Fourth of July, 2007
This holiday is really fucking me up. I worked late... I was closing manager and I made my small staff of
four servers all close together... pissing off two of them. But at the end I had the last one leave everything
undone so that she could just leave and get to her kid. It is fourth of july and kids love fireworks. She was
thankful and she hurried out with daylight fading in the sky. I had another thirty minutes, at least, of work. I
thought my girlfriend (now ex) was going to be with friends in Portland. She called and she was alone. I
was hustling to get out... but then she said she was in Salem... forty five minutes south of me. No way I'd
make it before the fireworks were finished. So I stopped and closed down the right way, counting money
and such, wishing her a good night and fun at the fireworks.
Walking across the parking lot, empty and dark, the sound of gunfire was all around me. I could hear
AK-47s rat a tat tat off to my right. Pop flares went up beyond the treeline in front of me. Mortars were
going off behind me. All was deserted and quiet, save for gunfire, and I was alone and in the open. I told
myself as I walked across the parking lot that it was all fucking firework for god's sake... fuck... just
fucking relax already. Shit! Get your fucking mind in the here and now. Where the fuck was all this shit
coming from? I wasn't this fucking jumpy in Iraq with real fucking mortars and bullets... so why the fuck
am I so goddamn jumpy now?
When my girlfriend and I had returned to her apartment in Keizer after going to the gardens today, a
neighbor's kid set off three fireworks that sounded just like a rifle. I jumped five feet to my right in a half
spin. In midair I knew I was had and shouldn't have jumped... but fuck... reflexes are faster than I can think.
Emotions right now are raw and on the surface. I am volatile. I am sorrowful. I am angry. I am paranoid.
I want to grab my pistol for some sense of safety. I don't. I tell myself that I must weather this storm and
master this.
I got an email from my girlfriend (ex now). Her phone bill is hella expensive from the past month. I call
and text a lot. She is just bringing it to my attention and is not being spiteful... but in my fucked up state of
rifle fire and mortars around me, I take it emotionally as a never call again sign. I know this is not what it
is. I'll just have to weather this storm out for the next week while people fire off their stashes of fireworks.
Walking from the truck to my apartment tonight some fireworks had that deep, low, sound of a rifle... not
the high pop sound of a firecracker. They even sound different. I cursed... not knowing if I was cursing
the people that shot the fireworks or my self. I hope myself.
I hate missing this holiday. Shit. I am not the best at communicating with friends and family. I left my
family in Arkansas/Mississippi and I don't keep good contact with the friends I do have. Yet as I turn on
the t.v. and see images of fireworks in Portland and NYC, I see families gathered together... kids with
parents... and I smile. That's what it's all about... right there... those kids with their parents. I'll work every
fourth of july as long as I can get the parents that work with me to be able to be with their kids for the
fireworks. I'll miss them. If I can't be with loved ones... hopefully somebody can.
The Star Spangled Banner plays on the t.v. It is moving.
FUCK! That one was right across the street! mother fuckers.
A couple of more days....
breath.
Yesterday a crusty veteran came in. I saw the Eagle Globe and Anchor on his hat. Marine. I introduced
myself to him. He was a crusty salt by the time Vietnam came, but he served. We had a connection,
though we didn't have to say many words about certain things... we both recognized it in each other. At
the end I shook his hand with both hands and looked him deep in his eyes and say "welcome home sir".
It never fails that when I see a Vietnam Vet and I tell them this their eyes fill with tears and these stout men
of remarkable courage fill with emotion. This country that we love so much, for which we unashamedly
call ourselves patriots, which nobody really understands, treated the veterans of Vietnam unjustly, turning
it's back on them and forgetting them, attacking them, and ridiculing them, and leaving them to go into
homelessness. Every Vietnam vet I see I tell him/her 'welcome home' and whenever someone finds out
about my own war experience and begins with 'support the troops" I tell them thanks... but to find a
vietnam vet, their uncle or granddad or father and to find that person and say thanks, to give them a hug
and say "I'm glad you're alive and home". It never fails... whenever I see those colors that denote service
in Vietnam and I shake his hand... tears and emotion come up in his face. These men deserved better.
Semper fi....
This holiday is really fucking me up. I worked late... I was closing manager and I made my small staff of
four servers all close together... pissing off two of them. But at the end I had the last one leave everything
undone so that she could just leave and get to her kid. It is fourth of july and kids love fireworks. She was
thankful and she hurried out with daylight fading in the sky. I had another thirty minutes, at least, of work. I
thought my girlfriend (now ex) was going to be with friends in Portland. She called and she was alone. I
was hustling to get out... but then she said she was in Salem... forty five minutes south of me. No way I'd
make it before the fireworks were finished. So I stopped and closed down the right way, counting money
and such, wishing her a good night and fun at the fireworks.
Walking across the parking lot, empty and dark, the sound of gunfire was all around me. I could hear
AK-47s rat a tat tat off to my right. Pop flares went up beyond the treeline in front of me. Mortars were
going off behind me. All was deserted and quiet, save for gunfire, and I was alone and in the open. I told
myself as I walked across the parking lot that it was all fucking firework for god's sake... fuck... just
fucking relax already. Shit! Get your fucking mind in the here and now. Where the fuck was all this shit
coming from? I wasn't this fucking jumpy in Iraq with real fucking mortars and bullets... so why the fuck
am I so goddamn jumpy now?
When my girlfriend and I had returned to her apartment in Keizer after going to the gardens today, a
neighbor's kid set off three fireworks that sounded just like a rifle. I jumped five feet to my right in a half
spin. In midair I knew I was had and shouldn't have jumped... but fuck... reflexes are faster than I can think.
Emotions right now are raw and on the surface. I am volatile. I am sorrowful. I am angry. I am paranoid.
I want to grab my pistol for some sense of safety. I don't. I tell myself that I must weather this storm and
master this.
I got an email from my girlfriend (ex now). Her phone bill is hella expensive from the past month. I call
and text a lot. She is just bringing it to my attention and is not being spiteful... but in my fucked up state of
rifle fire and mortars around me, I take it emotionally as a never call again sign. I know this is not what it
is. I'll just have to weather this storm out for the next week while people fire off their stashes of fireworks.
Walking from the truck to my apartment tonight some fireworks had that deep, low, sound of a rifle... not
the high pop sound of a firecracker. They even sound different. I cursed... not knowing if I was cursing
the people that shot the fireworks or my self. I hope myself.
I hate missing this holiday. Shit. I am not the best at communicating with friends and family. I left my
family in Arkansas/Mississippi and I don't keep good contact with the friends I do have. Yet as I turn on
the t.v. and see images of fireworks in Portland and NYC, I see families gathered together... kids with
parents... and I smile. That's what it's all about... right there... those kids with their parents. I'll work every
fourth of july as long as I can get the parents that work with me to be able to be with their kids for the
fireworks. I'll miss them. If I can't be with loved ones... hopefully somebody can.
The Star Spangled Banner plays on the t.v. It is moving.
FUCK! That one was right across the street! mother fuckers.
A couple of more days....
breath.
Yesterday a crusty veteran came in. I saw the Eagle Globe and Anchor on his hat. Marine. I introduced
myself to him. He was a crusty salt by the time Vietnam came, but he served. We had a connection,
though we didn't have to say many words about certain things... we both recognized it in each other. At
the end I shook his hand with both hands and looked him deep in his eyes and say "welcome home sir".
It never fails that when I see a Vietnam Vet and I tell them this their eyes fill with tears and these stout men
of remarkable courage fill with emotion. This country that we love so much, for which we unashamedly
call ourselves patriots, which nobody really understands, treated the veterans of Vietnam unjustly, turning
it's back on them and forgetting them, attacking them, and ridiculing them, and leaving them to go into
homelessness. Every Vietnam vet I see I tell him/her 'welcome home' and whenever someone finds out
about my own war experience and begins with 'support the troops" I tell them thanks... but to find a
vietnam vet, their uncle or granddad or father and to find that person and say thanks, to give them a hug
and say "I'm glad you're alive and home". It never fails... whenever I see those colors that denote service
in Vietnam and I shake his hand... tears and emotion come up in his face. These men deserved better.
Semper fi....
Deep breath.
Another counseling session today and a couple of things came out. I'm trying to recall the feelings
now. They are slipping back down into the unconscious.
I expressed that I feel guilty about getting the counselling from my therapist (she is part of a network of
therapists that volunteer their time for veterans). This is compounded by the fact that she is the best
I've ever seen. I cannot express enough the great admiration and respect that I have for her in her craft
and as a human. Because of such I am not scared in going places with her, in letting her see the worst
of me, and how much a relief it is to see that she understands and gets what I am saying. Not
acceptance necessarily... for she hasn't agreed with me in all things... but understanding and a
non-judgment of them. It is, I think, the best that humanism wishes to be. I expressed my guilt in
getting the services from her for free, as she is a member of a network of professionals that volunteer
their time for veterans (www.returningveterans.com). We looked at this. I expressed that I am getting
from her but am not giving. It is so often the other way around for me, that I give and do not get, that
this is an injustice. She asked me what I thought she got out of it all. I couldn't come up with anything.
She said a few things that I could buy into, the joy of helping someone, etc... yet she said something
that was alien to me... that I did not know before and it brought tears to me as she told me. She told
me that she felt a priviledge in being able to share in my complex world. It is such an alien concept to
me that I struggle now to even write it out, to even remember the way she said it. I cannot. She
expressed it in a few sentences and there were such deep concern and sincerity in her as she said
this that I believed her. Her was, essentially, a person who loved me, I do not feel wrong in using this
term, and who was grateful for this. She has heard my greatest fears and my greatest failures and
heard me say all that I am most ashamed of... and she is grateful for knowing me and seeing me.
She asked me why I had the response that I did, tears in my eyes, and I told her that it is similar to an
image that I had while writing about returning from war. A mental image, a photograph of the
imagination, and I had written of it quickly in that past, and it rose to my memory now. I told her,
imagine a soldier, home from war, in uniform... me.... and I am at home with a woman, romantic
partner, and she is sitting on a couch. I am on the ground and my head is in her lap. My therapist
asked me what she was doing in the picture, and I said that she was just letting me be... just letting me
be.
Again, the theme of acceptance, so often missed, so often short of.
Some time later in the session we got on a topic of a fight in Iraq. It had never really come up with me
in the past and I didn't think I was bothered by it. Yet now I know that it does bother me and I had tears
and a quaking voice as I talked about it.
It is a hot day and it is my second day outside the wire. I've been in country for a week now and have
had to watch as my platoon rushed outside on patrol, leaving me behind. The reason is that my rifle
was not zeroed in. It was Batallion protocol that you could not go out on patrol unless your weapon
was zeroed. I finally got it boresighted with a laser and was able to go out. It was, again, my second
time to leave the wire and I was unfamiliar with the city, the people, what to look for, the sights and
sounds. I was overwhelmed by it all. I was green and new.
We had elements of the Iraqi National Guard with us. They were roaming around with us on this patrol.
Some of them spotted a wire in the dirt. We stopped, pushed out security elements, and sent a
search team to follow the wire. It was a buried roadside bomb we rolled over (my rig also) and the
search team found the lookout spot where the enemy was to push the button, blowing up the bomb.
He was not there. Due to a lunch break or something, nobody was there to push the button when we
rolled over.
We called out for EOD (explosive ordinance disposal) who were to come out to our location and blow
the charge in place. Unti they showed up we were to keep watch on the area so that nobody would
come set it off or take the explosive for future use against us. So we set security around us, assigned
sectors of fire, etc... and set down to wait.
An hour later one of the soldiers that had an M14 with a scope on it had been watching down the street
where Sadr city was... it was ony 400 meters away and a hotbed of insugent activity. He yelled out to
the platoon sgt that there was a mortar team setting up. He was just given the go ahead to fire on the
enemy team when they mortar team had fired first. They are very fast. One of their techniques is to roll
with mortar in a car's trunk. This is why we are suspicious of four or so men riding around in a car
together. They will pull up to a spot and then quickly pull out the mortar, not bothering to sight it in, and
they will indiscriminatly fire the mortars and adjust fire from there.
The mortars exploded 50 meters away. VERY LOUD and they really grab your attention. My first
reaction was one of taking it personally. I was personally insulted that these people were shooting at
me. Sounds odd, but that is the emotion that I had. The mortars were being walked up on us, getting
closer. One buddy of mine was at the rig close to mine and he got a piece of shapnel that barely
scratched his finger. We were lucky. I don't understand how we didn't have wounded from as close as
the mortars were exploding around us. The platoon sgt yelled "Kill every fucking thing over there" and
the automatic grenade launchers, the 'ma deuce' (the .50 calibre machine gun) and other weapons. I
had been a marine prior to my enlistment in the National Guard. In the marines it was drilled into us
the concept of "one shot one kill", to pick your targets and to kill it. The Army does not do this. The
platoon around me erupted in violence. I was frustrated. I looked down my rifle at the scene down the
street and saw a huge cloud of dust. The explosions from the grenades and machine guns was
ferocious. I growled (I am a growler... I growl in frustration at things) and I cursed loudly. I had no point
targets to shoot at, no enemy in sight... and I was pissed! I cursed and yelled and gripped my rifle in
frustration. A soldier next to me hit me in the arm and yelled "just fire suppressive fire", which is
military speak for shooting a lot of bullets in one particular direction. So I did... I emptied a clip or two, I
don't remember, and there was nothing left of the mortar team when we were done. However, I had a
hand in the killing. Not only in the mortar team, but the busy street they shot from as well. There were
civilians there. Women, children, and innocent men. We killed them. I am too connected to it to say
whether we acted right or wrong, if we had other means of reacting to the mortars, if we reacted with
too much force (and before you say yes... I'd like you to have mortars explode fifty meters from you
first). I cannot say. I can say that civilians died and I pulled the trigger. Considering the many
grenades, the many automatic grenades, the many many automatic rounds, fired down the street, it is
unlikely that by the time I shot my paltry two magazines that I personally killed a civilian. This, in no way
at all, lessens me from the responsibility of what I did. I pulled the trigger. People died. That is all that
matters.
As the dust cleared, we were moved around in different spots, awaiting for a flanking maneuver from
the enemy. They came up on the left flank and snipers had tried to get into place at various spots as
well.
I was put in part of a blown up building looking out through an alley. I could hear the machine gun a
building over next to me talking constantly. They had something going on. I and the SGT with me,
however, had no targets in our limited field of vision. We had to be alert for by the time an enemy was
sighted they would have been up on us before we could react. In an urban environment of tight streets,
constant turns, people (enemy and non-enemy alike) everywhere around you, cars close, etc... you
have to stay ready to act at the blink of an eye. This might explain some of my startle response that I
have even now, which always gets laughs from those who see me jump. I hold a little resentment to
those who do laugh... it is funny, sure, but it gets old after dozens of times to sheepishly look at the
civilian grinning at me because I was startled, spun around, and in a defensive position because of a
noise.Why don't they laugh at a person who lost their arm to diabetes and who still tries to grab for
something off of the table, only to remember they don't have that limb anymore? Not so funny now, is
it? You are laughing at my inability to let some things go, to rewire my brain to relax and to not try and
percieve the threats around me all the time. Thanks.
I was moved to the roof. From there I could see further out and I noted some men with rifles trying to
cross an area far away. We took pop shots at them. The guy next to me was able to get one. I had a
good vantage point of our location. The Iraqi National Guard was gone. When the attack first started
they bailed on us. EOD had just showed up and when the attack began and they high tailed it back to
base. The engagement was over and had died down. We had killed the mortar team and was really
just sitting around as other enemy elements tried to flank us and were shooting at us. Nothing major.
During the course of the fight the civilians had come out on their terraces and doorsteps to watch.
They continued to cross the field, cross the street, even while gunfire is zipping past them. They ignore
it all and walk through our firefight. It is the damnedest thing I've ever seen. The guy next to me would
fire bullets just before the walking oblivious, at the dirt, and cursing loudly for them to run out of the
street, only to see the dust kick up in front of them and they person hop over the spot. This was
common to a lot of their reactions.
At the intersection I watched as a car would now and then turn onto the street we were on. They would
come toward us and then hear the sounds of warning shots from the gun trucks posted on the ground.
They would then run off of the road in a hurry to get out of the street. They realized they were in a bad
spot and they hastily left. One car, however, did not do this. The car turned and came toward us. The
usual hand and arm signals were given for the driver to stop and turn back. It kept coming and a
warning shot was fired. The car kept coming. More warning shots. The car sped up. I was on the
roof, watching this and had now trained my rifle onto the car. It sped up. I could see the bullets
richocet off the pavement. The car sped up. The driver gassed it. When it got to an invisible line that
we all know, it was now a threat and we opened fired. Automatic guns and rifles of soldiers in that part
of the cirlce, mine also, were put to use. The car came to a halt. Eventually a man got out of the
passenger side. He put his hands up. Soldiers were yelling for him to lay down. He did. But soon
later he got up again and was in distress. This repeated a few times, him getting up, being told to get
down, and finally a rig was sent out to the location to check on the man. He was shot. The driver of the
car, his son, was dead. The man would not leave with the soldiers (and we were coverning down the
street now as the soldiers were in open view now of the enemy). The man would not leave without the
body of his son. The soldiers grabbed it and, having nowhere else to put it, put it over the back of the
humvee. As the rig left the scene we were fired on again by the enemy and we returned fire.
We had to get the man to medical attention and so we decided to withdraw from the fight. Had it not
been this we would have stayed. Before we could leave a SGT in my squad had to go back out into
this area of being targeted by the enemy. Two other SGTs went with him, one was me. We trotted out
into the middle of the street, our rifles trained down where the enemy was at. There was a six story
building that we had tried to call an Apache strike on because of fire coming from it. The apaches
were called someplace else, another firefight the marines were in a couple of clicks away from us. We
were now in the middle of the street in plain sight of this building. No cover in a very wide street (think
as wide as I-5). There was a sign post in the middle and I was behind it. It was two inches wide. Two
inches might save my life. We were fired on and the three of us returned fire. Because we were in
front of our gun trucks, they could not fire. So it was just the three of us. Tactially stupid for the PL or
the PSG to allow us to go forward like that in front of his automatic weapons. The SGT beside me
gave me a hand and arm signal. I misread it and took a few steps forward. I had one thought in
mind... to move forward and to kill. The SGT was really telling me to move to his location on the side of
the road and that we were going to withdraw. My reaction was like I said, to simply go forward and to
kill. One of the guys in the back was watching me and told me later that bullets were hitting the ground
around me. I earned their respect that day because I fired my weapon and did not shrink from going
into fire. We ran back, hauling ass, and as soon as we crossed an invisible line on the flank, the
automatic weapons began talking. As soon as I crossed into the platoon's area, several soldiers
grabbed me and began running hands over me and then pulling them back. What they were doing
was looking to see if they came back with blood, to see if I was hit. It is a common thing you do when
you go through a spot like this. You take your hand and run it up the backs of your legs, your back, the
arms, and you look to see if they come back red. Adrenaline dampens pain and soldiers have not
realized how bad a wound is until is worse and the battle has ended.
This was a rough memory for me. I have problems with the innocents killed. I have pictures of the
body on the back of the humvee. I have pictures of carbomb victims and more. They are not for
casual viewing. I bring them out when someone says they want to see war. Really? Here, fill your
cursed eyes. I show them to the young privates in my care. A picture is bad... but they are not nearly
as bad as real life. Imagine the face of your loved one in a picture. It brings emotions to you. But how
much stronger is seeing this face in person? It is the same with horrors of war as well. Pictures
cannot approach the bleakness. I show the troops under my care these pics to get them to take my
training seriously. I am training them to try to keep them alive, to try to get them to realize that this is
real, that lives end.
I was choked up, couldn't speak well, and tears streaming down my face as I recalled these civilians in
my therapist's office. I told her that I did not mind killing the guys that blew up a school of kids. I lost no
sleep over it. It did not bother me. I came to terms with it. But the deaths of the civilians... it did bother
me. I also told her that I've not had any of my troops die under my care. I don't know how would handle
one of my soldiers dying. Hopefully I won't have to deal with this added pain in the future.
Another counseling session today and a couple of things came out. I'm trying to recall the feelings
now. They are slipping back down into the unconscious.
I expressed that I feel guilty about getting the counselling from my therapist (she is part of a network of
therapists that volunteer their time for veterans). This is compounded by the fact that she is the best
I've ever seen. I cannot express enough the great admiration and respect that I have for her in her craft
and as a human. Because of such I am not scared in going places with her, in letting her see the worst
of me, and how much a relief it is to see that she understands and gets what I am saying. Not
acceptance necessarily... for she hasn't agreed with me in all things... but understanding and a
non-judgment of them. It is, I think, the best that humanism wishes to be. I expressed my guilt in
getting the services from her for free, as she is a member of a network of professionals that volunteer
their time for veterans (www.returningveterans.com). We looked at this. I expressed that I am getting
from her but am not giving. It is so often the other way around for me, that I give and do not get, that
this is an injustice. She asked me what I thought she got out of it all. I couldn't come up with anything.
She said a few things that I could buy into, the joy of helping someone, etc... yet she said something
that was alien to me... that I did not know before and it brought tears to me as she told me. She told
me that she felt a priviledge in being able to share in my complex world. It is such an alien concept to
me that I struggle now to even write it out, to even remember the way she said it. I cannot. She
expressed it in a few sentences and there were such deep concern and sincerity in her as she said
this that I believed her. Her was, essentially, a person who loved me, I do not feel wrong in using this
term, and who was grateful for this. She has heard my greatest fears and my greatest failures and
heard me say all that I am most ashamed of... and she is grateful for knowing me and seeing me.
She asked me why I had the response that I did, tears in my eyes, and I told her that it is similar to an
image that I had while writing about returning from war. A mental image, a photograph of the
imagination, and I had written of it quickly in that past, and it rose to my memory now. I told her,
imagine a soldier, home from war, in uniform... me.... and I am at home with a woman, romantic
partner, and she is sitting on a couch. I am on the ground and my head is in her lap. My therapist
asked me what she was doing in the picture, and I said that she was just letting me be... just letting me
be.
Again, the theme of acceptance, so often missed, so often short of.
Some time later in the session we got on a topic of a fight in Iraq. It had never really come up with me
in the past and I didn't think I was bothered by it. Yet now I know that it does bother me and I had tears
and a quaking voice as I talked about it.
It is a hot day and it is my second day outside the wire. I've been in country for a week now and have
had to watch as my platoon rushed outside on patrol, leaving me behind. The reason is that my rifle
was not zeroed in. It was Batallion protocol that you could not go out on patrol unless your weapon
was zeroed. I finally got it boresighted with a laser and was able to go out. It was, again, my second
time to leave the wire and I was unfamiliar with the city, the people, what to look for, the sights and
sounds. I was overwhelmed by it all. I was green and new.
We had elements of the Iraqi National Guard with us. They were roaming around with us on this patrol.
Some of them spotted a wire in the dirt. We stopped, pushed out security elements, and sent a
search team to follow the wire. It was a buried roadside bomb we rolled over (my rig also) and the
search team found the lookout spot where the enemy was to push the button, blowing up the bomb.
He was not there. Due to a lunch break or something, nobody was there to push the button when we
rolled over.
We called out for EOD (explosive ordinance disposal) who were to come out to our location and blow
the charge in place. Unti they showed up we were to keep watch on the area so that nobody would
come set it off or take the explosive for future use against us. So we set security around us, assigned
sectors of fire, etc... and set down to wait.
An hour later one of the soldiers that had an M14 with a scope on it had been watching down the street
where Sadr city was... it was ony 400 meters away and a hotbed of insugent activity. He yelled out to
the platoon sgt that there was a mortar team setting up. He was just given the go ahead to fire on the
enemy team when they mortar team had fired first. They are very fast. One of their techniques is to roll
with mortar in a car's trunk. This is why we are suspicious of four or so men riding around in a car
together. They will pull up to a spot and then quickly pull out the mortar, not bothering to sight it in, and
they will indiscriminatly fire the mortars and adjust fire from there.
The mortars exploded 50 meters away. VERY LOUD and they really grab your attention. My first
reaction was one of taking it personally. I was personally insulted that these people were shooting at
me. Sounds odd, but that is the emotion that I had. The mortars were being walked up on us, getting
closer. One buddy of mine was at the rig close to mine and he got a piece of shapnel that barely
scratched his finger. We were lucky. I don't understand how we didn't have wounded from as close as
the mortars were exploding around us. The platoon sgt yelled "Kill every fucking thing over there" and
the automatic grenade launchers, the 'ma deuce' (the .50 calibre machine gun) and other weapons. I
had been a marine prior to my enlistment in the National Guard. In the marines it was drilled into us
the concept of "one shot one kill", to pick your targets and to kill it. The Army does not do this. The
platoon around me erupted in violence. I was frustrated. I looked down my rifle at the scene down the
street and saw a huge cloud of dust. The explosions from the grenades and machine guns was
ferocious. I growled (I am a growler... I growl in frustration at things) and I cursed loudly. I had no point
targets to shoot at, no enemy in sight... and I was pissed! I cursed and yelled and gripped my rifle in
frustration. A soldier next to me hit me in the arm and yelled "just fire suppressive fire", which is
military speak for shooting a lot of bullets in one particular direction. So I did... I emptied a clip or two, I
don't remember, and there was nothing left of the mortar team when we were done. However, I had a
hand in the killing. Not only in the mortar team, but the busy street they shot from as well. There were
civilians there. Women, children, and innocent men. We killed them. I am too connected to it to say
whether we acted right or wrong, if we had other means of reacting to the mortars, if we reacted with
too much force (and before you say yes... I'd like you to have mortars explode fifty meters from you
first). I cannot say. I can say that civilians died and I pulled the trigger. Considering the many
grenades, the many automatic grenades, the many many automatic rounds, fired down the street, it is
unlikely that by the time I shot my paltry two magazines that I personally killed a civilian. This, in no way
at all, lessens me from the responsibility of what I did. I pulled the trigger. People died. That is all that
matters.
As the dust cleared, we were moved around in different spots, awaiting for a flanking maneuver from
the enemy. They came up on the left flank and snipers had tried to get into place at various spots as
well.
I was put in part of a blown up building looking out through an alley. I could hear the machine gun a
building over next to me talking constantly. They had something going on. I and the SGT with me,
however, had no targets in our limited field of vision. We had to be alert for by the time an enemy was
sighted they would have been up on us before we could react. In an urban environment of tight streets,
constant turns, people (enemy and non-enemy alike) everywhere around you, cars close, etc... you
have to stay ready to act at the blink of an eye. This might explain some of my startle response that I
have even now, which always gets laughs from those who see me jump. I hold a little resentment to
those who do laugh... it is funny, sure, but it gets old after dozens of times to sheepishly look at the
civilian grinning at me because I was startled, spun around, and in a defensive position because of a
noise.Why don't they laugh at a person who lost their arm to diabetes and who still tries to grab for
something off of the table, only to remember they don't have that limb anymore? Not so funny now, is
it? You are laughing at my inability to let some things go, to rewire my brain to relax and to not try and
percieve the threats around me all the time. Thanks.
I was moved to the roof. From there I could see further out and I noted some men with rifles trying to
cross an area far away. We took pop shots at them. The guy next to me was able to get one. I had a
good vantage point of our location. The Iraqi National Guard was gone. When the attack first started
they bailed on us. EOD had just showed up and when the attack began and they high tailed it back to
base. The engagement was over and had died down. We had killed the mortar team and was really
just sitting around as other enemy elements tried to flank us and were shooting at us. Nothing major.
During the course of the fight the civilians had come out on their terraces and doorsteps to watch.
They continued to cross the field, cross the street, even while gunfire is zipping past them. They ignore
it all and walk through our firefight. It is the damnedest thing I've ever seen. The guy next to me would
fire bullets just before the walking oblivious, at the dirt, and cursing loudly for them to run out of the
street, only to see the dust kick up in front of them and they person hop over the spot. This was
common to a lot of their reactions.
At the intersection I watched as a car would now and then turn onto the street we were on. They would
come toward us and then hear the sounds of warning shots from the gun trucks posted on the ground.
They would then run off of the road in a hurry to get out of the street. They realized they were in a bad
spot and they hastily left. One car, however, did not do this. The car turned and came toward us. The
usual hand and arm signals were given for the driver to stop and turn back. It kept coming and a
warning shot was fired. The car kept coming. More warning shots. The car sped up. I was on the
roof, watching this and had now trained my rifle onto the car. It sped up. I could see the bullets
richocet off the pavement. The car sped up. The driver gassed it. When it got to an invisible line that
we all know, it was now a threat and we opened fired. Automatic guns and rifles of soldiers in that part
of the cirlce, mine also, were put to use. The car came to a halt. Eventually a man got out of the
passenger side. He put his hands up. Soldiers were yelling for him to lay down. He did. But soon
later he got up again and was in distress. This repeated a few times, him getting up, being told to get
down, and finally a rig was sent out to the location to check on the man. He was shot. The driver of the
car, his son, was dead. The man would not leave with the soldiers (and we were coverning down the
street now as the soldiers were in open view now of the enemy). The man would not leave without the
body of his son. The soldiers grabbed it and, having nowhere else to put it, put it over the back of the
humvee. As the rig left the scene we were fired on again by the enemy and we returned fire.
We had to get the man to medical attention and so we decided to withdraw from the fight. Had it not
been this we would have stayed. Before we could leave a SGT in my squad had to go back out into
this area of being targeted by the enemy. Two other SGTs went with him, one was me. We trotted out
into the middle of the street, our rifles trained down where the enemy was at. There was a six story
building that we had tried to call an Apache strike on because of fire coming from it. The apaches
were called someplace else, another firefight the marines were in a couple of clicks away from us. We
were now in the middle of the street in plain sight of this building. No cover in a very wide street (think
as wide as I-5). There was a sign post in the middle and I was behind it. It was two inches wide. Two
inches might save my life. We were fired on and the three of us returned fire. Because we were in
front of our gun trucks, they could not fire. So it was just the three of us. Tactially stupid for the PL or
the PSG to allow us to go forward like that in front of his automatic weapons. The SGT beside me
gave me a hand and arm signal. I misread it and took a few steps forward. I had one thought in
mind... to move forward and to kill. The SGT was really telling me to move to his location on the side of
the road and that we were going to withdraw. My reaction was like I said, to simply go forward and to
kill. One of the guys in the back was watching me and told me later that bullets were hitting the ground
around me. I earned their respect that day because I fired my weapon and did not shrink from going
into fire. We ran back, hauling ass, and as soon as we crossed an invisible line on the flank, the
automatic weapons began talking. As soon as I crossed into the platoon's area, several soldiers
grabbed me and began running hands over me and then pulling them back. What they were doing
was looking to see if they came back with blood, to see if I was hit. It is a common thing you do when
you go through a spot like this. You take your hand and run it up the backs of your legs, your back, the
arms, and you look to see if they come back red. Adrenaline dampens pain and soldiers have not
realized how bad a wound is until is worse and the battle has ended.
This was a rough memory for me. I have problems with the innocents killed. I have pictures of the
body on the back of the humvee. I have pictures of carbomb victims and more. They are not for
casual viewing. I bring them out when someone says they want to see war. Really? Here, fill your
cursed eyes. I show them to the young privates in my care. A picture is bad... but they are not nearly
as bad as real life. Imagine the face of your loved one in a picture. It brings emotions to you. But how
much stronger is seeing this face in person? It is the same with horrors of war as well. Pictures
cannot approach the bleakness. I show the troops under my care these pics to get them to take my
training seriously. I am training them to try to keep them alive, to try to get them to realize that this is
real, that lives end.
I was choked up, couldn't speak well, and tears streaming down my face as I recalled these civilians in
my therapist's office. I told her that I did not mind killing the guys that blew up a school of kids. I lost no
sleep over it. It did not bother me. I came to terms with it. But the deaths of the civilians... it did bother
me. I also told her that I've not had any of my troops die under my care. I don't know how would handle
one of my soldiers dying. Hopefully I won't have to deal with this added pain in the future.
Dealing with War
