I started writing a book a couple of years ago when I first got out of the Army, after serving 15 years, active duty. This is the story of my last combat deployment to Afghanistan in 2011-12, and the resulting aftermath when I put the uniform down, and reentered civilian life. I will be posting a section of the writing every day, so please follow me, or follow the link to find the rest of the series. (Part 1)(Part 2)(Part 3)(Part 4)

The War Within Me (Part 5)

About an hour went by as we heard helicopter air support overhead. They were scanning the hills behind the COP as that was our suspected area that we were getting hit from. The craters would confirm these thoughts after every attack, but still our enemy was resilient, and a master of hiding. They knew our Rules of Engagement and would use these restrictive rules to their advantage.

Just like I suspected, the fire mission for counter-fire was disapproved. I was pissed to tell you the truth. I was mad at Captain Cross-fit for making me and my guys risk getting hit for a fool’s errand. I was very vocal about this and probably said some choice words. I am an aggressive leader, and when things do not make sense, I tend to question the motives; no matter who I am talking to. That is probably my biggest downfall, and I have learned from this as I have grown. So we waited.

After about the 8th round hit in the area around our gun pit, the signature booms stopped just as quickly as they started. Thirty minutes went by. Then an hour. Finally after two hours with dead silence, with the exception of the sound of rotary wing aircraft flying overhead, we received the highly anticipated “All Clear” as it came over the radio. Captain Cross-fit calls over the radio, "Bravo 27, this is 6, have your guys check out the gun pit to ensure that none of our equipment was damaged from that round that landed in the gun pit".

Now, I had one of those gut-wrenching feelings of impending doom right about here. The actual thought that came over my mind was, "what would I do if I were the enemy"? We maintained our training during the first few months in country, by continually conducting "dry-fire" missions to keep the crews proficient on their firing drills. We learned to stagger our training times as in this case, the hills really do have eyes, and once we conducted training at around the same time on two consecutive days, and started receiving small arms fire from one of the hillsides.

The signature snapping sound of the small arms rounds as they went overhead had immediately resulted in the training pausing for that day, and we changed up our training times from that point forward to keep the enemy guessing. Really, we were living in a fish bowl surrounded by hillsides that could look down on us with ease, giving our enemy a good vantage point from which to take any opportunity to attack us. We scanned the hills, and were never able to figure out where the small arms fire was coming from, but obviously it was directed at us.

Our first week in country, after taking over from the other platoon, I received a phone call at our operations center where my commander briefed me on an incident that happened with one of our sister platoons. One of the soldiers from the other platoon had been shot while walking to the chow hall from his barracks. Now, I knew this troop fairly well, as he had been reassigned at roughly the same time from a base in Texas to Fort Lewis, Washington, a year earlier. I had been his Platoon Sergeant in Texas, and now he was in another platoon at this new duty station.

Luckily for him, the bullet traveled through the meaty part of his upper-left arm. It missed his bone, and arteries, so it got treated like a flesh wound. Their COP had a Physician's Assistant or PA on location, and he declined a medevac. So, they bandaged him up, and he stayed with his Platoon throughout the healing phase of his recovery.

I had pulled all of my troops into one of our buildings following the briefing and told them what had happened before they heard it through social media, and we had to reiterate for them not to spread information about what had happened on their own social media accounts. I even talked about the need to stay away from large, outside gatherings as it gives our enemy the opportunity to become famous, and that "This is not training, and the bullets are real, so keep your heads on a swivel". Yet, here we were about to break all those rules by checking out our guns out, just moments following an attack.

Immediately, en masse, we went down to the gun pit to see what the damage was from that round that we all were certain landed there. I went to Gun 4, H-Town’s gun, and checked for damage. The whole section was looking over the cannon from front to back, and nothing was out of place. I then walked the 30 or so feet to gun number 3, which was Skinny’s gun. He told me the same; no damage anywhere. We were all scratching our heads at this time because we knew for sure that the round had impacted, and so I got on the radio, and asked where in the gun pit the round had landed.

Finally, one of my guys yelled out, “Smoke, the round hit over here”. Just outside of the gun pit towards the flight line was a three foot crater. There was the remnant of what was left of the mortar round. The fin of the projectile allows the round to fly straight. It is liken to that of the fins on lawn dart in a sense and is made out of aluminum or steel. Every time a mortar would hit us, these fins were what was left. We had quite the collection by this time.

Looking right next to the crater, the Hesco barrier was riddled with holes ranging from the size of the tip of a pin, to the size of a silver dollar. That is what the shrapnel does. It shoots molten steel and lead in all directions. I couldn’t even imagine what that would do to the human body, but I was about to find out, rather I wanted to or not! I called down to the Entrance Control Point or ECP, where I had two guys manning security. I asked one of them, “Did any rounds hit near you guys”? They replied, “Yes Smoke, we had three impact over here, and one just hit with no explosion”. He told me he could see the round poking out of the dirt. This is what we call a dud or unexploded ordnance.

I am sure everyone is aware of the Army’s bomb squad. They are called Explosive Ordnance Disposal or EOD, and their primary job is to “render-safe” unexploded ordnance. There was a movie made not too long ago that followed one of these soldiers in combat, but the name evades me. So, the first thought that came to my mind was to tell them to stay put, and I talked to Captain Cross-fit before I started towards that direction. I told him, “Sir, I am going to check on my guys down at the ECP, they say they have a dud right next to them”.

Just as I turned to walk that direction, just behind me I hear a violent “SWOOSH” sound, followed by a loud explosion. My walk went from a slow movement, to a all-out sprint as I ran to take cover. I had no idea where the round had landed but knew it was just behind me. I didn’t hear any screaming, only dead silence. I ended up at one of the bunkers where one lonely soldier of mine was sitting, guarding all the weapons for the platoon.

I asked him, “Where did that round land?” He pointed towards the gun pit and said, “I think it landed over by the guns”. That was where I was when the round impacted, and my initial impression was that it had hit the flight line. There was a row of Hesco barriers between the flight line and the gun pit. I did not know because my back was turned, but the round had in fact landed within 10 meters of where I was when it impacted. I wouldn't find this out until a little later on.

The adrenaline was pumping steady. I had this gut wrenching feeling that someone got hurt. At that moment, I heard the call “Medic”! Like a wave, the call for "MEDIC" got louder and louder. That is when I ran over to where I had left my guys to find some giving aid to others who were bleeding. It was like watching a movie, only these were no actors, these were the same guys I had shot the shit with for the past year during our train-up.

These were my men. I felt horrible about the possibility that one of them got hurt under my watch. We moved the wounded to safety, at the time there were two that we knew of. We had a hardened structure that was still under construction and had been since we arrived in country right next to our gun pit. This would suffice, it had about six inches of concrete for a ceiling, so it gave a little cover, and I was confident it could stop a conventional mortar round. Right around this time, the COP medic showed up. He started cutting clothes off of both of the wounded.

The Army doesn’t play with clothing when treating someone who is wounded. You will lose your uniform no matter what kind of wounds you have. I’m pretty sure medics have a mantra of, “Fuck your clothes”! I really think the medics just enjoy ruining uniforms, but that is just the way they are taught.

So one of the worst-wounded was a thirty-something troop who joined less than a year and a half earlier. He gave the impression that he had lived a rough life. Most people who join later on in life, tend to be doing so either for a calling, or for a job! He was definitely there for a job! He was a hard worker though, and I respected him. He was from Puerto Rico originally, I shall refer to him as "High-Speed". High-Speed had taken the brunt of the shrapnel from the round. It was not till later that we were able to see that he was within 5 feet of the impact. I was seriously surprised he was alive after learning where he was in relation to the impact.

I remember seeing him chewing gum as the medic was bandaging up his wounds across his body. He was pale in complexion; almost blue in the face and definitely blue in the lips. I will never forget that he was chewing gum at the time. I asked him, “High Speed, how you doing?” He looked up at me in a daze, “Doing good Smoke”, as he kept on chewing while sweat poured off his face! He had tiny discolored spots throughout his exposed body; from his face down to his legs.

All the spots were actually holes in him. The shrapnel had hit him like a shotgun blast. Later we would determine that he had a minimum of 50 holes in his body. The only thing that kept him alive was his body armor. I kept talking with him, and trying to share the time equally between him and the other wounded troop. I remember saying, “keep talking”, every time he would start to daze out.

The other wounded troop was in his mid-twenties. He had a wife and a few kids. He was one of those who joined as a means to better himself. He was one of my educated troops. He was balancing online schooling with deployment, which I highly encouraged all my troops to do. An educated soldier is a better soldier. Those that disagree, can eat a bag of dicks, because there are a lot of folks in the military that frown upon education as if it were some kind of selfish act, but I will elaborate on that note later on in the story. He had one quarter sized wound in his right thigh. He, on the other hand, was in visible pain. He was moaning and you could see that wherever he was hit was right on a nerve.

Shock is one of the biggest killers in war. Shock is a physical reaction to trauma where your body tries to pool blood to the core. Essentially, the body is starting the shutting down processes in order to maintain survival, but it works against the body at the same time, and if left untreated, can actually lead to death. All soldiers are taught the symptoms and signs of shock as well as how to treat it.

Both troops were laying down on the concrete floor of the makeshift bunker. Their backs were to the ground and their legs were raised as is the treatment for shock. Their clothes were cut off exposing their bare skin. I did not realize at the time, but all of my gun crew soldiers were in the room as well. All huddled up on one side while a few of us were huddled over the wounded. It was hot, and we had all went without any fluid for some time. Since the beginning of the onslaught a few hours before. It was around 90 degrees outside, and wearing all that extra gear was taxing on the body.

I weighed my body armor once to see how much weight I was adding to my body. With my combat load of ammunition, the weight was around 40lbs just for my helmet and my vest, with plates. That is a lot of weight to add to anyone’s frame when you are trying to move quickly or for a long period of time. The medic looks up to me and says, “We've got to get these guys to the aid station”

Continue To Part 6...

Image Source: 1