THE STREAKING BEAM OF LIGHTS

Walid Zumblatt’s Druze militia began the offensive with a barrage of 105 howitzers. The sound would cascade through the valley above the Beirut airport. The Lebanese civil war had been going on for over ten years. The destruction to the once beautiful city was immeasurable. 

Before the war, Lebanon was multi-sectarian. Sunni Muslims and Christians were the majorities in the coastal cities, Shia Muslims were mainly based in the south, and the Beqaa Valley to the east. The mountain populations were primarily Druze. Before 1975, Beirut was known as the middle east Paris, with most of its banking system's oil financial transactions moving through the cities banking system. 

This multi-sectarian cooperation and peaceful coexistence would start to fray in 1970. King Hussein would expel over 6000 PLO fighters from his country of Jordan. The Palestinians attempted a coup on the monarchy and were removed from the country once defeated. The PLO was displaced throughout the region, primarily to Lebanon, where they established a state within a state. This would set the stage for a 15-year civil war, plunging the country into anarchy, destruction, and death. 

As the Druze militia consolidated its positions in the Chouf District, the mountainous area above the Beirut airport, the Marines were treated with the spectacle of artillery, rockets, and nightly illumination rounds lighting up the area like a 4th of July grand finale.

After the massacre in the PLO refugee camps of Sabra and Shalita, the Marines were deployed to Beirut International Airport to provide a semblance of peace to the area. Peace would not come to Lebanon for another 13 years. 

In early 1982, the multinational peacekeeping force of Italian paratroopers, French legionnaires, and U.S. Marines deployed to Lebanon didn't have a "Dog in the fight" and remained external to the savagery. Because of this passive scenario, the Marines were based at the airport in tents—no need to deploy sandbags, fighting positions, and guns emplacements. Hell, we were a peacekeeping contingent.

Christmas Eve, 1982 presented us with a sideshow. The Druzes began an early assault. The quiet mountain area was reanimated with high explosive rounds. Walid Zumblatt was hammering the PLO. Goose, my copilot, and friend decided to celebrate the blowout by pulling up our lawn chairs and watching the eruptions. The spectacle was not unlike Bruce Willis or Bradley Cooper's battlefield porn. The earth tremored. 

With each explosive blast, Goose would break into a chorus of “I’ll be home for Christmas.” Whenever I hear that yuletide song, I flashback to our yard party in what later became a shithole called Beirut. 

Goose and I continued to watch the streaking beam of lights as the rockets were launched from the PLO area, followed by heavy artillery fire from the Druze position. For over 2 hours, Zumblatt's artillery shelled the houses of their enemy. The heavy rocket counterattack continued for over an hour, providing a crazy light show.   

As suddenly as the barrage began, it stopped. The valley was quiet. We shrugged our shoulders and looked at each other in amusement. The only sound left was Goose and me harmonizing, “I’ll be home for Christmas.”