On Friday our patrol got hit. An insurgent threw a grenade into one of our
patrol vehicles. I helped the rest of my guys carry my roommate to the CSH
(Combat Support Hospital) here in Mosul in a black body bag. As we took the
body out of the Stryker vehicle our uniforms and boots became stained with
blood comingled with tears for our buddy. Our steps were slow and
deliberate, blood seeping out the bag as we walked. No one talked. There
was no need. We placed the remains on a cold metal table. I turned to my
guys and I told them "Remember this feeling"..then we started filing out.
The bigwigs had started arriving to have their "look see" and quite frankly
I was not in the mood for their dog and pony show. Our platoon consists of
thirty men. We lost three that day. My roommate was fatally wounded..the
team medic will never return to military service (amputee) and the gunner
will most likely not return to military service (reconstructive facial
surgeries).
We walked back to the transport vehicle and began hosing down the blood. As
I watched it seep into the ground, I became acutely aware that tears were
streaming down all our faces although there was no audible sounds emanating
from us. We have been down this road before. We are well aware of our own
mortality. The putrid acrid smell of burnt human flesh permeates our
vehicles and clothes. My heart bleeds and my soul hides.
A Doc comes out to tell us that our gunner is conscious and alert. We race
inside to see him. We are not prepared for the sight. There are tubes in
various orifices. His face is unrecognizable. His jaw and multiple facial
bones are broken. His eyes are almost swollen shut. Yet he manages a smile
which exposes the carnage in his mouth. Most of his teeth are broken or
completely gone. His bottom lip is split wide open exposing a few more
remaining teeth. We huddle at his bedside touching whatever body part we
could..telling him that we were there..that the only thing to focus on now
is getting better. They give him the purple heart. The tears flow freely
again mixed with a few sobs and expletives. We are asked to leave so he can
rest. I inquire about our team medic. They told us he was still in
surgery..that they were doing everything they could to save his leg. We
return to our vehicles.
The chaplain comes out and offers us water and words of consolation. I am
in a daze but I clearly hear words like God and hero and sacrifice. The
platoon is not in the mood to hear anything religious. We need our space to
think and grieve. He prays and walks away. We sit and wait.
A nurse comes out to tell us that the team medic is out of surgery and
heavily sedated. They managed to keep his leg attached for now and it is
covered in a mound of bandages with blood seeping through. He briefly opens
his eyes, scans the room to acknowledge everyone, then closes them again.
We stand in silence. He opens his eyes again and asks why we were all
staring at him. We have no answers. Someone yells "It's because your
nipples are exposed"..(his hospital gown had fallen down off his
shoulders). The feeble attempt at humor works for a brief second. He
smiles..we smile. Then he asks about the other guys. The tears flow freely
once again. We tell him to rest and begin filing out of the room.
We drive back to our living areas. Those that have the stomach to eat do
so. Most of us huddle outside. I go into the room. His laptop is still
open..unfinished letter to his Mom..on his bed...dirty laundry strewn
across the room. The reality is sobering. He is gone. Members of other
platoons start arriving to pay their respects and offer condolences. People
started punching and kicking things. There was a lot of cussing and enough
tears to fill a bucket. Someone said we should get clean. We had a ramp
ceremony (where we bring the casket to the plane) in a few hours. No one
moved.
A few hours later we were back at the CSH. There were two planes on the
runway. One had soldiers returning from leave and new soldiers arriving to
the unit. The look on their faces told us this was not the welcome they
expected. The FLA (dont know the meaning of the acronym) drove the body
onto the tarmac flanked by two of our guntrucks. We marched out and removed
the casket. It was adorned with the bronze star, the purple heart, and the
CIB. The CIB, combat infantry man's badge, is issued to an infantryman for
taking and returning fire during combat operations. My roommate returned
from leave on April 16. We got into a firefight the very next day, April
17, in the Ras Al Koor neighborhood. This was his first firefight and
therefore made him eligible for the CIB. I wrote his recommendation after
that incident and he was due to get the coveted CIB very soon. He was
looking forward to pinning it on his uniform and I was now looking at it
pinned on his casket. The tears flowed behind our military issued
sunglasses as we carried his body slowly to the aircraft. The casket was
mettalic in nature and extremely cold due to the material used to preserve
the body during shipment. The airfield was a sea of people rendering final
salute as we walked by. We placed him in the belly of the airplane and
rendered our final salute. I ran my hand the full length of the
coffin..caressing the flag..whispering that if he could hear me.. I loved
him and I missed him. The chaplains and Battalion Commanders gave their
speeches. We hugged and cried. We marched off that plane with the entire
battalion behind us. I paused briefly to look at the lonely casket sitting
on the ramp of the airplane. We drove back in silence to our living
quarters.
A few hours later we were back at the airfield. We carried our team medic
to his plane pretty much in the same fashion we carried the coffin a few
hours earlier. He was on his way to Landstuhl Germany for treatment. We
shook hands and saluted as he flew off.
We never got to see our gunner leave. Sometime during the night he was
flown to Balad Iraq to catch a follow on flight back to the states. We were
pissed. I guess command thought that we had a pretty long day and needed
the rest. What we NEEDED was to send our boys off the right way.
Saturday we mulled around for the better part of the day. Recovery guys
came and inventoried his property and took it all away in large black tote
boxes. I asked them to leave the pictures up that he put on the walls. They
comply. The room is much emptier. I stare at the walls and the ceiling.
Sleep does not come easily but it finally does.
I am awakened a few hours later by members of the squad for a mandatory
debrief. The Combat Stress Team is here asking "How does that make you
feel?" type questions. They say they KNOW how we are feeling and we need to
talk it out...we politely tell them to go away. When they leave..we open up
to each other..we laugh..we cry..we talk about our buddies. We keep the
memories between us..no one else understands the bond..the unit
cohesion..the love we have for each other.
A few minutes later we get word. We are tasked with a mission. Less than 36
hours have passed since the incident. We lace up our boots, don euipment,
and race to our vehicles. Work beckons...we will grieve later. The war
machine grinds on..and we..we are the cogs in the wheel. I do one final
check of my guys..we lock and load..and prepare to walk through the valley
of the shadow of death.
----------------
From replied comments:
Mike, you keep fighting the good fight! I appreciate the kind words from your readers and the opportunity to share with America what it is really like on the frontlines of a war..the objective unbiased account of an eyewitness..telling it like it is..without filter. The family has been notified and the DOD has published his name. There is so much that has been omitted. This is my friend, my buddy, my trooper.
His name is Thomas Edward Lee III and he was from Dalton, Georgia. He was only 20 years old and died on May 29, 2009. His birthday was on May 30, 2009 and we sent him home in a coffin @ 1249 AM on his birthday! He literally died hours before his twenty first birthday. Tommy, as he is affectionately called by members of the platoon, arrived in Iraq on January 12, 2009 and left Iraq on R&R leave on March 24, 2009. He returned on April 16, 2009.
He has a four year old daughter and found out that he was going to be a father again on May 14, 2009. His girlfriend got pregnant while he was on leave and he was ecstatic. We celebrated in our CHU (Combat Housing Unit) with other members of the platoon. He said he hoped to have a little boy and started thinking of baby names. He liked Dustin and Michael but couldn't decide on either so he picked both. I hope it is a boy because he never picked out any girl names.
He said he was scared of marriage. He had almost gotten married twice but on each occasion he would get a case of cold feet and would run away hours before the ceremony. He said he didn't feel like he was the marrying type but somehow he felt different this time around. He said the third time was the charm..that he was going to finally do it this time. He bought a ring on May 23, 2009 from the local PX here on base. He wanted to surprise her when his tour was over. I told him I thought it was the right thing to do. He said to make sure I keep the engine running just in case he comes running out of the church. I told him I would. We laugh.
I am also from Georgia. I live 30 minutes from Tommy's family. I should be home on leave at the end of this month. I will make a solitary drive to go see them and visit his gravesite. They will have questions. I will not have the answers. I will see his daughter, his Mother, his fiance with their unborn child, his sisters and brothers. Sadly, I won't see his father. His father hasn't seen him in years and will probably not be at his funeral. He is incarcerated in a prison somewhere in Georgia. They were not close. I will play with his dog and sit in his car. Then I will go talk to him..alone. I will drink the jack and coke he was looking forward to legally drinking to celebrate his twenty first birthday. I will place the slice of cake I saved from Iraq in celebration of his birthday. I will shed tears then I will go home to my family.
I will hug my children, my wife, and my dogs. They know and they understand. They provide a sense of peace, tranquility, and serenity. I will take comfort in the knowledge that he is forever with me...even if only in my thoughts. We will go to church. I will express my gratitude before God and man that I am alive to give testimony on the horrors of war and ask for divine protection for those in harm's way. I have only to look at my family to know what we are fighting for.
I will ask no man to stand in my stead. I will board a plane and return, as Tommy did, to fight alongside my brothers and sisters in Iraq. Should I not make it back, please let your readers know, that I stand shoulder to shoulder with some of the finest young men and women our country has to offer, and we are ready and willing, if necessary, to die to protect what you enjoy.
"Greater Love Hath No Man, than that He lay Down His Life for his friends."
I am Stalker15A
Dacres, Leon
Alpha Company 3-8 Cavalry Regiment
FOB Marez, Mosul
APO AE 09334
Thank you.
VETERAN SERVICE OFFICERS
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