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silverwulf
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Well, this is a post that def. fits within the lines of this group, though the military members may understand it more than some. I know we have alot of Military and former military here, hopefully it will serve the same purpose as the fire related one. I'm sorry in advance for any and all typos and mis spellings
As much as I hate to say it, there were many fun times in Iraq. I feel morbid saying this, but sometimes I enjoyed the combat, the adrenaline coursing through me, the feeling of safety you get from the recoil of a SAW, the weight of your armor.
Nights are the worst, every time I sleep I relive that ambush, feel the recoil of my rifle, the hot sun's rays, the searing metal as it tears through my shoulder. I will never forget the feeling of being shot. Three 7.62 rounds hitting my vest. I feel like I've been hit with a baseball bat as they smash into my SAPI plates, combat, the feeling of taking someone's life. I'm 26, yet feel like an old man for all I've done and seen. People over here say they have it too hard, complain of working a 40 hour week before seeing their loved ones. I would never wish upon anyone the life that I've lived, yet I wonder, how can they say 8 hours a day is too much? My normal week is 80 hours, I don't know when I'll see my family again. A reporter asked one of my buddies "What do you enjoy most about being a combat medic, saving lives, or killing?" That heartless bastard. I wish just once that fuckin reporter could come on a combat patrol with us, know the feeling of knowing that half the people you see on a daylight patrol will fire at you and kill you in the blink of an eye, know how it feels to be searchign someones house and find a bunch of bombs all armed, ready to be planted to kill your fellow soldiers. One reported commented " but you're armored cav, you guys have armored vehicles". Sure we do, but we are cav scouts, we do patrols on foot, we deploy from our vehicles. Just because we have teh armored vehicles, doesn't mean were allowed to use them. Some of my friends in the 172nd complain of this, they are field artillery, yet the Army didnt bother deploying their cannons, they will be Infantry now. The rules of engagement are so fucked up. " we cannot fire unless actively being fired upon by someone clearly designated as an enemy" to return fire our squad leader has to radio the LT and get permission. We are reminded of this every time we head out. The Major drills the ROIs into our heads, constantly saying " if you see them loading an RPG, setting up a mortar, or placing IEDs, you have to call in to get permission." Our squad leader is more realistic, his policy is do what must be done to ensure the safety of the squad. We have alot of officers, the rank Army is too top heavy, too many people who got promoted in peace time with no knowledge other than what the books say are trying to run the war. They dont seem to realise, our enemies dont play by the rules laid out in the books.
My last combat...
We'd had six hours of free time, and were on duty as the QRF trucks, trucks loaded and ready to roll. The radios came to life, the first patrol was ambushed, grab your battle rattle and kick it. I'm assigned to a humvee with a MK-19 mounted and a full crew and riding behind our driver, Cpl Williams. My rifle is pointed out the window, waiting for my targets.
We're the second truck on line, the CtC is two trucks back. We hear on the radio that two bradleys are enroute, it's a bad one. We're streets away, the ambushers have set up roadblocks and we push the cars aside. Rifle fire to the rear, lead truck just took two RPGs, they are on the roofs, we all direct fire topside, the truck shudders as the '19 hammers away. Our driver and gunner stay with the truck while we advance on the first humvee. I'm knocked on my face as a round hits the back of my vest, it feels like a kidney punch as Nick yells "Thump, you good bro?" I hollar out "Five-by" and we crawl up to the truck. It's a mess, blood everywhere, how could anyone be alive? Ever so faintly there's movement. we have a survivor. we are cutting away his vest to get him out of the vehicle. His gear is all tangled up, it looks like his face has just melted away from the explosion. All through the ordeal he is eerily quiet. We finally have him freed, time to move him out of the vehicle. The bullets are virtually raining on the humvee as we get ready to move. He has shifted just a little bit, and is now screaming constantly. He yells for us to move, to get him cover, to get him a vest. He was two years into college when he came over here, he was always talking about his basketball scholarship, and how proud his wife is of all the awards he's gotten. The whizzing sound of the rounds going by snaps me back, we are hustling to the command and control truck, it has the most armo. There's a courtyard on our left, a four foot wall around it. I see the tip of an AK poking around the wall, and gently let go of his legs, leaving my partner to drag him by the collar. Move up fast, side approach, turn, snap shoot... four rounds into the chest of a boy who couldn't be more than 15 years old... I return to the lead humvee, covered in blood as we pull out the bodies, a man approaches like he has information then starts gesturing to the boy, that body is his son. He draws a pistol, points it at me as our driver fires up a salve of rounds. I'm spattered with the fathers blood, the roofs are mostly clear, they've dropped back to reload, the bodies are loaded. We're about to roll, I'm standing beside the truck checking mags as an RPG comes screaming in.
I don't remember the explosion. I came to with Doc kneeling over me, all I can see in my left eye is red, and I can't move my legs. Doc gives morphine, they load me on a backboard, the blast threw me onto a wall, it must have been bad, my SAPI is broken, my shirt and vest are burned, my left side is bloody, slowly the shock wears off, I can't describe the pain, I can feel where the hot metal ripped into my shoulder and leg. They take me to a clearing where the Hawk evacs me and the bodies, the flight medic gives me one look and orders my armor removed. She removes her armor and takes off a fleece vest. This is put under my head and shoulder. The pain is really bad now, I'm biting the vest to keep from screaming, the medic warns me not to try to move my leg, she begins bandaging me, at this point the pain is too much and I pass out.
~had to split the post, three pages is too much for a firelink post~
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silverwulf
394 posts
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I relive this nightmare two to three times a week, sometimes more. I saw a therapist at the VA, she said that " your behavior seems suicidal, you almost get killed in Iraq, and now you are a fire-fighter? it appears to me that you have no concern or value for your life" She suggests I talk to people to get it out, to stop the nightmares. This is a woman who has seen no combat, and has no idea the hell we went through, she hides behind a desk, and tells us whats wrong with us, what she says must be right because that's what the books say. The doctors try to tell me how I feel and why I do what I do. " You don't talk to anybody about your army experiences because youre afraid to let people get close" That may be partially true, but, well, it's also who the person is. just as in fire fighting, no civilian, no matter how close to you they are, will ever fully understand what you go through, the hells that youve seen, or how hard it is to deal with.
I know this post isnt really fire related, but since we have some military here, perhaps they can help. The scenario is kind of the same though, seeing and doing stuff you cant talk to anyone else about. It leaves you wondering, do people notice when I "blank-out"? Do they wonder why if I ride in a vehicle I get jittery, and nervous in cities where people come near the vehicle? Will my friends ask about the war, and if so, how do I tell them? What do I say to the little kid who doesn't grasp the seriousness of the question he just asked " did you kill anybody?" I shake at night, jump at loud or sudden noises, miss the feeling of my armor and my SAW. When do these feelings end? When do I stop viewing everyone one as a potential target, a threat? I dont like people that litter. I used to pick up after them when needed. I know people dont plant IED's here, yet I'm still nervous to pick up a can, move a tire. I miss being the young care free kid. I miss being able to be around people and not be constantly scanning the surroundings, looking for places an ambush is likely to come from. When Igo camping that's how I pick my camp site, every site I set up at is easily defendable, and it doesnt need to be. I know theres not going to be people attacking, yet its habit, I think about it, plan for it. When do these feelings go away? When can I have a "normal" life again? Some of my Army buddies and I joke about it, we even had a few different unit Tshirts " Dont suffer from PTSD... Cause it!" " Spring break Iraq... while you were chillin we were killin" "US Army School of Warfare, Iraq campus" . They arent shirts you wear in public, people don't understand. People see those shirts and think " oh, that persons a sadistic bastard who loves to kill. I have a shirt with the Combat Infantry Badge on it, and the words " Combat Infantry, Combat Proven". The last time Iwore it in public a woman came up to me and said " well I hope youre proud of yourself" and stormed off.I don't wish the combat lifestyle on anyone, but Ifeel before complaing about our military people should serve, One of the guys at the station lost his son in Iraq, and proudly wears a patch on his nylon jacket " My son died in Iraq so yours could party in college". In a lot of the pictures from over there, we are smiling. We are in a hot dusty dirty shit hole being shot at, and smiling and laughing. Sometimes the only way to get through something is to find things to laugh at, or make jokes about crap thats not really funny, the laughing relaxes people, makes us more comfortable. How do you explain that? A civilian would find it morbid that after a fire fight we can break into jokes, horseplay. We all feel the same way after the first time we know we've killed someone, there's no way to describe it, you kind of blank, the reality kicks in, and you get back to work, but it haunts you. You know the kid who just shot his rifle and hit a person for teh first time in his life wants to talk about it, but no one will. You dont have the time, you cant afford to get emotional. You have a job to do, talking wont happen, you live with it in the back of your mind, you will think you've totally forgotten it, and then one day you will be sitting at home, doing something, and all of a sudden it will jump to the front of your mind. I had been home a few weeks when I drove to NH. I stopped to get gas in NJ. it is illegal to pump your own gas. it was an arab owned gas station. A man in a turban came up to my vehicle, and approached the window. I was shaking, I was looking for my rifle but it wasnt there " where's my gun? Does he have a rifle or a bomb?" I drove off, never even got the gas, I couldnt deal with the situation. I've been asked " well dont you feel bad for the people you've killed or injured" I answer honestly, " I did my job, it was them or me and my squad, we did what had to be done, and if the situation occurred again, I would do it again" They shudder, make foul faces, tell me I'm morbid, a horrible person. They dont seem to know or care what you have to do to stay alive. " Oh, we shouldnt be there, you should leave" They don't know it, but the threat is real, there are people over here who will kill us, who want to wipe the US off the face of the earth.
When I first came back I went to an elementary school with my battle buddy, we were going to surprise his son, when one of the kids asked what may be the hardest question to answer" What did you do in Iraq". We went without rations because we gave our MRE's away. We chased away and eliminated thugs and gangsters who were harassing people. We gave kids soccer balls, introduced them to sports, made them smile. Then you remember, all he knows about the war is whats he's seen on TV and heard from his parents. He hasnt seen the way Doc would go without sleep so he could help out the civilian doctors at the hospital, the way we would give the local kids the candy our families mailed, and try to teach them games.
I have friends in the Army that I went to Iraq with. we rarely talk anymore, but we all know we are the closest friends any of us will ever have, the only ones who can be talked to about anything, and fully understand.
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