down with the edge of my hand
Well I stand up next to a mountain....Chop it down with the edge of my hand
Pick up the pieces, make an island....Might even raise a little sand

Cause I'm a voodoo chile....Lord knows I'm a voodoo chile

Remade by Stevie Ray... 

That would be Voodoo Chili...