Medevac part 1
We flew back to the battalion in Al Qa’im. Several Marines and Sailors were waiting to whisk us into the FRSS (Forward Resuscitative Surgery System) to assess our injuries. I remember leaning upon my elbow in the stretcher and telling them Sosa and Santos were worse, they should get looked at first. I still felt an impulse to lead and influence, but I was out of my arena. A Corpsman put his hand on my shoulder and said “thanks brother, we got it”. He wasn’t bossy, but his tone and demeanor spoke volumes to his gentle assertiveness, confidence, and competence. I laid back amidst the flurry of activity.
I made sure someone took control and accountability of our weapons. I told the Corpsman cutting my uniform off not to lose my belt. I had a $40 “riggers belt”. This was before tactical gear really flooded the market and an item like this was hard to come by. I never saw that belt again and later had to drive several hours to replace it. The Chaplain stopped by and prayed for me and the other guys. Once my wounds were situated I was placed in a holding room on a stretcher under a poncho liner. The Battalion Ops Chief, Master Gunnery Sergeant French, stopped by to see me. I was humbled that this old salt took the time to be personally involved. Years later when I became a Master Gunnery Sergeant this event served as an example and reminder to me that leadership is a human endeavor, it is personal, and presence matters.
A little while later Santos, Sosa, and I were lying on litters in the back of a HMMWV ambulance at the LZ, waiting for a helo to take us to a lager base for follow-on care. I told them I was proud of them and to try to relax, we were in good hands. I then surprised even myself when I blurted out “I love you guys”. After a brief, awkward silence they said “you too Staff Sergeant”. I quickly followed with “If you ever tell anybody I said that I will punch you in the face!” They both chuckled and said “roger”.
We were taken to Balad, Iraq, to the 31st C.S.H. (Combat Support Hospital). They put me under to scrub out the wounds. The gunshot wound to the right hamstring was a “through and through” shot leaving entry and exit holes that were packed with gauze. There was a small hole in my left arm just above the elbow where a dime-sized piece of shrapnel tore underneath my bicep. It was deep and near a nerve so it was left in my arm. When I came to, I was in a large tent filled with wounded and recovering personnel lying on cots. Half of the tent contained wounded civilians, Iraqis. I was in the middle of the tent with the civilians to my left and Marines to my right. I woke up on my side and saw nothing but wounded Iraqis before me. I shot upright, disoriented and in a panic. At the foot of my cot, in the middle of the tent sat an army Medic at a field desk. He made eye contact and said “you’re alright man”. I glanced around the room and recognized a few young Marines from the battalion. One of them saw me awake and came over bringing me a soda and a snack. It was extremely painful to put weight on my right leg. Crutches were out of the question with the arm wound. I asked the medic to find me a cane. He responded it was doubtful they had one. I snapped back at him and he went to see what could be done. He came back with a one and I was very grateful.
At some point I was taken in for x-rays to see if there was any more shrapnel in my body. They carried me through this labyrinth of tents and connectors to another tent. I had received several IV bags of fluid and needed to use the head. I told the medics who handed me a jug and told me to pee in it. Several of the young medics were female and I said I couldn’t do it with them there. They laughed and said something matter-of-fact. Two young guys held up a poncho liner as a curtain and I tried to pee in the jug but couldn’t. I said “they’re right there” indicating the other side of the screen. They all shook their heads chuckling but didn’t give me a hard time. They asked if I could make it on my own outside to the port-o-john. I said yes and limped outside with my cane. The sun seemed incredibly bright, and it was so hot and dry. It took me a while to slowly limp across the yard and back. While lying back in the tent someone asked me if I needed anything and I recall telling them I could really use a toothbrush. It felt great to brush my teeth again.
I think we stayed there maybe 24 hours. I don’t remember leaving but we were flown to Kuwait next. I woke in a dark tent lying on a row of cots. It was late. As I stirred a young woman and a tall young man came to my side. They were in the Air National Guard and served on flights between Kuwait and Germany. They just wanted to be helpful. She held my hand and asked me how I was doing. They made small talk. They were from somewhere in the Midwest. They reflected such empathy and compassion. I was on painkillers and a bit talkative. I recall saying “don’t take this the wrong way, but something about you being here…a kind woman…in this place…it’s just…well… comforting.” She smiled, squeezed my hand, and kissed my forehead. They asked if I needed anything. It suddenly occurred to me that I couldn’t recall having eaten anything in about 48 hours and I was incredibly hungry. It may have been about 0200. They looked energized and said “We’ll be right back!” About 30 minutes later they returned with a styrofoam container and two ice cold Dr. Peppers. The tray contained two large pieces of fried chicken, which I devoured. It was the best meal I had ever eaten in my life. They told me how the DFAC (Dining Facility) was closed but they charged back into the kitchen to find someone and pressed them for some food; this was the best they could do. They could tell I was extremely grateful. Their smiles seemed to light the room as they looked down at me. A heavy wave of drowsiness came on from the medication. I lay back and put my head on the pillow. I reached up to shake the guys hand and say thank you. She place a hand on my forehead, gently smoothing my hair and said “get some rest”.
I never saw those two again. They seemed like a brother and sister. In a manner of speaking they were. She the senior and he the junior. Airmen from a hometown Air National Guard unit in the Midwest. They were two young people from our generation doing their small part in a very big war. Amidst “just doing their job”, they took the time to show concern, compassion, and practical assistance to a brother-in-arms they had just met. They will never know the encouragement I received from their act of kindness. I will never forget them.
I awoke sometime later being carried aboard a C-130 for a flight to Germany.