THE US: The US navy has begun shipping 10,000 men and women to the Gulf. Keith Duggan was in San Diego yesterday to see them off.
All that is missing is the black folding chair with DIRECTOR written on the back. Along the bay in San Diego, the scene is panoramic and strangely familiar. Sunny skies and US Marines tightly hugging their girls and in the backdrop the unfathomable scale of these navy battleships, gun-metal grey and glinting in the morning light.
Some 10,000 people are being shipped out to a place that is spoken of as somewhere vague and somewhere dark. The navy have lain on doughnuts and coffee and so families enjoy a starchy breakfast together and linger on the quay and carry out the time-honoured ritual of tears and fierce hugs and smiles. Except now they exchange e-mail addresses as well.
"I guess I feel happy and sad and quite scared but really, I'm ready to go," says Lieut Amy Olashinde. From New York, she is here with her mother and daughter Alexis and she films them on the camcorder she is taking with her.
"I've been in the navy 14 years but this is my first appointment and I'm going to war so it's fairly stressful. I have friends who were in the Gulf in '92 but I get the feeling that this is more serious. Right now, I think Saddam has everything to lose and he is probably going to use everything he's got in his back pocket, so it's hard to know what to expect."
Some of the marines have boarded their ships early and stand like waving matchstick figures on the decks of the Anchorage, the Pearl Harbour, and the Cleveland. Others hang around on dry land for as long as possible, solemn and quiet, close to their families. In atmosphere it is precisely the opposite of what one might imagine, with no tight military precision or bugle fanfares.
Instead, it is both gentle and grave and the marines and sailors wander on board casually.
Mike Axelson (32) serves in the navy with his wife Patricia.
"Mom goes off to war and Dad stays home," he says, lifting his infant son Tristran.
"Mr Mom. Hey, that's the modern military." He is worried and his wife looks pale and frightened and his thoughts on this evacuation are shaded with doubt.
"You know, September 11, I think, is something that people have forgotten about. A lot of people are protesting this thing. But opinions don't come for free."
Many of those in uniform look impossibly fresh faced; some of them are teenagers who would struggle to lay their hands on a six -pack of beer in San Diego. The most unsettling aspect of the venture is the sheer greyness of it; all they know is that they are going to the Middle East, a hostile desert they have only seen on television.
Unspoken is the basic fear of not coming home.
"God bless my son. God bless my son. Let's have one more hug. Not one last hug," says a mother to her boy, who is wearing camouflage marine fatigues and a floppy hat and who hugs her and says something that makes his girlfriend laugh and who then walks away with little ceremony.
"I think that the jitters go away for the marines when they have been well trained," Col Stuart Knoll explains.
"And this is what we do 365 days of the year and that is why it is so easy to put an operation like this in motion. Most times, we lose individuals through not paying attention to day-to-day details. It's not the fighting - that certainly is a hazard - but we lose more folks through day-to-day jobs so we are really going to be focusing on the details." Knoll has served with the marines in Beirut, Somalia and Bosnia and is the landing force commander for the West Coast.
"Also once in theatre, I am responsible for the transport of the marines. And as far as helicopters, we train all the time. And we are ready to go now. We want to be the country's 911 force. Not nine eleven but the emergency number. When you call us, we are there. It's an exciting time and this is what you train for. We may not do anything over there. We may just go over there and sit for three months." Like many of those leaving San Diego, Knoll sees the voyage as the beginning of a quest to finish something off.
"I certainly think that is the President's desire. I would hate to put words in his mouth, but yes that's how I see it. And for me, it's more personal as I was in the Pentagon the day it got hit. To hear jets breaking the sound barrier over the nation's capital is something I won't forget. It still sends chills down my spine. And wanted to say then that someone has to pay for this. We are not into payback here but I think that if there is a war on terrorism, we are ready to take part in that; we are trained up for that."
That "if" still hangs in the air like a forlorn hope but most of those are expecting to participate in some form of war. The geography of precisely where is unclear and the historical nuances are not the concerns of these people. It's tied up in oil and September 11th and the Bush administration and ancient national entanglements which meant nothing to them. Until now.
"I think Bush is different than his father," says Amy Olashinde, "in that he is a guy who really believes in finishing things off."
The taxi from the Naval Base is driven by Ira Kelmon, a native of Afghanistan. He left the country because of the Taliban and moved to America six months before September 11th. He supported the American invasion and believes at least his family and friends have an opportunity to have a normal life again.
And although he is behind this new US drive, he is not all that concerned about it. After all, it is heavenly out and people are eating lunch on the pavements and everywhere there are banners for the Superbowl.
Wartime does not stretch beyond the wire fence of the San Diego Naval Base.