CHAPTER THREE

From the first they told us we will be deploying, time seemed to just fly. We started a lot of training at the Hood, and did a month at Fort Irwin, Ca. That trained us in all areas of combat, war games helps in many ways to prepare you. But knowing if you are killed in the game, you just get recycled and start over. Being my first deployment saying goodbye was pretty hard, and very trying. And having young children also makes it difficult, because the really don’t understand where mom or dad is going. When we say goodbye it has a different meaning, which can really mean goodbye, for good.

We were gathered at Iron Horse gym spending our last minuets together before saying our goodbyes to our families, and loading up on the buses.  I was sitting with Tammy in the bleachers, and the kids were running around on the court playing with the other children. Tammy turned to me and said “what are the chances of going to war”, trying her best to remind me of our list we made.  We both gave out a little chuckle; I kissed her and the kids. And started walking to the bus, I yelled to them “I’ll see you later, I love you” I turned and walked to the bus. Tammy and I agreed we would never say goodbye to each other, it’s always “I’ll see you later” I have said that to my family 6 times.

In March, 2004 we stepped off the jet at Kuwait international airport, we were greeted by the smell of oil refineries, we boarded buses that looked and felt like it was made for people about 4’ tall, very small, and very uncomfortable in full battle rattle, and carrying your weapon. Kuwait traffic lights, speed limits, and signs seem to be just a suggestion to them. To them the speed limit is go fast as you can and hope no one gets in the way.  I have seen some very horrific traffic accidents there.

 We spent the next 2-3weeks training on customs, weapons, first Aid, and basic soldering. I do seem to remember all the training we did receive back in the states changed once we arrived in Kuwait. It is always changing, bad guy do something, we change to counter it, and they change to counter us.  When all the training was done we began to prepare for out drive into Iraq.

 I was assigned to drive a PLS with a cook sitting in the passenger seat, she seemed to sleep 80% of the trip, and really didn’t seems too concerned we were in a combat zone.  As I was driving I was continually dumping bottles of water on my head to stay cool, and to keep me awake. And every now and then I would hit a pot hole to wake up my attentive passenger.  The only armor we had on the vehicle was pieces of flat iron with hooks they welded together by our mechanics, which would be hung on the doors, we also placed sand bags on the floor boards to protect us for land mines. It was the worse drive I have ever done in my life, even worse than the drive from Fort Irwin, California to Fort Hood, Texas with the family, but at least I had the kids fighting to keep me awake. In Iraq it was just hundreds of miles of sand, now and then you would spot goat headers, with about 2-300 goats in tow.

 The first day we drove for about 13-15 hours hard to remember (was 6 years ago). We stopped at an outpost called NAVSTAR which was located on the Kuwait/Iraqi border.  There we ate relaxed and slept, this is also where a friend of mine and I got with our Chaplin and received communion. That night the medics were walking around passing out sleeping pills (ambient). The little white pill I would come to know for a very long time.  And when they woke us up the next morning, there they were again passing out pills to keep us awake. That morning we began our trip in to the Iraqi desert heading to Baghdad, we arrived there late in the afternoon. Baghdad seemed to just pop out of the sand, green trees everywhere, people walking around, and lots of vehicle traffic. To me it seemed like there was no war going on at all, but that was going to soon change.

FOB Steel Dragon was located in the Green Zone where we were heading; this would be our home for the next 12 months, well 10 months for me.  The FOB sat in the shadow of what we called the Tomahawk Building. It was hit with 2 tomahawk missiles and was big on the news. My company was packed into what we were told was servant quarters.  We made make shift rooms inside the building. And we had 1 shower with 2 settings, Hot in the summer, cold in the winter.

The war became real with our first mortar attack; it is hard to put in writing the sounds of exploding mortar rounds.  They would shoot and scoot, not staying around long enough for us to find them. But now and then we would get lucky and find the not so smart insurgents. During my following deployments I found out that a lot of the attacks made on us were regular people. They have no money to support themselves or families. And here comes Mr. Insurgents “I’ll give you $50 to throw this hand grenade at that convoy “or “If you don’t set off this VBIED, we will kill your family” Which tells me that the so called insurants were cowards, and afraid to do their own biding.

But the worst thing was the VBIEDs (Vehicle Born Improvised Explosive Device) and SVBIEDs (Suicide Vehicle-Borne Improvised Explosive Device) attacks that would hit the checks points, and smaller FOBs a lot. There was two major check points the lead into the green zone, CP2 which our building was close to, and CP1 which was called assassins gate. The sound of a car bomb is indescribable; it is an assault on all your senses.   I recall responding to a VBIED attack once to set up concrete barriers around the sight, the destruction was the most horrible thing I have ever seen.  There was a hole in the street that must have been 9-10 feet deep, and there were cars on top of buildings. I hated the feeling I would get when I drove up on an attack sites, looking around and walking in an area where people were killed.  Knowing that these innocent  people, men,  women and children were just shopping, or just sitting in their cars moving with traffic, and then in a split second gone. Seeing what one person can do to thousands is just mind boggling.

During OIF 2 IEDs (Improvised Explosive Device) were far and few between we hardly heard of them, now and then someone was hit, or there was talk about Daisy Chain IEDs. We did a lot of fuel missions, running from the FOB to BIAP (Baghdad international Airport) where there was a fuel farm set up. 60-70 MPH down route Irish trying to get there as fast as possible, getting hit with an empty 5000 gallon fuel  tank is worse the a full one, with all the space and fumes that remain in a empty tank, makes for a bad combination.

We did a lot of barrier mission, throughout Bagdad, for the elections and anything else that may be going on. One time we were dismounted in a not so great part of town (not that there was a good) setting up traffic barriers.  When the set up happens some of us are assigned as dismounts to provide security for our workers. I was standing outside a masque, and then 5pm hit and the prayer started.  It was the most eerie thing standing there listening to the prayer blare over huge loud speakers. Another big part of our missions was to pick up supplies from the airfield that was brought in by Chinooks; these missions were always late at night.  It would range from 1-3 PLS, and a forklift.  The airfield was inside the green zone, so we were not required to have security.  The Bird would land, and open up the rear doors, and slid the supplies out on Air Force pallets.  The forklift would drive under the spinning blades and line the forks with the rear door; the crew would then slide the pallet onto the forks.  We would then load them on our PLS and head back to the FOB. One mission I was in charge of, we just arrived on the FOB the Load shifted and was about to fall off the truck.  I told driver to follow me, and I took him up a one way street on the FOB. We were able to get the truck to the motor pool, and unload the supply without them falling off.  Then here comes our CSM (Command Sergeant Major) who started to chew my butt out because I took the trucks up the one-way street.  Now remember this is a night mission, it was close to 2am, and we were the only trucks moving on the FOB. So I took the butt chewing gave him a “Roger CSM will not happen again” and moved out. Its mind boggling, how people don’t care about the situation, or why you did it. There seems to be a lot of people in the military who don’t like soldiers who make decisions on the own. And then in the morning had to explain 100 times to 100 people why I went down the one-way street. Which was “I didn’t want to have the stuff fall off on the main narrow road people use”. So in short, I took the lesser of two evils, knowing if the load fell off on the main road, I would have been in more trouble, then driving up a one-way street.

People deal with situations different than others, so even though they are wrong and know it they will try very hard to make something sound like it’s your fault. And you have people who like to be the center of attention and make sure everyone knows what’s going on, screaming and yelling. I was tasked to get 4 trucks loaded with barriers, and be prepared for roll out. I was able to get the 4 trucks loaded, but made a mistake. I had them load the stuff on the wrong PLS, had a different bumper number, and my Squad came unglued. He was yelling and cussing calling me a shit bag, in front of everyone in the motor pool. The thing with me is if I mess up ill take the blame, no problem but when I’m being yelled at in front of my peers and subordinates I tend to get a little upset. Be professional pull me off to the side and explain, yell, and cuss all you want. I walked up to the SSG and went to parade rest and told him “you want to correct me be a little professional, and talk to me like a man”. Guess he didn’t like this to much because he shoved me back, so at this point I just walked away, with a few choice words, and a middle finger, to defuse the situation, staying there could have lead to something worse. This SSG didn’t realize he was far from being liked by a majority of the soldiers on the FOB. And they came up to me after and were telling me they saw him hit me, and would give sworn statements to what he did. And my platoon sergeant also asked me what I wanted to do. I told her all wanted was an apology and I would let it go. We were on a mission the next day and we both went out of our way to avoided each other. When we finely did meet up and sit down he informed me of a list of charges he could hit me with, which were to say the least a joke. So he told me he will not charge me, and I told him I was happy because I didn’t want to bring him up on assault charges, which was not a joke Charge.  Neater one of us apologized to each other but came to an unspoken agreement.

October came and it was finally my turn for R and R, I was put on mission that morning trying to tell my supervisor I was to leave for R an R that day.  He was telling me it was not till tomorrow, so following orders I went on mission.  When we returned from mission, I saw my Supervisor franticly looking in to the truck cabs of each truck that passed. When he saw me he waved me down, and informed I’m leaving for R and R, and I need to hurry up. Someone was kind enough to pack a bag for me. Yes sir 7 pair of socks, 1 pair of underwear, and a uniform, no hygiene stuff.  But who cared I was going home. I was rushed into a waiting HUMVEE and we left Steel Dragon to BIAP, where I was just returned from the fuel mission.

Going home on R and R can be trying; can take a day to a week to get a flight home. There’s customs, bag searches, and getting tickets. But there was Mc Donald, subway, just tons of fat food stores.

Slept most of the 18 hour flight home. We got off the plane in Dallas, TX. As we were walking through the 2^nd floor of the terminal to were our families were waiting. People that were below us in the food court area, seeing us they started to stand up and clap for us. As we reached the gate there were a ton of people there, clapping and cheering for us, welcoming us home, patting us on the back, thanking us for our service, something that my fellow Combat Veterans that served in Vietnam never receive.  I never like it being called a hero, don’t get me wrong it is great that we are being supported, but for me it’s something I don’t feel comfortable with. To me, my brothers and sisters at arms who came home in a flag draped coffins are the hero’s, and will always be to me. The hero’s are the Vietnam Veterans that were spit on and attacked, called baby killers they are the hero’s. I was ordered in to combat, just like them, but they had to endure so much hate. THEY ARE THE HEROS, THEY ARE MY HEROS.

Once I maneuvered myself through the gauntlet of well wishers, I was nailed by my oldest daughter.  She seemed to come out of nowhere, and the family followed in suit.  Returning home for 2 weeks to your family is indescribable and personal. But I will share with you 1 thing, my wife got a new car and I was dying to drive it. So I got behind the wheel and headed off, after 3 or for trips around the airport trying to find the exit we hit the highway.  And when I say hit the highway I mean it, doing 60-80 MPH ducking and dodging trash, and cars on the side of the road my wife asked me to pull over, well more like told me to pull over and get out of the driver’s seat. You see I didn’t realize I was driving that way, my mind took over and I was in combat driving mode.  I pulled over and walked around the front of the car, and my wife went around the back, opening the trunk and pulling out a little cooler. She got in to the driver’s seat and handed me the cool, “Here just relaxes, and enjoy the ride”, opening the ice chest and looked in and saw a 6 pack of beer. And boy did that 1^st beer tasted so good. The next 2 weeks was a blur, with the coming and going visiting friends and just being a dad, and husband again. And as soon as it started R & R was over. Then it was time for our number two see you later. So I started the long trip back to the middle-east.

I arrived back to the FOB and slid right back into work, dealing with mortars here and car bombs there. We continued to run lot of fuel, barrier missions, and a couple of school supply runs into the city. Then December came, the most depressing time of the year for most deployed solders. Christmas can be a hard time for us, but my unit tried very hard to make it bearable. We had a Christmas party and gift exchange, we had a Santa and Mrs Claus, and boy did we have a Mrs Claus. I remember my 1SG saying “I think it was a bad idea having her dress like that.” Was like Christmas at the Playboy Mansion, I agreed with him but said I would not tell.

So Christmas came and went, and came the night my deployment came to an end. SGT W, PFC D, and I were checking trucks to head out that night for a barrier mission. SGT Wand I was making final checks on the trucks that would be rolling out. PFC D was talking with a female LT that was out there with us. As SGT W and I were walking to one of the trucks to get my body amour, and helmet, PFC D stopped us to ask us some questions, and just BS. PFC D and I were close friends, and this man loved to talk about anything and everything. So in true Sergeant fashion I told him “D, shut the f@#$ up, and let’s get this s*%$ done, I hate being out here at night”, he gave me a roger sergeant. And SGT W and I started to head to the truck with my equipment. Then we heard it, the sound of a rocket being launched from somewhere in the city. Then there was the impact, you hear almost two sounds when a rocket hits that close, the impact of the rocket into the ground, and then the explosion of the rocket.  I remember seeing the fire and sparks, as we were diving for cover, and then we were peppered with falling debris. As I was laying there all I heard was a high pitched ring in my ears, and my right hand was throbbing. At this point we jumped up and ran for cover in a mortar bunker.  PFC D and the LT were already in the bunker when we ran in.  PFC D was telling us how cool we looked diving for cover, something along the line it looked like something out of the movie matrix. After a couple minutes we decided to head into our barracks to get into hard cover.  My right hand was swelling up, and I was unable to move it. After some time I was told to head to the Aid Station, They wrapped it and told me to come back in the morning to take me to the CSH (Combat Support Hospital) for x-rays. Looking back at that night if it was not for PFC D and his love of talking, SGT W, and I would have been where the rocket hit. Which hit on the passenger side of the PLS we were walking to, to get my gear my.

When I arrived to the CSH, I was sent to x-ray, and was seen by the doctor, he asked if I had ever injured that hand before, and told them I don’t think I did.  The x-ray showed that a scafoid bone in my hand had cracked, and that I would have to be sent to Germany for further treatment, and I was to be flown out that day.  I was allowed to head back to my FOB to pack some items, for the trip, and the rest of my equipment would need to be sent home by my unit, if I was not going to return.  I arrived to my unit and told my commander I was being sent to Germany and most likely home.  He asked me before I left to do up a sworn statement so he could type up a purple heart.  Later I was told that the upper command denied me the medal, saying I did not qualify.  I was able to call my wife to tell her I was being sent to Germany, and I was hurt in a rocket attack, which sent her in to a mild panic, after I calmed her down I told her I may have broke my wrist.  Then she said they couldn’t have attacked before Christmas, and this is where my wife and I started using graveyard humor to get through the stress of combat. I said my goodbyes to my friends and coworkers and was on my way to Germany. I was air lifted from the green zone CSH in a Blackhawk, to the hospital in BIOP. Spent about 12 hrs there waiting for a flight out, they brought me to a bed where I could relax and wait. There was a bag on the pillow with some stuff from the states, get well cards and drawings from children. I remember walking around my ward seeing the broken bodies of fellow soldiers, far worse than me, and very hard to see.  I was being care for by an Air Force medic, she was very kind, and helpful. When the time came we were loaded on to an Air Force Jet, I don’t recall the type it was, due to the pain killers, and not being able to sleep, it’s possible it could have been a C-130, or a C-5.

The flight to Germany was uneventful, considering I slept most of the flight.  When we arrived in Germany we were greeted by a General, and a Sergeant Major General, who thanked us for our service, and was offering us there cell phone to call home and let them know, we arrived in Germany. The more severely wounded soldiers were unloaded and placed on a bus first, and the rest of us were then loaded on another bus, and we headed off to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center, for a nice comfortable ride- so we thought. I was sitting in the front seat of the bus, looking out the front window talking with the driver.  Then all of a sudden a car in front of us lost control, and shot across the highway in to oncoming traffic. The bus driver stopped and all of us who was able to, jump off the bus to help. There we were about 4 of us running car to lend aid, there we with arms in slings, on canes and crutches helping injured people.  Blankets were brought to us from the bus, and we were covering the injured to keep them warm, waiting for help to arrive.  I was sitting with an elderly man who was pretty shook up, when the polize (German police) arrived. I laugh thinking what they were thinking when they pulled up seeing a bunch of injured soldiers running around helping.  A Polize officer walked up to me and patted me on the back saying “Thank you, thank you. You must go to your bus”. This shows you how soldiers are, no matter how hurt we may be, we will always help, and that what we also did in Iraq.

We finely made it to the hospital and were checked in and given our billeting where we would be staying till we leave. The doctor I seen did inform me that they were unable to take care of me there and I would have to have care back home. Also the hospital will be shut down for a 5 day weekend for new years. I was looking forward to getting the chance to see Germany, but that was short lived. When I arrived to the billeting we were informed that there were bed checks every night at 2200, and we were unable to go anywhere unless we put in a pass, and even with the pass we would have to be off the streets at 2200. We could not go to any pubs or nightclubs. After we were settled I talked with one of the cadre and asked why all the rules.  He told me a group of soldiers went out one night and started a fight in a club, so that was the reason, fair enough reason I felt.

A group of us older soldiers found a small pizza place, within walking distance, so that’s where we hung out. I have a taste of hyper awareness on New Year’s Eve, well we didn’t know that the Germans shoot off fireworks on New Year’s, well a bottle rocket shot over our heads, and we all dove for cover, another great gift from being in combat.

I was able to see some of Germany, there was a civilian gentleman who worked with the injured soldiers and he did drive me around a bit to see some of the sights. He took me to a real old church in the center of town, and some other normal places a person never being there would like to see. So I was happy to be able to see some sites, and was hoping to get stationed there one day. 

It’s funny the things you see being in the military, and the thinking some people have.  There was this young soldier arguing with one of the cadre about not letting him have a pass for the weekend, and made the mistake of bring me in to the argument. “SGT don’t you think it’s not right he will not give me a pass” he asked me. I asked him “why will he not give u a pass”, the SSG answered “He was caught out in a nightclub, and after curfew”. So I looked at the PVT and said “well if it was not for dick heads like you, there would be no curfew” I ended that really quick, the SSG thanked me.

I was finely cleared to leave Germany and head home. They gave me my ticket and put me on a bus to the airport.  The driver pulled up in front of my terminal, and dropped me off. So there I was left arm in a cast, and a duffel bag over my right. I got in line and when came to the counter I was told they needed to go through my bag.  So the guy grabbed my bag and dumped it out and went through my stuff, when he was done he said I was good to go and walked away.  So I had to repack my duffel with one arm which was pretty slow, a gentleman from the UK asked if I need help and finished packing it for me.

When I finely got to the boarding gate, I asked the lady if she could put me near a window, so that my arm would not be hanging in the isle. She asked me what happened, and I told her the short story of what happened. It was about 2 hrs till my flight, so I parked myself at a bar and started trying different types of German beer before my flight. They called for 1^st Class, and business class passengers to load, so I figured I would wait to be one of the last to board so I didn’t have to fight people to my seat. I finished my beer, and start my way to the gate, as I reached the jet I started to make a right turn and head to the back of the plane; when the lady at the door stopped me leaded me to the business class area.

I was seated in a large leather seat, next to a young Germany lady and was asked if I wanted a drink.  The lady sitting next to me, kept glancing at my casted arm, and seemed afraid to ask me what happened. So when the flight took off I stared to talk to her, and told her I was hurt in Iraq. After that it felt like I have my own nurse with he, I think the only thing I could do in my own was go to the bathroom. She Cut my food up for me and really went out of the way to take care of me along with the flight attendants. We landed in Washington DC and came the long trip to my next flight, in to Dallas. I asked a person at the gate where I had to go and they pointed me to the vehicles that would take me to my next flight. I was sitting on the bus and there where these 3 young men I started to talk to. They were on their way to basic training, 2 Army, and one Marine. They asked me questions about Iraq, and being in the military. I gave them some advice on how to get through basic “Keep your mouth shut”, “and it will be a breeze”.

I arrived at my next flight with minuets to spare, it seems that the person I talked to call ahead and told them I was on my way.  I was seated in 1^st class and again was well taken care if.  I asked how much the beer was and the attended said “for you, nothing”. So I finely arrived in Dallas and couldn’t wait to see my family.