Memoirs From the Edge of Chaos

Impact from a rocket is quite dramatic.  The rocket motor propelling the warhead goes silent.  Then the pulsation of the concussion is distributed immediately.  Lastly, the sound of the explosion follows.  In succession, the minuet of kinetic energy plays throughout our area.  I count ten direct impacts, not counting the secondary explosions hitting helicopters at the nearby landing zone, and fuel tanks roughly 500 meters away.  As the roar of rocket motors reach crescendo, then ebb, my thoughts run uncorraled.  Oddly, I wonder who would drive my just paid off BMW, and whether I should’ve bought the new 5-series.  They have that new I-drive system and with the top open, I could go to La Jolla Cove Beach and…..

The closest explosion occurs less than 150 meters away.  Then, silence…finally. 

"All clear, All clear.  Personnel make accountability reports to…"  the C-RAM voices states unenthusiastically.

The MSG, my roomie, and I leave the D&C.  Then anguished shouts fill the air.  Above the din I make out cries for "get help" and "need medic."  I grab my roomie.

"Go to the trailer and bring my keys to the gym," I order.

I pull my cell phone from my vest pocket and depart for my muster point.   There are 12 other enlisted and officers I’m responsible for that live on the same compound.  Whenever there is an impact, standard procedures dictate we all muster so I can make the call to Ops center that all are "present and accounted for."  One soldier is missing.

"Where is Sergeant Ruiz?"  I inquire.

"Sir, he never arrived," was the reply.

"Damn.  He knows the procedure.  You’re all accounted.  Let’s break and see where help is needed," I say.  After calling the Ops Center to make my initial report, I place the phone back in my body armor pouch, and lead my personnel to the gym.

We quickly move toward the casualty collection point, or CCP, near the compound gym in less than a minute.  Despite not being in uniform under the body armor, I perspire noticeably.  My roomie comes up to me, handing me the keys to my SUV.  Looking around, I note fellow soldiers and civilians moving about, some helping others move to the CCP.  Many seem dazed, their eyes open, yet unseeing.  The result of near impact injuries.  But I didn’t see any damage as I walked toward the CCP.  Airborne dust commingling with explosive residue sting my nose and give me pause for breath.  I collect myself then turn away from the CCP, doing an almost about face.

"Oh my f*cking God," I mutter.

In front of me were two rows of trailers with roofs fallen in, the sides peeled away like labels from a can.  Shrapnel holes were evident, like the holes in a slice of swiss cheese.  It must have been the last explosion I heard.  And in front of me, stiffly staggering toward my group, a soot-darkened male figure with obvious injuries, and Sgt Ruiz helping him along.

"Help me…please," whispers forcefully the injured man, in agony.

A combat medic runs in front of me.  The medic and Sgt Ruiz lay the man down on the dusty concrete.  I recognize Major Lee as the fallen man.  Then it dawns on me…that’s not soot, that’s blood covering his tattered clothing and body.  I observe this with awestruck wonder.  Intellectually, I know the human body only contains 8 to 10 pints of blood.  However, as it seemingly pours from the head and arms, it visually feels like much more.  The medic turns to me.

"Sir, may I have your IFAK?"

"Yes, go ahead," I reply, handing my individual first aid kit. 

Turning to my roomie, I request, "Bring the SUV around to medevac Lee to the Combat Hospital."  My roomie departs.

The medic deftly wraps Lee’s head with the Israeli Battle Field dressing to turn off the faucet of red fluid.  Using the "t-bar", the medic wraps the bands around Lee’s arm above the arterial wound.  Securing the bands onto the "t-bar", he twists four turns until tightened, then secures the "t-bar" in place with Velcro straps.  The rate of blood flow drops instantaneously.  Others bring additional kits, wrapping and cleansing some of the major shrapnel wounds under the medic’s supervision.  Within myself, I feel a sense of pride.  Though this young medic may have had no idea whom Major Lee was prior to the attack, his professionalism and initiative may just have saved his life.  This was the highest example of how combat fosters the greatest of brotherhood.

After Major Lee is loaded into my SUV and driven away, I walk toward Sgt Ruiz. 

"Sir, I’m sorry I missed muster, " he says, unsteadily.

"No worries.  You had a good reason,"  I reply.  I see the slightly dazed expression and grab his right hand and wrist with my right hand.

"I couldn’t leave a brother when he needed help.  I just couldn’t…" he stammers.  His shaking increases, and I recognize his near-impact concussion symptoms.  I pull Ruiz closer to me.

"I know."

The medic approaches us both.  Another SUV parks nearby.  Still holding Ruiz’ right wrist, I place my left arm around his right side.  I’m braced to accept his weight.

"I would want the same done forrrr…." mutters Ruiz, then quietly slumps forward into me.  I bring him into a soldier’s embrace.

The medic rushes forward.  "Sir, let me take him."

"No," I state firmly.  "I got him."

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Harris

This entry was posted on Monday, October 13th, 2008 at 8:39 am and is filed under Other. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.