On September third, I and 3 others of my Texas National Guard Unit were sent to the other side of Iraq to support the 42nd Airborne in their efforts to reclaim Tallafar (pronounced Tall-a-far) from the rising insurgency presence that had recently taken up residence within.
It was an entirely new feeling in this other environment, unlike my normal duty post which rarely saw any "action" due to its location. This place was much different. The four of us soldiers who had come all this way were here to drive M113 "Armored Personnel Carriers" for the purpose of using them as ambulance and evacuation vehicles.
From the beginning, the gunfire, and explosions were constant and unnerving. For three weeks of the 4 week duty assignment, we did nothing but wait and train and move to different points within the city.
As nights were still unbearably hot, me and the medics, I was assigned too, often chose to sleep outside under the stars. A fact that had awoken me on several occasions in the middle of the night as gun ships flew overhead firing the Vulcan machine gun at targets I could not see.
As our time there grew short, it seemed as if this phase of my Iraqi tour would be as uneventful as the rest of the tour so far, which I was not complaining about. That was until it happened.
As it was, the 3rd Airborne had driven out most of the insurgency in Tallafar, and was beginning to allow the civilians to reenter the city. Those that had allowed the occupation of there homes were promised payment for the "rental". And so many Iraqis were in line at a payment location deeper in the city, about 5 blocks from my location, which was on the Southern outskirts of the town.
At around 1100 hours on September 28th 2005, we were told that there was an explosion in town, and to prepare to evacuate casualties. Barely after being said, I and the Medics were in the M113 with the engine running, waiting for an Armed escort to the site. The wait was not very long, as we were soon racing through the streets as quickly as we could, at the same time; the 42nd airborne was busy cordoning off the exact route we were taking to get to the explosion site.
Driving there I remember thinking to myself that this was it, I was terribly concerned 42nd airborne had taken casualties and their lives were now in our hands to get them to safety.
As we neared the site, the carnage was apparent. It seemed that I peered out of the drivers hatch to do my duty and nothing but my duty. But I couldn't help but glance around and see the blood red street, and the heaps of flesh lying all over the road. I couldn't help but notice the leg lying on the other side of the road. The other 3 M113s arrived shortly after me as I was the nearest to the scene. But by this time it become easily apparent that the casualties were all native born, but that did not change the attitude or my feelings in the least. Human beings were still in dire need of me and I would do what was necessary to save them.
So without missing a beat I got as close to the site as I dare and did a 360 degree pivot turn and dropped the ramp to allow the medics to disembark. It was not long before they had all four of the berths filled with the casualties that were in the most peril of dying. And I was off again racing back to our camp and the nearest "planned" flight pad.
Since the roads had been cordoned off I didn't need to wait for an escort so I moved as fast and as steady as I could through the streets since I did not want to jar the patients in the back any more then need be.
One of the patients vomited on the way there, and I will never forget that smelled mingled with the smell of burnt flesh. But I did not gag or complain, as I had a job to do and was completely focused on achieving my goals.
We arrived and quickly discharged the passengers into a triage area, where 10 more Army Medics were waiting and began caring for the injured. Their job was to stabilize as best they could for the evacuation to a real hospital environment.
I and the medics didn't wait around too long, as the other M113's began to arrive and drop off their passengers; we were already on our way back to get more casualties. 4 trips, we made... and the final trip back I was told to wait in the M113 with the engine running in case they needed me to transport anyone the 6 miles to the nearest hospital.
So I stood there in the drivers hatch and watched. I watched as the Army Medics did everything in their power to save the lives of these men whom they knew nothing of. I watched as a man rose halfway out of his stretcher to lean to the side and vomit blood, which drew the attention of many of the medics straight to him. I didn't know what they were doing or how bad the man was. But I do know just minutes later they pulled a sheet over his head.
The Chopper came in blowing dust everywhere, and flew out with equal ferocity. It seemed many hours of it coming and going, until all that was left were the deceased, who had since been put into body bags.
Twenty minutes had passed since that occurrence when all of the medics and drivers were sitting in the makeshift hospital building talking, and essentially turning themselves "back on". And before you knew anything we were pulling the MREs (Meal Ready-to-Eat) out and enjoying our late lunch.
It is amazing how the human mind can shield itself for your own survival. Our emotions had been all but turned
off during the crisis and afterward it had seemed to be more like watching through someone else's eyes.
The news media reported 5 civilians died and over 30 casualties in that terrorist act; but by my count it was 12 dead, 5 at the site, 3 awaiting evacuation, 3 after getting to the hospital, and 1 female suicide bomber. And at least 50 injured.
That is the true story of what happened that day. No heroes were born, many lives were lost, and many more were changed forever, even mine.
