The Gulf War: The Storm that Shook the Desert

Mike Erwin, founder of Team RWB and John Brouse

It was fast, furious, and unforgettable. The Gulf War defined a new era of combat and left its mark on everyone who lived it. Commanding General and Vietnam Veteran “Stormin’ Norman” Schwarzkopf was bold in his approach, leading American ground forces with a campaign of overwhelming force—a stark departure from the tactics used in Vietnam.

This wasn’t just war—it was a battle of resolve, strategy, and grit. Its echoes still ripple through today’s geopolitics, military tactics, and the lives of all who served. Among them was John Brouse, a young mechanic with the Pennsylvania National Guard, who received the call that would change his life forever.

Here’s his story, in his words.

I remember getting the message on the answering machine: “Hey, this is the armory. It’s an emergency call.”

I called back and found out we’d been put on federal activation. I had to report for a meeting. We were the first Philadelphia-based National Guard unit called up for the Persian Gulf. At that time, it was before they even mentioned Desert Shield or Desert Storm.

I knew when I signed up that something like this could happen. I was very proud to serve, but it was a completely different dynamic. Command told us, “Go to your employer, tell them you’ll be gone for a year.” I was 25, had a young family, and had just bought a house, but I knew it was time to step up and do my job.

As Brouse left his home that day, the full weight of the moment not yet realized, a fortuitous encounter occurred. One moment I’ll never forget was when I was leaving my house, duffel bag in hand, ready to go. We lived in a small Philadelphia neighborhood where everybody knew everybody.

I remember a station wagon coming to a screeching halt. A man got out, looked at me, and asked, “Are you going over there?”

I said, “Yes.”

He started crying, hugged me, and said, “I was you back in 1968, going to Vietnam.”

That was such a powerful moment— I felt frozen in time. It happened right at an intersection. Nobody honked. He just hugged me. At the time, I didn’t fully understand the depth of what I was stepping into.

When we deployed, they had so many flights heading over that the government hired outside vendors. We flew out of McGuire Air Force Base in New Jersey on Hawaiian Airlines. Picture a plane full of soldiers in fatigues, armed with M-16s, surrounded by Hawaiian-themed decorations. They played Hawaiian movies the entire flight. I remember thinking, “Somebody owes me a trip to Hawaii after all this!”

We flew from New Jersey to Bangor, Maine, then to Brussels, Italy, and finally landed at a desert airstrip in the middle of nowhere. Stepping off that plane, the wall of heat hit us hard. It was December back in New Jersey—cold and snowy—so the contrast was surreal.

Our unit got split up when we arrived. Some of us, including me, stayed at the port to work on our equipment, which had been staged in New Jersey for months. 

Many vehicles had flat tires, dead batteries, and wouldn’t start. We worked tirelessly, fixing everything while the rest of the unit was out in the desert. We stayed for about eight months—long enough for me to make it home just in time for my son’s birth. We went through Desert Shield, Desert Storm, and the cease-fire campaign.

When asked about the most impactful moments of the deployment, John shared those that still touch him even today, more than 30 years later.

One vivid memory I have is sitting on the hood of a 915 tractor at night after a long day of work. I’d heat a can of Campbell’s soup on the truck’s exhaust manifold and sit there eating, staring at the clearest night sky I’d ever seen. The stars were incredible. Amid all the chaos, it was a peaceful moment—a chance to reflect. 

I remember when Kuwait was liberated. A little girl ran up to me. I got down on my knees, and she kissed the American flag on my uniform. People can talk about it, or you can read books about what happened, but you don’t really understand the depth until years later. We were just faces in the crowd, but we helped liberate a country. Words can’t even explain it. It’s a feeling I’ll never forget.

There was a guy in Kuwait City, and he got down on his hands and knees, praising us. I was just an Army mechanic. There were four other guys with me, and I said, “What’s this guy doing?”

Another man walked by and said, “He’s thanking you for what you did.” I thought, “All I did was fix trucks.” The man, who was Turkish and could speak English, explained that when the Iraqis invaded, they went into the tile place where this guy worked. They would randomly pick people and execute them. This man survived.

You look at yourself and what you do—just normal, everyday people, nothing special. But we did our part. It was something so much bigger than the rest of us. Those memories stick with me, and the importance of it all. 

It was challenging, to say the least. You had the heat, and the sand was like talcum powder, not like the gritty sand we’re used to here. Our truck air filters would clog constantly. We couldn’t get replacements fast enough. Our motor sergeant came up with an idea: “Write home to your wives and ask for pantyhose.” We’d stretch pantyhose over the air filters, and when the sand built up, we’d shake them off and reuse them. We did what we had to do to keep those trucks running. 

Brouse’s best memories overseas were encapsulated by a feeling of complete camaraderie, rooted in an environment where everyone was working towards a greater goal.

The biggest thing I miss about being over there is how everyone—Caucasians, African Americans, Asians, Puerto Ricans—worked toward a common goal. Your life depended on the person next to you, and vice versa. It was beautiful. It wasn’t just America’s finest moment; it was humanity’s.

I remember when we redeployed we landed at McGuire Air Force Base. I ran down the steps and got on my hands and knees, kissing the ground. I love this country with all my heart. There’s no other place like it.

When I got out of the military, my family encouraged me to get out there and meet people. When you demobilize, you put your gear away, return to your civilian job, and try to fit back in—but you’ve changed. I was diagnosed with PTSD and anxiety. My family pushed me to connect with other veterans.

I found Team RWB online and went to an event at Drexel University. My son said he’d go with me, but he got stuck at work. I almost didn’t go, but he finally convinced me.

John Brouse carrying the flag during the Old Glory Relay.

At the event, two people wearing RWB shirts greeted me by name and hugged me. That moment took the edge off. I felt accepted, safe, and understood.

Talking to other veterans about how it’s okay not to be okay has been so impactful. Joining Team RWB has helped so much. I can’t do a lot of physical activities, but I go to events when I can. I even tried a yoga class. Over time, I’ve made more friends. I’m now an Eagle Leader with Team RWB, and it’s been so rewarding.

I was at an event at Valley Forge, they said we’d walk five miles. I thought, “Good Lord, I’m going to need oxygen.” Someone said, “If you can’t make it, we’ll walk you back to your car.”

We started walking, talking about life, family, and everything in between. Before I knew it, someone said, “We’re done.”

That’s what I tell people—you’re never holding anyone back. If you can’t make it, someone will walk with you. It’s one hand washing the other. It’s really good stuff.

The Team RWB Gulf War Chocolate Chipper isn’t just a challenge; it’s a salute to the grit, sacrifice, and relentless spirit of those who served during the Persian Gulf War.

Every rep is a tribute, every kilometer a story, every drop of sweat a promise: We remember. We honor. We continue.