When Goons Get Wounds

Jesse and Donald, Iraq 2008

I've said this a million times and I'll say it again; I'm not a tough guy, but I served with a few.

On Aprill 22nd 2008, I had the "motivational run" of a lifetime. My platoon was spun up and called out in the middle of the night in Northern Iraq after our sister platoon came in contact. They were in a notoriously bad area called Route Golden and we were rushing out to them as a quick reaction/recovery force. If you're not familiar, Route Golden was a hotbed for enemy activity in Iraq and rumored to be an old anti tank minefield from the first Gulf War. It was to no one's surprise that a team had been hit out there.

We never had much information spinning up, just allot of running, shouting, racking our weapons and slamming down energy drinks. Typically, once you got in your vehicle, you were dead silent and just monitoring the radio traffic to get as much information about what was going on as you could. I remember this night because it was pitch black. I mean pitch fucking black. At this stage of the game, team America was rocking PVS-14's for night vision and depending on a relative amount of starlight to use them. There was not a star in the sky that night. That's the one thing I remember heading out into sector. Not one fucking star, just pitch-black darkness.

As we headed out in our vehicles, our Lieutenant came over the net and started briefing us on what was happening. An EOD element was hit while doing clearance operations in our A.O. Our sister platoon was initially sent out as their QRF and recovery; however, they were also hit and took casualties of their own. So, here we were, the second-string response element headed out to try and recover the recovery.

I still remember taking the hard right turn that started us on route golden. Every single person in our vehicle was dead silent and monitoring the static, beeps and sounds over their headset. The only other thing we heard was the humming of the engine and the vibrations of the vehicle on the terrain. Typically, a vehicle full of young soldiers has a whole lot a talk and laughter going on. This was absent that night and replaced with dead silence. When you think about driving down a road that just took out two other patrols before you and dished out multiple casualties to each one, I'm sure you can understand why.

Silence, radio static and humming engines were all you could...BOOM! My chest felt a gentle rumble and the ground sent vibrations through our vehicle all the way back in the rear of the patrol. Now it was absolute silence. Our vehicle came to a dead stop and every person was listening to their headset with intense focus and waiting for a radio transmission. We were now the third element to get hit that night on the same route.

Then, the lead vehicle keyed up "...they're fucking hit! ..."Break! Break! Break! We need the medic!"

I heard the Velcro peeling off the headset of my team leader before he turned back and looked at me and said, "Doc... With me. Stay in the tracks" in a cool, calm and collected voice. I'm glad he was calm because I was scared out of my fucking mind at this point. I peeled off my headset, put my doomsday bag on and hopped out of my vehicle with the most attention to detail I've ever had in my fucking life. I ran up along the right side of the vehicle to the front, practically hugging the thing the whole time before I reached my team leader. He stood hunched over in the pitch-black dark, trying to scan the area with his NODS before he said; "Doc, in the tracks. Let's go" in a low whisper.

(I have no idea why we were whispering. You and your buddy go run through a minefield in the dark and tell me how loud you talk).

We picked up a good jogging pace and started pushing forward, staying in the deep tire tracks of the vehicle that had been in front of us. The biggest thing I remember was how dark it was that night. My nods were very little help and outside their green glowing view was just total darkness. I could barely make out the tire tracks that we were trying to stay in and I was doing my best not to eat the dirt or roll an ankle.

This felt like a breath hold the whole way. Out of nowhere, about twenty feet away the downed vehicle just appeared in front of me. I could start to hear the voices of my other teammates inside and as we approached the rear doors and they opened, I had a bit of relief. Everyone was alert and alive. Beat up, but alive. My teammate Andrew took it the worst. He had some facial trauma, his bell was rung pretty good and some ugly lacerations. When I started assesing him he gave me a big grin and that's when I could see the fifty-caliber machine gun he was manning had knocked his tooth out. It was a brief moment of comedy in a terrifying situation. I hope he got that dental work done because toothless was not a good look for him. For a guy who took an IED while in the turret, ate a fifty-caliber machine gun and had his brain scrambled, I'd say he was in the best shape any of us could hope for...alive.

Andrew, Iraq 2008

Andrew was treated, the bird was en route and the rest of the team started to feel the reality check of how dangerous this route was. We were the third element to get hit in just a few hours on this route and every patrol had taken casualties. Once Andrew was medevaced, the rest of us were ordered not to move and stay in place until more assets could arrive in the morning. That wasn't an issue with anyone. Nobody was to eager for round four of "minesweeper" and we were all too happy to stay right we were. It was a nice long night of rotating guard, slamming energy drinks and contemplating life, liberty and the pursuit of pulling security in a mine field we drove ourselves into and couldn't get ourselves get out of.

Then, as the morning came I could see the surroundings more clearly. The pitch black dark slowly turned into shapes and scenery around me. That's when I could see the other elements out there with us and their downed vehicles. Holly fuck, tank mines are no joke. I know our three casualties lived, but I'm not so sure about the EOD element. I was definitely ready to get off the "X" and I'm very sure all my guys felt the same way.

That night is still in my top five "breath hold" moments of all time while on deployment.

Now, before anyone starts crying and feeling sorry for my wounded guys, let me tell you about Donald. Donald was my teammate who was also wounded that night in the patrol before ours. He's also the dashing gentleman on the right in the photo up top with the story's title. You see, the idea of getting blown up and wounded didn't sit too well with Donald, so, he did the only thing a good young soldier could do... he PID'd the motherfucker with the trigger and smoked his ass.

Yes,... you heard me correctly. My teammate, who was also blown up and wounded that night, fucking shot and killed the same guy who was trying to kill him with a glorious cone of hate and probably even struck a pose when he did it. Y'all, never "wound a goon". It just pisses them off and gets them really excited. You could literally blow them up and they would just smile at you with a mouth full of missing teeth and laugh or put holes in your ass and kill you. That trigger man was a definite No-Go at Donald's station. No retrain, no retest. Just dropped from the war completely with a Do Not Return on his white slip.

Route golden was eventually given a battalion mission all to itself after this incident. I also had the pleasure of being a part of that fun too. Donald was sent home, Andrew recovered and eventually returned to us a few weeks later and a new soldier named Warren was medically discharged from the Army for his wounds in this incident. The only satisfaction I ever got from this night was that a trigger man got smoked by his own casualty and that still puts a smile on my face to this day.

I was personally scared out my mind from start to finish that night. I had never anticipated a situation like that before and I'm glad all my teammates lived to tell the tale. I still can't get over how cool, calm and collected some of them were or how tough Andrew and Donald are. I've said this a million times, this story is a perfect example, and I'll say again...

I'm not a tough guy, but I served with few.