The midsummer heat reflected off the flightline at Seymour Johnson Air Force Base in North Carolina. It was the summer of 1990 and the beginning of Operation Desert Shield. The entire base was in full deployment mode, with planes forming a long line for departure, sequenced by priority. I climbed the ladder into the second airplane and handed a briefcase full of cash and checks to the noncommissioned officer.

It was reminiscent of an old gangster movie payoff scene, with the cash neatly stacked and bound by rubber bands. I also showed the young airmen a small metal safe, crammed in with the deployment gear, where they could store the money.

As I exited the plane, I understood for the first time the significance of my wartime mission as the base chief financial officer.

My job included assembling a small cadre of financial troops. Once our team landed in Saudi Arabia, their tasks ranged from tracking and funding the daily costs of the war to paying the troops.

They worked 12-hour days, cashing personal checks, purchasing local goods and services, and balancing the books. They also worked with the contracting team to buy fresh food, portable showers, and construction support.

In the days before online banking, cashing personal checks was a daunting challenge for deployed airmen and their families. As troops cashed checks, their spouses drew from the same accounts back home, making an accurate cash balance nearly impossible to maintain. This led to confusion and, more critically, overdrawn accounts.

At the time, my first officer was a young female lieutenant who was legally responsible for our base’s financial account. But local restrictions on women conducting business with men meant a male junior noncommissioned officer discussed contract terms with local vendors over cups of tea while the female lieutenant could only observe and occasionally nod in agreement.

To complete a transaction, she counted out the cash payment to her male assistant, who in turn recounted the money before handing it to a local merchant. The Saudi men simply wouldn’t accept payments from a woman.

Our systems were somewhat antiquated back then, and tracking operational expenditures against our installation budget was dicey at best. The deployed finance team boxed dozens of vouchers each week and mailed them back to the states, where we sorted through pay stubs and invoices, oftentimes months after the money was spent.

I often felt as though I was juggling a dozen balls in the air, trying desperately not to violate any appropriation laws and guidelines while ensuring our base checkbook remained solvent.

Fortunately, the war was relatively short; however, the intensity of financial support continued after the war ended. As troops began returning home, our finance teams met each arriving aircraft. If we were lucky, we snagged our base members to ensure their overseas pay entitlements were discontinued and avoid overpayments before they left with their families.

Even as the base began settling back into normal training operations, the war-related financial demands rolled on. We replaced used equipment and repaired damaged gear. We restocked aircraft munitions and parts and replenished supply inventories.

My experience echoed that of Syracusan general Hermocrates circa 400 B.C.: “[Carthaginians] have abundance of gold and silver, and these make war, like other things, go smoothly.”

Operation Desert Shield/Storm was an overwhelming success and marked the first major U.S. war since Vietnam. Matching airpower with resources and financial support was an intense yet rewarding experience.

I had assumed it was a once-in-a-career opportunity to defend our country during war — I was mistaken.

Ten years later, I was a senior colonel at Langley Air Force Base, Virginia, serving as the chief financial leader for Air Combat Command. I was in the base gym playing basketball when my assistant said I needed to come to the office immediately. I had been summoned to the commander’s conference room, where we were briefed on the beginning of Operation Iraqi Freedom.

The colonel commander I served with at Seymour Johnson Air Force Base during Operation Desert Storm was now the commander of ACC as a four-star general. Once again, we would support a major war together, albeit on a much larger scale. This time, I would be responsible for ensuring financial support for the war by directing operations from 14 major bases.

Like my previous war experience at a single base, quickly scrambling finance teams to myriad overseas locations was an around-the-clock operation. And the challenge of ensuring the tight linkage between war and money was multiplied exponentially.

Dozens of deployed finance offices were established in the Middle East and at Diego Garcia in the Indian Ocean. Tracking purchases at these deployed locations became an enormous challenge as financial documents were boxed and mailed to a single command location at Shaw Air Force Base, South Carolina, for processing. I once visited and was shocked to see boxed financial documents stacked to the ceiling.

Deployed finance offices also supplied currency to the base exchange service, but there were weight restrictions, and we had to reserve the allotment for high-priority cargo. Consequently, we could not provide coins.

To solve this problem, we worked with the Army & Air Force Exchange Service to use “pogs,” which were thin cardstock cutouts of coins in 5¢, 10¢, and 25¢ denominations to use as change. Technically, pogs were considered gift certificates that were redeemable at any base exchange.

They featured pictures of fighter jets, tanks, historical figures, and military insignia. Pogs were used during Operation Iraqi Freedom and have now become collector’s items.

In addition to maintaining supplies and salaries, money could help bolster spirits.

As any commander or first sergeant can attest, maintaining high morale is integral to a ready fighting force. Seemingly routine actions like troop pay became especially important as financial teams updated pay accounts for promotions and hostile pay entitlements, allowing troops to see the financial rewards of their hard work. Our mantra was, “Troops take care of fighting the war; we take care of their pay.”

But our work wasn’t limited to pay stubs. We once bought sumo wrestling suits! During the initial troop buildup, our forces were on hold, waiting for the order to attack.

So when the troops were not training, local commanders sought opportunities for them to blow off steam and have fun.

Sumo wrestling, a troop favorite, featured large, bulky costumes that resembled the “Michelin Man” commercial. The objective was to put two opponents in a ring and have them bounce off each other until one tumbled.

But benefits could also stir interbranch sensitivities.

A bomber commander asked me about the fiscal legalities of providing free haircuts and free Stars and Stripes newspapers for his deployed airmen at Diego Garcia. The Air Force shared the remote location with the Navy, whose sailors were afforded these benefits free of charge. The commander said the perceived double standard had become a real morale issue.

I elevated the issue to the lawyers at the Pentagon, but we couldn’t change it. At the time, Navy regulations allowed sailors to receive those services gratis while they were at sea; the Air Force did not offer similar benefits.

Today, as U.S. forces are once again engaged in hostilities abroad, defense financial officials are juggling accounts to fund a war while supporting the troops. Once again, military lethality is proving to be closely tied with strong financial support.

During my 40-year career, I served in the Air Force from the Vietnam War through Operation Iraqi Freedom. I had a bird’s- eye view on how money and war are inextricably linked. As Milanese commander Gian Giacomo Trivulzio told King Louis XII: “To carry on war, three things are necessary: money, money, and yet more money.”

This Reflection from The War Horse was edited by Kim Vo, fact-checked by Jess Rohan, and copy-edited by Mollie Turnbull.