Posted on 05/22/2005 5:27:11 AM PDT by DYngbld
"It was hot that day… hot as hell itself. The sweat poured from our skin rolling like water off a ducks back. Our routine patrol has been pushed back an hour to 15:00, it would be dark in a few hours and the cool night breeze would soon blow refreshingly upon us. But darkness and cold would come sooner than we expected. Our mission was simple, patrol a major highway to maintain an American presence and disrupt insurgent activity. For us that meant just another sweaty ride around the block, a handful of jokes to pass the time, and maybe a flash bang or two to throw at an inattentive driver or even just for fun. The lieutenant gave his brief and the order to mount our vehicles. We were ready in seconds, guns loaded and engines growling. WE were always half ready to start with, our bodies were strong as steel, our skills sharp as knives, and our spirits high as the enormous palms lining the orchard we passed every day going out of the wire. We were the cavalry… we moved fast and packed more heat than anyone else in the battalion and everybody knew it. Pedestrians froze, vehicles ground gears into reverse, and even the livestock scoffed at the herders call to flee from the rumble of our humvees. We were a fearsome force and they hated us. I guess that’s why they were after us.
We had gotten almost to the bridge, our turnaround point, when we approached an overpass. Like always, Time changed lanes, altered our speed, and I did an overhead check from the turret as we passed underneath. Tim maneuvered us back into the center lace to keep a good standoff distance from the side of the roads as usual, and Sarge cracked a joke about Brian being fat. OF course, he wasn’t fat at all. In fact, he was a track runner back in school. That’s why he sat in the rear right seat as our dismount troop. Doc reached behind my legs across the gunner’s platform to pat Brian on the shoulder, but instead of comforting him, he reassured Brian that he wasn’t at fault. He was only obese because his mom was too. We all had a laugh and then Sarge said something about a tommygun. It was windy in the turret so I couldn’t quite hear what it was, but I didn’t worry about it. We’ve all got a very dry sense of humor anyway to I kept scanning the sides of the road for anything suspicious. We passed a few piles of trash, but they had always been there and were undisturbed since I last saw them. We passed the same concrete blocks we always did and drove onto the same canal bridge as well and on the side of the bridge we passed the same cylindrical object, conical on top with a yellow package strapped to the warhead… wait… that’s a …… the terror sucked my senses from me.
Time seemed to stop for half a moment, only long enough for the fear to grip every part of my being. My vision blurred, my muscles tensed, and my innards jumped into my skull while adrenaline replaced the blood in my veins. There were no thoughts to run through my mind; my life didn’t flash before my eyes; there was no time for that or to express the horror of what I knew was about to happen. There was a 155 millimeter artillery shell less than five meters to my left with C4 strapped to the side and a wire running down the side of the bridge to a switch in the hands of a man who wanted us all dead. I heard only a soft thump and then a ringing. I felt the pressure of the blast throw me against the side of the turret and my right leg crumbled beneath me. I caught myself with my arms and pulled myself back up into the turret. I tried to stand but only my left leg would move. There was no pain, no worry, no thought… only instinct. I checked myself to see if I was in one piece – I grabbed my leg… it was still there, put my hands down my pants… good. We had been knocked into the right lane and the wheels must have been blown. By the way the truck fishtailed, shuddered and scraped to a halt, all four were probably gone.
I grabbed the binoculars and scanned deep into the desert and into the windows of the local huts for any sign of who had set it off. I tried to ignore Tim’s screaming but there was a gargling noise coming from inside the cab. I dropped the binos, they were useless to me now. Whoever did it was gone by now and probably laughing with his buddies. I looked down into the turret. There was blood everywhere. It was all over the platform; it ran down my leg; it streamed across the floor from the rear left where Doc wasn’t anymore. It smeared all over the seat and it began to ooze from the lace stuff in my boot. The blood seemed to have come from nowhere, as if the truck itself had bled. IT seemed to get deeper and deeper, swallowing the ammo and the he trash on the floor. I was hypnotized by it but I saw that Sarge has left his seat and radio was dangling from its hook. I grabbed it and started screaming for medivac… It was dead. Sarge was outside the truck next to the driver’s door. He tossed me the 2-way he kept on his flak I tried to hail truck 3 for help but it was bloody too and the button had been clotted over. I tried to fiddle with it but just then I saw 3 pull up from the rear of the convoy. Sarge and Brian had Doc on the stretcher already poised to throw him in the bed of the open backed truck. They slid him in on top of the bench that the troops say on and Tim crawled past the waterfall of blood coming from Doc alongside the bench and they started to move. I hadn’t told anyone I was hurt and they couldn’t have known otherwise. The blood on my leg could have been anyone’s. I figured it was alright, I wasn’t hurt that bad. I looked down and then I saw more blood squirt out of my trousers.
I dropped out of the turret and slid over Doc’s seat, slipping on his blood. I hit the ground and hopped on my good leg towards the medivac truck yelling, “One more, Sarge!” They saw me and everyone yelled at Chip to stop the truck. Sarge and Brian picked my up and tossed me up into the bed, slammed the doors, and I barred them with the 2X4. Chip let his lead foot crush the gas and we tore out of the kill zone. Sean, the gunner, has managed to get Tim’s boot off, revealing his shredded foot and the hole in his leg. Staff Sergeant was already straddling Doc, holding his neck. The blood was still pooling in his flak collar. His other hand was moving so fast, cutting off pieces of flak that were in the way and loosening clothing and removing gear. He told me to hold Doc’s neck while he prepped the quick-clot cauterizing agent.
On 3, we swapped. I thrust my hands where I expected his neck to be but it was gone. Blood gushed out but I managed to plug something up with my finger and the bleeding slowed. Sean was waving his machinegun at cars, pointing it at the faces of frantic drivers with the barrel practically in their ears and Chip was dodging the oncoming vehicles like that fly you just can’t swat. We were all yelling at Doc, telling him he was fine and that he was going to make it. He would try to swallow to show he was still alive and I could feel his esophagus tremble each time. It was us against them, six Marines against the three things that would try to take one of their lives. Staff Sergeant had locked arms with the shrapnel in Doc’s neck; he cut the flak off and did everything a man can do to save him. Chip, Sean, and I were grappling with time trying to get him to the hospital as soon as possible, trying to minimize the obstacle, and trying to keep the blood in his body. And Doc took death itself by the throat. He fought it with everything he had. His mouth hung open and his body limp, but the fire in his eyes was so intense we all thought he would show the grim reaper his own grave that day… and we drove on.
But the quick-clot didn’t work and the blood never stopped. It was all over the truck; it covered Staff Sergeant’s chest, arms, and face. Sean’s legs were drenched and so was Tim. It dripped off my arms from my hands to my shoulders. Death won the day – he died in our arms.
When we arrived at the hospital, Tim and I got patched up. A piece of shrapnel has entered the door, hit his left foot and ricocheted into his right calf. I had a piece stuck in my calf about the same place as Tim and another went clean through my thigh. Doc was struck by a golf-ball-sized piece of steel. It traveled through the door, right below his arm, and skewed upwards into his neck. Staff Sergeant came in to see us and if only you could have seen the look on his face. It ripped the tears from your soul, the sorrow was unbearable. Time and I each shed a pair of tears and sent a prayer to follow our friend wherever he may be."
Semper Fidelis
-PFC Jonathan D Pool
United States Marine Corps
In Loving Memory
Hn3 Aaron Kent
United States Navy Corpsman
Killed in action by a 155mm artillery shell used as an improvised explosive device, Iraq
Jon is one of the kids at the church my family attends. He is a very Godly young man, and a Hero to son. Our prayers are with Jon every day.
Do you have a link to the source? Thanks.
I'm in awe, my prayers to these men, give us this day our daily bread.
PRAYERS UP!
GODSPEED!
SEMPER FIDELIS!
GOOD LORD'S DAY!
Just wondering.
No his mom goes to our church. He is a new Marine only been in about six months.
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