There probably hasnt been a single day since March 2003, that any of us hasnt been able to turn on the TV and on some channel, be able to find someone protesting the war in Iraq. Certain names or words come to mind whenever I think of that.
Cindy Sheehan, 4000 servicemembers killed, WMD's, etc. etc.
Im sure most of you would think of the same and probably more. As Ive mentioned in previous blogs, there probably isnt a single person in this nation that doesnt know somebody or know OF somebody that currently serves or has served in the military. Chances are that that person served in Iraq and/or Afghanistan.
Iraq has become a very controversial subject when it comes to matters of politics. Most people, when they talk about it are completely convinced that we either should or should not be there, Depending on what your values are, what you've experienced in your life and how you see the world. Im probably one of the biggest advocates FOR free speech. I have been constantly reminded that my tongue will get me into trouble someday. I can tell you it already has. My tongue has been my greatest weakness. But it has also been my greatest strength.
I have no problem with voicing my opinion. I believe that "if you stand for nothing, you'll fall for anything". The fact that I voice my opinion, specifically when I think something is f*cked up, kept me from being promoted to Staff Sergeant for a year while I was in the Army. But it DIDNT keep me from being one of the youngest Staff Sergeants in the 101st Airborne Division. I definitely moved up in rank very quickly during the time I was in the Army. I was a Sergeant at the age of 19 and a Staff Sergeant shortly after my 22nd birthday. (Remember I got held back for a year) When I was told by my platoon sergeant that he had decided not to send me to the "E-6 Board" because I needed to learn how to control what I said, it completely caught me off guard even though I should have expected it. Throughout the whole time I was in the Army, Ive had different levels of leadership tell me that my mouth was gonna come back and bite me in the ass. Sure enough it did. I didnt resent my platoon sergeant. Instead, my already high view of him only raised even more. Him and I were very good friends before he became my platoon sergeant and at work, we still maintained the professionalism needed to accomplish the mission. So when he told me that I would not be going before the board for promotion, I didnt take it personally. I decided that it was time for me to reflect on why I had this road block in front of me. Although Ive definitely learned to pick and choose my battles now, I still have that drive in me to stand up when things are going in the wrong direction. This time is no different. And THAT is why Im writing this blog.
I completely understand the pain that a parent,sibling, spouse or grandparent must feel when their loved one is lost in battle. It is a demoralizing feeling that the first human instinct is to find someone to blame. The problem with the war in Iraq is that for some people, the person (or persons) to blame may at times be unclear. Alot of people blame President Bush. Their defending argument is that we went in there for oil. That because the Bush family has a history in the petroleum business, it is a definite fact that they went in there to seek out the many oil reserves that Iraq contains. Although this argument sounds almost convincing, I believe that it is simply not true. President Bush may not have been as eloquent or as well spoken as President Obama, but he certainly is no fool. I had the honor to meet President Bush two years ago and I can tell you personally that he is intelligent as he is humorous. Another reason why Im convinced that the war in Iraq was not motivated by interests in oil is because with the constant exposure that the media provides, any possible hint of such a thing would have been exposed like the whole Monica Lewinsky thing. And that was because the media LIKED President Clinton. Imagine how they would been with President Bush, someone who they clearly could not stand.
Another "reason" that people usually come up with for our involvement in Iraq is WMD's. Well...That one I'll leave alone. I wholeheartedly believe that in time, people will see that Bush wasnt completely full of shit. Understand that a hell of a lot more happens over there than what the media will show and a hell of alot more happens over there that civilians back home wouldnt be able to understand or accept.
The point of this blog posting is to explain a different side to the war in Iraq. Currently, one of the biggest (if not THE biggest) debates going on in politics is the possibility of a nationalized healthcare program made available to everyone in the United States. President Obama (whom I have not hidden the fact that Im not his biggest fan) is running around from townhall meeting to townhall meeting, touting how we have a "moral obligation" to provide for those less fortunate than we are. I COMPLETELY AGREE!!! But not at the expense of those that cannot afford it. Americans are generally a giving society. Although you wouldnt see this characteristic too often if you were to go to New York City. (Ironically one of the most liberal cities in the US and one of the biggest supporting communities for a nationalized healthcare program...Go Figure!!)
My point with the whole "moral obligation" thing is....If President Obama is so concerned about caring for those less fortunate than ourselves, then where was this compassion, better yet, where IS this compassion in regards to the Iraqi people? If anything, the Iraqis are FAR less fortunate than any American currently living within our borders. So if he is so concerned about the welfare of those less fortunate than ourselves, then why isnt he choosing to continue the fight in Iraq to bring Democracy there? Why isnt he choosing to stay there until "Mission Complete"? To stabilize the country. To finish bringing water to small towns that have never had running water. To establish security in a country that has been at war longer than most of us have been alive.
I will end this blog regarding our dilemma of whether or not we should stay in Iraq or not, with a few questions....
If the French wouldnt have intervened in the war between the American Colonies and the British, wouldnt we still be under British rule? Dont we have the same "moral obligation" to provide for those less fortunate than ourselves in another country as we do for the people of our own country? Or does the term moral only apply to situations that benefit us politically?
If the North had chosen not to intervene in the cessation of the South from the American Union, wouldnt blacks still be considered slaves?
I believe that the decision for the United States to intervene in Iraq to get rid of Saddam Hussein, was a correct decision. I spent two years over there and would spend another two if my presence there ensured that the Iraqi people could look forward to the same peace and security that we Americans so easily take for granted.
Showing posts with label Iraq. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Iraq. Show all posts
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
July 13th: A Rebirth
Exactly three years ago today, I was reborn. But a part of me died. A BIG part!
Three years ago today, I was on a night mission with my team from 3rd Platoon, Charlie Company, 1st Squadron, 32nd RSTA (Reconnaissance, Surveillance and Target Acquisition) or C.Co, 1/32 RSTA. This was my second deployment to Iraq and we had already been in country for 11 months. As a matter of fact, we were only 3 weeks away from coming back home. So in reality, we were counting down the days till we got on the "freedom bird" to return back home to our loved ones. Our bags were already packed and we were doing the last few missions in our sector while we awaited the official orders stating that we were going home.
It was late in the night and I had just dropped off two of my surveillance teams at different locations and we were driving around basically to ensure that the area was safe. It sure seemed like it was. Iraqis for the most part drop everything they're doing once the sun goes down and head into their houses. The day is over for them. But for us, days and nights merge. We don't work 9 to 5 jobs. Not when were back stateside and certainly not when were deployed. At least this is true for Infantry units.
When we're in the States, our day "officially" starts at 0630hrs. I say officially because for the NCO's and Officers, were usually there about an hour early just getting stuff prepared for whatever it is that we will be doing that day. The day ends...well...Whenever were done! Sometimes at 1600hrs. Sometimes at 1800hrs. Sometimes at 2100hrs. Whenever the day's tasks are accomplished. The rest of the Army has the luxury of closing up at 1600hrs. Although by 1530hrs, the POGs are usually nowhere to be found. (POGs is the term we Infantry use to refer to those that are not us. It officially stands for "Personnel Other than Grunt" and can easily be characterized as those that sit behind a desk or are so fat that their uniform barely fits. For those of you in the Army that are curious if you fall under that "POG" status, if your MOS is not part of the 11 series (i.e. 11B, 11C, 11A), then you are a POG. The exception to the rule are those of the 18 series MOS. (Special Forces))
Back to the story:
In Iraq though, are schedule is not as "comfortable" as that of when were back in the States. POGs still get their cute little schedule. On occasion, they might have to pull a night shift of guard but for the most part after 1700hrs, you will find the POGs in either their PT uniforms or (I couldn't believe it when I saw it) civilian clothes. We (the Infantry) still kept to our missions and didn't have the 9 to 5 schedule. Our missions were day AND night, regardless of how hot it was or how much sleep we did or did not get. If something was going on outside "the wire" you better believe that you were going out.
On July 13, 2006, it was no different. I was just getting ready to radio my trail vehicle to let them know to start turning around when all of a sudden, WHOOOMF!! The loudest, most God awful sound came from under my vehicle. My vehicle had just rolled over an IED (Improvised Explosive Device or "bomb" in lamens terms).
I remember looking through the night vision device in my Bradley and seeing the same thing we do every other night. Nothing...We were scheduled to pick up the teams we had just dropped off later on in the night (before sun up), and as I picked up the hand mic to radio my trail vehicle, I dropped my pencil, which I kept on me for notes, from my lap. As I reached down to get it, I saw the bottom of the floor open up and a flash of orange, yellow and green surrounded the cabin of the Bradley. Not to mention an immense amount of heat. I felt the Bradley shake and immediately heard the sound that will forever stay in my memories. The sound of an explosion literally just a few feet beneath me and the sound of flames cracking all around me. I felt the fire cooking the skin off of my face and I immediately tried to put it out with my hands. It was no use. The explosion had ruptured the fuel cell of my vehicle and covered my gunner (Tommy) and I in diesel fuel. So whatever (if any) flames I was putting out on my face, were immediately re-ignited due to our fuel drenched uniforms. I remember trying to scream but the oxygen in the small turret had been burned up so quickly that neither of us were able to breath. I tried to inhale air but all that went down my throat were the flames of the fire all around me. I could feel it burning my throat and tongue. My gunner and I immediately climbed out of the turret and that was the last I saw of him.
I remember getting out of the turret faster than I had ever been able to do so before. The opening of the turret is so small that an average sized human would have trouble climbing in and out. We had body armor and magazines strapped to our chests, so the task is even harder to accomplish. But I did nonetheless. I remember running down the sloped front hatch of the Bradley and jumping onto the ground to try to roll around and put out the flames. The Bradley, since it was still moving from the convoy, stopped just inches from my body as I was rolling around. A hard and painful lesson to learn is the fact that pavement doesn't put out fire very well, regardless of how much you roll around. Especially if your uniform is doused in diesel fuel. I got up and ran to the north side of the road, where there was (maybe) a quarter inch of sand that would hopefully do better at putting out the fire than the pavement did. It didn't.
On the south side of the road, there was a small creek that paralleled the road all the way down. But 3 weeks prior an almost identical incident happened to another one of my teams. They had also been travelling down the road on a similar mission when their vehicle rolled over an IED. One of the crew members of the vehicle that had been hit, ran into the creek and immediately put out the flames that covered his body. What almost killed him wasn't the burns that he sustained but instead the infections that took over his body. The water in Iraq is so incredibly filthy that you will never find any fish swimming around in any of those creeks.
During all of the chaos that was going on, I somehow managed to remember that. So despite the fact that I was literally watching myself burn to death, I refused to jump into the water. So that in the chance that I might live, I wouldn't die from infectious water seeping into my body.
After rolling around in the sand, not much of the fire was going out. My uniform had been completely burned off and I was now naked on the side of the road with the only items left on my body were my boots, my pistol (which I kept in a leg holster), my gloves and my bullet proof vest. Everything else was gone. There was still some fire left on my boots and I tried to kick them to put it out. It helped a little but small flames kept popping back up. I figured that there was nothing else I could do in regards to the fire.
I immediately jumped to my feet and ran to the rear of my vehicle to tell my Assistant Team Leader (Gary) to call for a MEDEVAC (Medical Evacuation). As I was pointing towards him, I saw that his head was popped out of the vehicle and that he was already doing that. In the midst of all of that commotion, I felt very proud (and thankful) to have had him as my assistant. That short lived sense of ease quickly disappeared when, as I was pointing towards him, I saw that the skin from my forearm was hanging from my arm in a half moon shape (literally hanging). I didn't dwell on that for too long because I remember running back towards the fron of my vehicle and I saw my driver (Sigsbee) on his back with flames on his chest. He had successfully gotten out of the vehicle but his chest plate had caught fire and was now trying to keep his face away from the flames. I ran over to him and dropped to my knees and started to pat the flames away. My gloves, which until this point had miraculously not caught fire, immediately went up in flames. They lit up so fast and so much that all I did was shake them off and they fell to the ground next to me. I continued to pat out Sigsbees chest until the fire went out completely.
Seeing that he was good to go, I started to run back around to the rear of the vehicle. Unfortunately, my body had enough. My legs gave out from under me and I could no longer get up. Upon realizing that I was no longer useful to my team in regards to evacuating wounded, I did the only thing I could (or at least would have tried to) do. I kept security.
When the explosion happened and I jumped out of the vehicle, I had forgotten to grab my rifle. Now this seems like a pretty careless thing to do but in the midst of all of that, I was more worried about putting out the fire than I was about having accountability of my equipment. Due to that, my rifle was no burning up inside of my Bradley. Probably a black spot of burning metal amongst the rest of the now melting Bradley. The only thing I had on me that could now provide some sort of security was my 9mm pistol which was in the leg holster. I tried to grab it but my fingers had been so badly burnt that I couldn't unsnap the button that kept it in its place. I did the only thing that seemed logical at the time. I took the safety off and used my right leg as an aiming device. The theory that I had in mind was that if someone were to take the opportunity to ambush us, I would basically point my leg at them and shoot. This probably wouldn't have worked out the way I had reasoned but it was the only option I felt I had at the moment.
As I was laying there on the side of the road, Gary's gunner (Wortman) ran up to me and asked me if I was ok.
Wortman is one of those few soldiers nowadays that will do whatever is asked of them and will never complain, mutter or even make a face. A former Marine, he had come to me only a few weeks before but I really didn't have to teach him anything. He was already familiar with Infantry tactics and the only thing I had to do is to get him familiar with our unit's SOPs (Standard Operating Procedures). Seeing him come up to me put me at ease.
I told him I was fine but that he needed to get accountability of the team and to let Gary know that he was now in charge. He ran off to do just that.
A few seconds later, my medic (Garcia), (whom we had just received as a replacement after our old medic was injured in the previous incident 3 weeks before), walked up next to me. (This next part, I will omit from this blog. The only thing I will say is that if I ever see Garcia again in my life, I will slam his body against a wall and he will see a side of me that no one has ever seen before)
Wortman came back to me, this time with a fire blanket and covered me with it. My body, since it was completely without skin, was now exposed and whatever gel it is that was on that blanket, immediately stung me. That was the first pain I felt during this whole incident. I told him, "get that fucking blanket off of me. That shit fucking burns". He took it off.
I asked him if he was able to get accountability of everyone. He mentioned that he found everyone except for Tommy.
I told him that he needs to go find Tommy and to not come back until he had accountability of EVERYONE, including Tommy.
Wortman wanted to stay there with me and make sure I stayed awake but I told him Id be fine and that he needed to make sure that everyone was found and taken care of.
He didn't want to leave me there by myself but he did as he was told and ran off.
A few minutes later, Wortman came back to me and told me that Tommy had been found. Gary's driver, Henry (Probably the most motivated soldier Ive ever met) had jumped out of Gary's vehicle and found Tommy inside the creek on the south side of the road. (The same one I mentioned earlier) Tommy, having been badly burnt himself, had successfully extinguished the flames but did not have the strength to pull himself out of the water and almost drowned. Tommy was big man. He was about 6'2-6'4" and weighed about 220-230lbs. Henry was about 5'7"-5'8" and weighed about 140lbs (soaked and wet). Little Henry wouldn't have been able to pull out Tommy from the creek by himself and Wortman was able to help him pull Tommy out.
I felt better now that I knew that all my guys were accounted for.
Shortly after, I started to hear the sound of the MEDEVAC helicopters approaching. It probably took them only a few minutes to land after I first heard the sound of the helicopter blades, but it felt like an eternity. I remember thinking to myself, "just land already".
The MEDEVAC crew was truly outstanding. They not only loaded up my guys but the helped my team maintain security throughout the whole process. When the flight medic approached me, I told him that I wanted to be the last to be loaded up on the bird. (Bird is the term we use to refer to helicopters or airplanes) He said ok.
When it was my turn to load me up on the helicopter, Wortman and the flight medic came to me with a stretcher. The medic tried to cut away my body armor but because of the intense heat of the fire, the body armor had melted to my chest and he could not get it off. Instead they tried to lift me onto the stretcher and I immediately felt a sharp stabbing pain around my crotch and my ass. In the midst of me rolling to face the north side of the road to maintain security, I had rolled onto a strand of barbed wire and it was now tangled around my lower body. It ran down my crotch and up my ass and God knows where else. The flight medic pulled out his Multi-tool and attempted to cut it but the barbed wire was too thick. He tried pulling it but that just made it tighten around my lower body even more. I don't know how they eventually got it off but they soon had me loaded up in the helicopter.
Once in the MEDEVAC, I tried to yell out to my guys but only Sigsbee answered. He said he was ok.
I asked the flight medic where my other two guys were and he said that they were in the other bird and that they were ok.
This next part is kind of funny given the current circumstances...
Once I saw that we were in the air and safe from anything on the ground, I reached down with my right hand and grabbed my dick and my balls. Everything was still there. Whew!!
While still in flight, I started to feel the first signs of actual pain from within my body. Due to the burns, my body had started to swell immensely and since my boots were still on, they were starting to cut off circulation to my feet. This was extremely painful and I yelled to the medic to cut them off. He first tried to untie them but since my feet were so swollen, he couldn't grab the laces which I always kept tucked inside the boots. He ended up cutting the laces off and was able to loosen the boots enough to bring me some relief.
But at this point, my body started to really hurt. The whip of the wind was now affecting my mostly skinless body and I felt every bit of it. I remember trying to keep myself from screaming in pain but the medic noticed my apparent distress. He asked me what was wrong and through tears in my eyes, I told him that I was hurting. He asked me where and I said, "everywhere". He immediately started to inject me with morphine. I remember him injecting me with dose after dose of morphine and it felt like none of it would do any good.
At this point, I looked out into the night sky and saw every star that was out that night. Ive never been a religious person in my life and felt guilty if I ever prayed because Ive never liked asking for anything. But I realized the seriousness of my condition and on that night, I made my first and till this day, only true and honest prayer Ive ever made in my life. I asked God that regardless of what happened to me that night. Whether I live or died, I asked that little Victor be taken care of. That he would grow up to be a responsible man and that he knew that his "Papi" always loved him. I then started to ask that all of my soldiers, their families, my family and friends be taken care of. I named them one by one. Making sure that each one was covered. I felt guilty if I had mentioned one and not another. At some point in my prayer, I passed out.
I woke up in Balad, Iraq at the Field Hospital they had set up for receiving the wounded. All I remember is waking up screaming asking for Tommy. I passed out again
I woke up again in Germany and remember a nurse cutting the rim of my glasses right in the middle. Once they were cut, she pulled my glasses from my face and I remember hearing my skin peel off with the glasses. I passed out again.
I woke up a few days later at Brooke Army Medical Center in San Antonio, Texas. I came to learn that I had actually died 4 times but was revived each time. (Lucky me)
Not so lucky, was Sgt. Tommy Turner.
Tommy had made it through Balad but died the second we landed in Landsthul, Germany, from heart complications. I didn't find out of this until a few months later. Everyone had kept the news from me for a long time because they were afraid that the news would put me into such a deep depression that I could have died from knowing. They were probably right. Everyday and every person that came into my room, I would ask them to find out about Tommy. I gave them his full name, his wife's name and his phone number which I still had memorized. Everyone promised to get back with me as soon as they would find something out but either, Id never see that person again or they would come back with "were still trying to locate him". That frustrated the hell out of me because I knew that if he was there, he would be accounted for. I had it set in my mind that they had just forgotten to actually look for him. Never did it enter into my head that he had actually not made it.
On a visit from my Company Commander, First Sergeant, Battalion Commander and Command Sergeant Major, I asked them about Tommy. My First Sergeant spoke up. He said, "Sergeant Dominguez...Sgt. Turner didn't make it. He died when you guys landed in Germany".
I felt like if my heart and throat were pulled out of my body. I couldn't speak and I couldn't breathe. The only thing I could do was look away and cry. I spoke to no one for weeks.
***This was my story of the events that took place on July 13, 2006. Exactly three years ago today. All of these events happened exactly as Ive written them and I haven't changed anything in order to make it seem less or more than it really was. This event, brief as it was in time, has changed the rest of my life completely. I had planned to make the Army a career way before I had even enlisted but now find myself out of the Army due to my injuries. I still keep in touch with my soldiers, some of whom have decided to get out of the Army as well, others who are still in but have moved on to other units. I hope you have enjoyed (maybe that's not the right word to describe it) what Ive written here and it gives you a better idea of some of the things that happen in combat. Some people have asked me, if I had the opportunity to change the way things worked out, would I? If you'd like to know my answer, by all means, leave me a comment. I will answer you the way Ive answered everyone else.
I will write more of the events that have taken place since this incident, in the future. But it is now late and I need to get to bed. Life goes on and Ive got to get to work very early in the morning. I will be posting a link soon to a story that was done on me in the Miami Herald last year based on these events. Please check back sometime to see when I post it. It was a very good story and Im sure you'll enjoy it.
Take care.
Ranger Vic
"Rangers Lead The Way"
Three years ago today, I was on a night mission with my team from 3rd Platoon, Charlie Company, 1st Squadron, 32nd RSTA (Reconnaissance, Surveillance and Target Acquisition) or C.Co, 1/32 RSTA. This was my second deployment to Iraq and we had already been in country for 11 months. As a matter of fact, we were only 3 weeks away from coming back home. So in reality, we were counting down the days till we got on the "freedom bird" to return back home to our loved ones. Our bags were already packed and we were doing the last few missions in our sector while we awaited the official orders stating that we were going home.
It was late in the night and I had just dropped off two of my surveillance teams at different locations and we were driving around basically to ensure that the area was safe. It sure seemed like it was. Iraqis for the most part drop everything they're doing once the sun goes down and head into their houses. The day is over for them. But for us, days and nights merge. We don't work 9 to 5 jobs. Not when were back stateside and certainly not when were deployed. At least this is true for Infantry units.
When we're in the States, our day "officially" starts at 0630hrs. I say officially because for the NCO's and Officers, were usually there about an hour early just getting stuff prepared for whatever it is that we will be doing that day. The day ends...well...Whenever were done! Sometimes at 1600hrs. Sometimes at 1800hrs. Sometimes at 2100hrs. Whenever the day's tasks are accomplished. The rest of the Army has the luxury of closing up at 1600hrs. Although by 1530hrs, the POGs are usually nowhere to be found. (POGs is the term we Infantry use to refer to those that are not us. It officially stands for "Personnel Other than Grunt" and can easily be characterized as those that sit behind a desk or are so fat that their uniform barely fits. For those of you in the Army that are curious if you fall under that "POG" status, if your MOS is not part of the 11 series (i.e. 11B, 11C, 11A), then you are a POG. The exception to the rule are those of the 18 series MOS. (Special Forces))
Back to the story:
In Iraq though, are schedule is not as "comfortable" as that of when were back in the States. POGs still get their cute little schedule. On occasion, they might have to pull a night shift of guard but for the most part after 1700hrs, you will find the POGs in either their PT uniforms or (I couldn't believe it when I saw it) civilian clothes. We (the Infantry) still kept to our missions and didn't have the 9 to 5 schedule. Our missions were day AND night, regardless of how hot it was or how much sleep we did or did not get. If something was going on outside "the wire" you better believe that you were going out.
On July 13, 2006, it was no different. I was just getting ready to radio my trail vehicle to let them know to start turning around when all of a sudden, WHOOOMF!! The loudest, most God awful sound came from under my vehicle. My vehicle had just rolled over an IED (Improvised Explosive Device or "bomb" in lamens terms).
I remember looking through the night vision device in my Bradley and seeing the same thing we do every other night. Nothing...We were scheduled to pick up the teams we had just dropped off later on in the night (before sun up), and as I picked up the hand mic to radio my trail vehicle, I dropped my pencil, which I kept on me for notes, from my lap. As I reached down to get it, I saw the bottom of the floor open up and a flash of orange, yellow and green surrounded the cabin of the Bradley. Not to mention an immense amount of heat. I felt the Bradley shake and immediately heard the sound that will forever stay in my memories. The sound of an explosion literally just a few feet beneath me and the sound of flames cracking all around me. I felt the fire cooking the skin off of my face and I immediately tried to put it out with my hands. It was no use. The explosion had ruptured the fuel cell of my vehicle and covered my gunner (Tommy) and I in diesel fuel. So whatever (if any) flames I was putting out on my face, were immediately re-ignited due to our fuel drenched uniforms. I remember trying to scream but the oxygen in the small turret had been burned up so quickly that neither of us were able to breath. I tried to inhale air but all that went down my throat were the flames of the fire all around me. I could feel it burning my throat and tongue. My gunner and I immediately climbed out of the turret and that was the last I saw of him.
I remember getting out of the turret faster than I had ever been able to do so before. The opening of the turret is so small that an average sized human would have trouble climbing in and out. We had body armor and magazines strapped to our chests, so the task is even harder to accomplish. But I did nonetheless. I remember running down the sloped front hatch of the Bradley and jumping onto the ground to try to roll around and put out the flames. The Bradley, since it was still moving from the convoy, stopped just inches from my body as I was rolling around. A hard and painful lesson to learn is the fact that pavement doesn't put out fire very well, regardless of how much you roll around. Especially if your uniform is doused in diesel fuel. I got up and ran to the north side of the road, where there was (maybe) a quarter inch of sand that would hopefully do better at putting out the fire than the pavement did. It didn't.
On the south side of the road, there was a small creek that paralleled the road all the way down. But 3 weeks prior an almost identical incident happened to another one of my teams. They had also been travelling down the road on a similar mission when their vehicle rolled over an IED. One of the crew members of the vehicle that had been hit, ran into the creek and immediately put out the flames that covered his body. What almost killed him wasn't the burns that he sustained but instead the infections that took over his body. The water in Iraq is so incredibly filthy that you will never find any fish swimming around in any of those creeks.
During all of the chaos that was going on, I somehow managed to remember that. So despite the fact that I was literally watching myself burn to death, I refused to jump into the water. So that in the chance that I might live, I wouldn't die from infectious water seeping into my body.
After rolling around in the sand, not much of the fire was going out. My uniform had been completely burned off and I was now naked on the side of the road with the only items left on my body were my boots, my pistol (which I kept in a leg holster), my gloves and my bullet proof vest. Everything else was gone. There was still some fire left on my boots and I tried to kick them to put it out. It helped a little but small flames kept popping back up. I figured that there was nothing else I could do in regards to the fire.
I immediately jumped to my feet and ran to the rear of my vehicle to tell my Assistant Team Leader (Gary) to call for a MEDEVAC (Medical Evacuation). As I was pointing towards him, I saw that his head was popped out of the vehicle and that he was already doing that. In the midst of all of that commotion, I felt very proud (and thankful) to have had him as my assistant. That short lived sense of ease quickly disappeared when, as I was pointing towards him, I saw that the skin from my forearm was hanging from my arm in a half moon shape (literally hanging). I didn't dwell on that for too long because I remember running back towards the fron of my vehicle and I saw my driver (Sigsbee) on his back with flames on his chest. He had successfully gotten out of the vehicle but his chest plate had caught fire and was now trying to keep his face away from the flames. I ran over to him and dropped to my knees and started to pat the flames away. My gloves, which until this point had miraculously not caught fire, immediately went up in flames. They lit up so fast and so much that all I did was shake them off and they fell to the ground next to me. I continued to pat out Sigsbees chest until the fire went out completely.
Seeing that he was good to go, I started to run back around to the rear of the vehicle. Unfortunately, my body had enough. My legs gave out from under me and I could no longer get up. Upon realizing that I was no longer useful to my team in regards to evacuating wounded, I did the only thing I could (or at least would have tried to) do. I kept security.
When the explosion happened and I jumped out of the vehicle, I had forgotten to grab my rifle. Now this seems like a pretty careless thing to do but in the midst of all of that, I was more worried about putting out the fire than I was about having accountability of my equipment. Due to that, my rifle was no burning up inside of my Bradley. Probably a black spot of burning metal amongst the rest of the now melting Bradley. The only thing I had on me that could now provide some sort of security was my 9mm pistol which was in the leg holster. I tried to grab it but my fingers had been so badly burnt that I couldn't unsnap the button that kept it in its place. I did the only thing that seemed logical at the time. I took the safety off and used my right leg as an aiming device. The theory that I had in mind was that if someone were to take the opportunity to ambush us, I would basically point my leg at them and shoot. This probably wouldn't have worked out the way I had reasoned but it was the only option I felt I had at the moment.
As I was laying there on the side of the road, Gary's gunner (Wortman) ran up to me and asked me if I was ok.
Wortman is one of those few soldiers nowadays that will do whatever is asked of them and will never complain, mutter or even make a face. A former Marine, he had come to me only a few weeks before but I really didn't have to teach him anything. He was already familiar with Infantry tactics and the only thing I had to do is to get him familiar with our unit's SOPs (Standard Operating Procedures). Seeing him come up to me put me at ease.
I told him I was fine but that he needed to get accountability of the team and to let Gary know that he was now in charge. He ran off to do just that.
A few seconds later, my medic (Garcia), (whom we had just received as a replacement after our old medic was injured in the previous incident 3 weeks before), walked up next to me. (This next part, I will omit from this blog. The only thing I will say is that if I ever see Garcia again in my life, I will slam his body against a wall and he will see a side of me that no one has ever seen before)
Wortman came back to me, this time with a fire blanket and covered me with it. My body, since it was completely without skin, was now exposed and whatever gel it is that was on that blanket, immediately stung me. That was the first pain I felt during this whole incident. I told him, "get that fucking blanket off of me. That shit fucking burns". He took it off.
I asked him if he was able to get accountability of everyone. He mentioned that he found everyone except for Tommy.
I told him that he needs to go find Tommy and to not come back until he had accountability of EVERYONE, including Tommy.
Wortman wanted to stay there with me and make sure I stayed awake but I told him Id be fine and that he needed to make sure that everyone was found and taken care of.
He didn't want to leave me there by myself but he did as he was told and ran off.
A few minutes later, Wortman came back to me and told me that Tommy had been found. Gary's driver, Henry (Probably the most motivated soldier Ive ever met) had jumped out of Gary's vehicle and found Tommy inside the creek on the south side of the road. (The same one I mentioned earlier) Tommy, having been badly burnt himself, had successfully extinguished the flames but did not have the strength to pull himself out of the water and almost drowned. Tommy was big man. He was about 6'2-6'4" and weighed about 220-230lbs. Henry was about 5'7"-5'8" and weighed about 140lbs (soaked and wet). Little Henry wouldn't have been able to pull out Tommy from the creek by himself and Wortman was able to help him pull Tommy out.
I felt better now that I knew that all my guys were accounted for.
Shortly after, I started to hear the sound of the MEDEVAC helicopters approaching. It probably took them only a few minutes to land after I first heard the sound of the helicopter blades, but it felt like an eternity. I remember thinking to myself, "just land already".
The MEDEVAC crew was truly outstanding. They not only loaded up my guys but the helped my team maintain security throughout the whole process. When the flight medic approached me, I told him that I wanted to be the last to be loaded up on the bird. (Bird is the term we use to refer to helicopters or airplanes) He said ok.
When it was my turn to load me up on the helicopter, Wortman and the flight medic came to me with a stretcher. The medic tried to cut away my body armor but because of the intense heat of the fire, the body armor had melted to my chest and he could not get it off. Instead they tried to lift me onto the stretcher and I immediately felt a sharp stabbing pain around my crotch and my ass. In the midst of me rolling to face the north side of the road to maintain security, I had rolled onto a strand of barbed wire and it was now tangled around my lower body. It ran down my crotch and up my ass and God knows where else. The flight medic pulled out his Multi-tool and attempted to cut it but the barbed wire was too thick. He tried pulling it but that just made it tighten around my lower body even more. I don't know how they eventually got it off but they soon had me loaded up in the helicopter.
Once in the MEDEVAC, I tried to yell out to my guys but only Sigsbee answered. He said he was ok.
I asked the flight medic where my other two guys were and he said that they were in the other bird and that they were ok.
This next part is kind of funny given the current circumstances...
Once I saw that we were in the air and safe from anything on the ground, I reached down with my right hand and grabbed my dick and my balls. Everything was still there. Whew!!
While still in flight, I started to feel the first signs of actual pain from within my body. Due to the burns, my body had started to swell immensely and since my boots were still on, they were starting to cut off circulation to my feet. This was extremely painful and I yelled to the medic to cut them off. He first tried to untie them but since my feet were so swollen, he couldn't grab the laces which I always kept tucked inside the boots. He ended up cutting the laces off and was able to loosen the boots enough to bring me some relief.
But at this point, my body started to really hurt. The whip of the wind was now affecting my mostly skinless body and I felt every bit of it. I remember trying to keep myself from screaming in pain but the medic noticed my apparent distress. He asked me what was wrong and through tears in my eyes, I told him that I was hurting. He asked me where and I said, "everywhere". He immediately started to inject me with morphine. I remember him injecting me with dose after dose of morphine and it felt like none of it would do any good.
At this point, I looked out into the night sky and saw every star that was out that night. Ive never been a religious person in my life and felt guilty if I ever prayed because Ive never liked asking for anything. But I realized the seriousness of my condition and on that night, I made my first and till this day, only true and honest prayer Ive ever made in my life. I asked God that regardless of what happened to me that night. Whether I live or died, I asked that little Victor be taken care of. That he would grow up to be a responsible man and that he knew that his "Papi" always loved him. I then started to ask that all of my soldiers, their families, my family and friends be taken care of. I named them one by one. Making sure that each one was covered. I felt guilty if I had mentioned one and not another. At some point in my prayer, I passed out.
I woke up in Balad, Iraq at the Field Hospital they had set up for receiving the wounded. All I remember is waking up screaming asking for Tommy. I passed out again
I woke up again in Germany and remember a nurse cutting the rim of my glasses right in the middle. Once they were cut, she pulled my glasses from my face and I remember hearing my skin peel off with the glasses. I passed out again.
I woke up a few days later at Brooke Army Medical Center in San Antonio, Texas. I came to learn that I had actually died 4 times but was revived each time. (Lucky me)
Not so lucky, was Sgt. Tommy Turner.
Tommy had made it through Balad but died the second we landed in Landsthul, Germany, from heart complications. I didn't find out of this until a few months later. Everyone had kept the news from me for a long time because they were afraid that the news would put me into such a deep depression that I could have died from knowing. They were probably right. Everyday and every person that came into my room, I would ask them to find out about Tommy. I gave them his full name, his wife's name and his phone number which I still had memorized. Everyone promised to get back with me as soon as they would find something out but either, Id never see that person again or they would come back with "were still trying to locate him". That frustrated the hell out of me because I knew that if he was there, he would be accounted for. I had it set in my mind that they had just forgotten to actually look for him. Never did it enter into my head that he had actually not made it.
On a visit from my Company Commander, First Sergeant, Battalion Commander and Command Sergeant Major, I asked them about Tommy. My First Sergeant spoke up. He said, "Sergeant Dominguez...Sgt. Turner didn't make it. He died when you guys landed in Germany".
I felt like if my heart and throat were pulled out of my body. I couldn't speak and I couldn't breathe. The only thing I could do was look away and cry. I spoke to no one for weeks.
***This was my story of the events that took place on July 13, 2006. Exactly three years ago today. All of these events happened exactly as Ive written them and I haven't changed anything in order to make it seem less or more than it really was. This event, brief as it was in time, has changed the rest of my life completely. I had planned to make the Army a career way before I had even enlisted but now find myself out of the Army due to my injuries. I still keep in touch with my soldiers, some of whom have decided to get out of the Army as well, others who are still in but have moved on to other units. I hope you have enjoyed (maybe that's not the right word to describe it) what Ive written here and it gives you a better idea of some of the things that happen in combat. Some people have asked me, if I had the opportunity to change the way things worked out, would I? If you'd like to know my answer, by all means, leave me a comment. I will answer you the way Ive answered everyone else.
I will write more of the events that have taken place since this incident, in the future. But it is now late and I need to get to bed. Life goes on and Ive got to get to work very early in the morning. I will be posting a link soon to a story that was done on me in the Miami Herald last year based on these events. Please check back sometime to see when I post it. It was a very good story and Im sure you'll enjoy it.
Take care.
Ranger Vic
"Rangers Lead The Way"
Sunday, July 5, 2009
4th of July - Fireworks Day or Michael Jackson Day?
Today, Saturday, July 4, 2009. Ive got little Victor with me and we've spent much of the day just hanging around the house watching movies, playing video games and making ice cream. I bought a new ice cream maker last week and I promised him we would make some this weekend. We decided that our first batch would be coconut ice cream. He loves coconut, as do I.
While we were gathering and mixing the ingredients together, I asked him to put on the news. I usually like to watch FOX because I feel that they're the only news station that will actually report in a bipartisan manner. Unfortunately at that moment, it wasn't time for the news and instead they were showing COPS. I'm not a big fan of reality TV, especially those that are full of drama and minorities (mind you, I'm Hispanic) playing up the stereotype of constantly being involved in crime, drugs or some sort of domestic dispute. So I put on CNN. They definitely had the news on but not what I was expecting. Today, being Independence Day, or as society commonly calls it, 4th of July, I expected to see a special documenting the history of our country. Something that might remind us of the sacrifices made by our countrymen so that we could be free. So that we, could call ourselves a nation. Instead, CNN is doing a special on Michael Jackson.
What?
Don't get me wrong...I'm a BIG fan of Michael Jackson. I love every song he has ever put out. I think he is solely responsible for the way music has evolved into what it is today and I think that he is (or was) at a level all by himself when it came to dancing. Nobody can or probably ever will be able to dance the way he did. I remember as a kid, and admittedly as an adult, I would try to imitate some of his dance moves. Specifically, the moonwalk. I believe most of us have. I got pretty good at it but in my opinion, never as good as Michael. I don't think anybody could. So its not that I'm against a special on Michael Jackson. I do believe that his memory and talents should be "immortalized". But not today. Not on our nation's 233rd Birthday.
I thought CNN did great on D-Day. On June 6, 2009, CNN was live in Normandy, France, documenting all of the events that were taking place in celebration of the 65th anniversary of the D-Day landings. They showed the speech given by President Obama. They showed the veterans that waited on dignitaries to approach them so they could give them a "recap" of that incredible day 65 years ago. They showed everything. It was an amazing special that I must admit, brought me to tears.
So why not today? Why, on the 233rd anniversary of the single most important day in American history, was there no prime time special documenting the various events that led up to us as a nation to be able to call ourselves Americans? Is it because Obama didn't set up a lavish ceremony. Because he didn't give a speech? Or is it because we as Americans have forgotten what it means to be an American? Because we as American citizens do not value what it truly means to be FREE.
How many of you received text messages today saying "Happy 4th of July"? How many of you responded with the same? I'm willing to bet most of you that are reading this.
Now how many of you received or sent out a text message saying
"Happy Independence Day"? Not too many I'm assuming.
Please don't take this blog that I'm posting as me castigating you. By no means, that is not my intent. The purpose of this open letter to you is to reach out to the millions of Americans out there who spend hundreds (if not thousands) of dollars on fireworks, charcoal and food for a BBQ but don't spend a few minutes to educate your children on the importance of this day. I'm asking your to educate your children on the reasons WHY we celebrate this day. July 4th is not a holiday. Independence Day is. July 4th just happens to be the day it lands on.
Much like Memorial Day, Independence Day is usually rewarded to working Americans with an extra day off. Be it the day before the holiday or the day after. But sadly, also much like Memorial Day, the holiday is celebrated for all the wrong reasons in all of the wrong ways. I enjoy fireworks just as much as the next guy. I like to see all of the different varieties of colors and explosions that come about but for me personally, its not necessary. I don't NEED to spend a bunch of money on something that will last a few seconds or even a few minutes. I can almost hear the "ca-ching" of a cash register with every pop or fizz of each firework I light up. But I do it for my son. Like any child, he is mesmerized by the sparkles and noises that come about as a result of the money that was spent. Although he doesn't think about the money. I do. He thinks about the colors. How high the last firework went up. How much higher the next one went. How from one little shot up in the air, came about a bunch of different explosions that turned into different colors. And then he goes to bed with a smile on his face and memories to last a lifetime. So even if it hurt me to basically watch my money, literally "burn" right before my eyes, it pleases me that little Victor enjoyed the show. And for that, its worth it. Any second I get to spend with him, regardless of what or how much it took to get it, is most definitely worth it.
When we woke up this morning, as I was preparing breakfast, I was explaining to little Victor why Independence Day is such an important holiday. I explained to him (in kid's terms) why we celebrate it, what led up to the Declaration of Independence and why it is so important for him to remember that. I explained to him that on this day we celebrate "Independence" and not a date on a calendar. And I explained to him that to say "Happy 4th of July" is not only inaccurate but also wrong in the way it is expressed. At 7 years old, I wasn't expecting for him to really pay much attention to what I was saying. I also didn't expect for him to fully comprehend everything I was telling him. But if I can at least plant the seed of historical sense, hopefully, with enough examples in the future, and certainly many more "July 4th's" ahead of us, he will begin to take hold of what it is that I'm attempting to convey to him. I'll keep my fingers crossed.
We shot off all of the fireworks we bought and then sat down to enjoy the ones that were being set off all around my neighborhood. It was truly a spectacular show. Somewhere off to the South-East, someone had definitely made an attempt to end the recession all by himself. His fireworks display must have gone off for at least a half hour. Someone on the neighboring apartment complex set off what sounded like an M80. It was so loud, it set of 3 car alarms in my neighborhood, including my own. That wasn't fun. In the pain I had already been in all day, I had to go inside to get my keys to turn off my alarm. Before heading in, one of my neighbors stuck his hand out to little Victor, introduced himself and said to him "Happy 4th of July little man". Little Victor, always very polite and courteous, stuck his hand out as well and responded, "Happy Independence Day Sir". I was so surprised, I almost fell out of my seat. He didn't even look at me as if seeking approval or anything. He just shook his hand and went right back to watching the fireworks. But I definitely let him know that I noticed and was proud of him. I cradled him in my arms, gave him a hug, told him that I was proud of him and that I loved him. He's such a great kid. He constantly surprises me in how smart he really is. Maybe that talk this morning was worth it after all. If he didn't remember everything that I had told him, he certainly remembered one of the key points and maybe one of the most important points of the whole "history lesson".
I will now end this blog from a quote from my neighbor. After little Vic went inside to watch some TV, I began to clean up the spent fireworks containers. My neighbor had stayed out there with me and helped me clean them up. As we were putting everything away, I began to tell him pretty much everything Ive mentioned in this blog. His mom, who had flown down here to visit him, was outside smoking a cigarette. He told her that even though I was Puerto Rican, I was more patriotic than most Americans. The last thing he said before I went inside was...
"Vic, I bet if you would have known that you spent two years in Iraq, so that on July 4th CNN could have a special on Michael Jackson, you would have moonwalked your ass all the way back to the states".
How true that is...
While we were gathering and mixing the ingredients together, I asked him to put on the news. I usually like to watch FOX because I feel that they're the only news station that will actually report in a bipartisan manner. Unfortunately at that moment, it wasn't time for the news and instead they were showing COPS. I'm not a big fan of reality TV, especially those that are full of drama and minorities (mind you, I'm Hispanic) playing up the stereotype of constantly being involved in crime, drugs or some sort of domestic dispute. So I put on CNN. They definitely had the news on but not what I was expecting. Today, being Independence Day, or as society commonly calls it, 4th of July, I expected to see a special documenting the history of our country. Something that might remind us of the sacrifices made by our countrymen so that we could be free. So that we, could call ourselves a nation. Instead, CNN is doing a special on Michael Jackson.
What?
Don't get me wrong...I'm a BIG fan of Michael Jackson. I love every song he has ever put out. I think he is solely responsible for the way music has evolved into what it is today and I think that he is (or was) at a level all by himself when it came to dancing. Nobody can or probably ever will be able to dance the way he did. I remember as a kid, and admittedly as an adult, I would try to imitate some of his dance moves. Specifically, the moonwalk. I believe most of us have. I got pretty good at it but in my opinion, never as good as Michael. I don't think anybody could. So its not that I'm against a special on Michael Jackson. I do believe that his memory and talents should be "immortalized". But not today. Not on our nation's 233rd Birthday.
I thought CNN did great on D-Day. On June 6, 2009, CNN was live in Normandy, France, documenting all of the events that were taking place in celebration of the 65th anniversary of the D-Day landings. They showed the speech given by President Obama. They showed the veterans that waited on dignitaries to approach them so they could give them a "recap" of that incredible day 65 years ago. They showed everything. It was an amazing special that I must admit, brought me to tears.
So why not today? Why, on the 233rd anniversary of the single most important day in American history, was there no prime time special documenting the various events that led up to us as a nation to be able to call ourselves Americans? Is it because Obama didn't set up a lavish ceremony. Because he didn't give a speech? Or is it because we as Americans have forgotten what it means to be an American? Because we as American citizens do not value what it truly means to be FREE.
How many of you received text messages today saying "Happy 4th of July"? How many of you responded with the same? I'm willing to bet most of you that are reading this.
Now how many of you received or sent out a text message saying
"Happy Independence Day"? Not too many I'm assuming.
Please don't take this blog that I'm posting as me castigating you. By no means, that is not my intent. The purpose of this open letter to you is to reach out to the millions of Americans out there who spend hundreds (if not thousands) of dollars on fireworks, charcoal and food for a BBQ but don't spend a few minutes to educate your children on the importance of this day. I'm asking your to educate your children on the reasons WHY we celebrate this day. July 4th is not a holiday. Independence Day is. July 4th just happens to be the day it lands on.
Much like Memorial Day, Independence Day is usually rewarded to working Americans with an extra day off. Be it the day before the holiday or the day after. But sadly, also much like Memorial Day, the holiday is celebrated for all the wrong reasons in all of the wrong ways. I enjoy fireworks just as much as the next guy. I like to see all of the different varieties of colors and explosions that come about but for me personally, its not necessary. I don't NEED to spend a bunch of money on something that will last a few seconds or even a few minutes. I can almost hear the "ca-ching" of a cash register with every pop or fizz of each firework I light up. But I do it for my son. Like any child, he is mesmerized by the sparkles and noises that come about as a result of the money that was spent. Although he doesn't think about the money. I do. He thinks about the colors. How high the last firework went up. How much higher the next one went. How from one little shot up in the air, came about a bunch of different explosions that turned into different colors. And then he goes to bed with a smile on his face and memories to last a lifetime. So even if it hurt me to basically watch my money, literally "burn" right before my eyes, it pleases me that little Victor enjoyed the show. And for that, its worth it. Any second I get to spend with him, regardless of what or how much it took to get it, is most definitely worth it.
When we woke up this morning, as I was preparing breakfast, I was explaining to little Victor why Independence Day is such an important holiday. I explained to him (in kid's terms) why we celebrate it, what led up to the Declaration of Independence and why it is so important for him to remember that. I explained to him that on this day we celebrate "Independence" and not a date on a calendar. And I explained to him that to say "Happy 4th of July" is not only inaccurate but also wrong in the way it is expressed. At 7 years old, I wasn't expecting for him to really pay much attention to what I was saying. I also didn't expect for him to fully comprehend everything I was telling him. But if I can at least plant the seed of historical sense, hopefully, with enough examples in the future, and certainly many more "July 4th's" ahead of us, he will begin to take hold of what it is that I'm attempting to convey to him. I'll keep my fingers crossed.
We shot off all of the fireworks we bought and then sat down to enjoy the ones that were being set off all around my neighborhood. It was truly a spectacular show. Somewhere off to the South-East, someone had definitely made an attempt to end the recession all by himself. His fireworks display must have gone off for at least a half hour. Someone on the neighboring apartment complex set off what sounded like an M80. It was so loud, it set of 3 car alarms in my neighborhood, including my own. That wasn't fun. In the pain I had already been in all day, I had to go inside to get my keys to turn off my alarm. Before heading in, one of my neighbors stuck his hand out to little Victor, introduced himself and said to him "Happy 4th of July little man". Little Victor, always very polite and courteous, stuck his hand out as well and responded, "Happy Independence Day Sir". I was so surprised, I almost fell out of my seat. He didn't even look at me as if seeking approval or anything. He just shook his hand and went right back to watching the fireworks. But I definitely let him know that I noticed and was proud of him. I cradled him in my arms, gave him a hug, told him that I was proud of him and that I loved him. He's such a great kid. He constantly surprises me in how smart he really is. Maybe that talk this morning was worth it after all. If he didn't remember everything that I had told him, he certainly remembered one of the key points and maybe one of the most important points of the whole "history lesson".
I will now end this blog from a quote from my neighbor. After little Vic went inside to watch some TV, I began to clean up the spent fireworks containers. My neighbor had stayed out there with me and helped me clean them up. As we were putting everything away, I began to tell him pretty much everything Ive mentioned in this blog. His mom, who had flown down here to visit him, was outside smoking a cigarette. He told her that even though I was Puerto Rican, I was more patriotic than most Americans. The last thing he said before I went inside was...
"Vic, I bet if you would have known that you spent two years in Iraq, so that on July 4th CNN could have a special on Michael Jackson, you would have moonwalked your ass all the way back to the states".
How true that is...
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Memorial Day 2009
Hello Everybody! For my first post, Id like to share with you a speech I recently had the honor to give to the people of Miami Dade County. County Commissioner Jose "Pepe" Diaz and Miami City Commissioner Michelle Spence-Jones' staff contacted me a week before and asked me if I would speak at this year's Memorial Day ceremony and I immediately agreed. Commissioner Diaz has asked me to speak at other veterans related events and I usually choose to speak "off the cuff" which I feel is more honest and theres no chance of anyone editing or trying to control what you want to say. (Not to say thats what they would do). But given such an important holiday, how people have so easily forgotten the TRUE meaning of the holiday and the current state of our nation, I chose to write down what I wanted to say. That way I had a source from where to keep my ideas and thoughts tracked. Also because whenever I speak, once Im done, I usually sit down and immediately think of something I should have said or forgot to mention. Well...Enough introductions. The following is the speech I had the honor to give to the people of Miami Dade County. A county that is very well known throughout the nation and is probably the most culturally and politically diverse location in our great nation. I hope you enjoy it!!!
March 25, 2009 (Memorial Day)
A Veteran is someone that at one point in their life wrote a blank check, made payable to the United States of America, in the amount of: Up to and including my life…
Today is Memorial Day. While families today are gathered around a barbecue grill, at a local park playing football, soccer, basketball or whatever other sport they enjoy, many Americans are currently overseas ensuring that we as Citizens are free to enjoy those activities and the many freedoms we so often take for granted.
Freedom of Speech (wether politically correct or incorrect), The Right to Keep and Bear Arms (which protects us from those criminals who choose to break the law, regardless of which ones or how many are emplaced) and The Right to practice whatever religion we choose are just some of those that we are aware of but so easily forget that there are those who shoulder the responsibility AND the burden of ensuring those rights are there for us.
As an Iraq War veteran, I have been lucky to come back home various times to a country that not only supported us but greeted us with open arms. There are the occasional conversations where someone, as soon as they learned that I served in the military and in Iraq, feel that it is their duty to inform me how they think that service members are entirely overpaid (Yes, there are those) and that they believe that we have no business in that country.
I will admit, that although anger immediately rushes through my veins due to their ignorant and ill-informed comments, I smile and remind them that if it wasn’t for the French intervening, we would still be under British control and would not have the freedoms we enjoy today. I remind them that it is our duty as a world power to help out those less fortunate than ourselves. I also remind them that it is due to those “overpaid” service members, that he or she is able to make such comments. I also, just for my own amusement, ask them how much a civilian Infantryman makes.
But the Vietnam War veterans were not so lucky. Too many times they were shunned and cursed by those that they saw when theyd walk down the streets of their own hometowns. Too many times were they called names like “baby killers”. In actuality, most combat veterans took great measures when fighting around civilians to not injure or kill them. These cautions sometimes led to injuries and death unto themselves. Now, I will not stand before you today and claim that children as young as the very same age as my son haven’t been killed as a result of combat action. But let me ask you this, put yourself in the same situation. A man, woman or child is shooting at you from a hundred meters away...Who’s going home? You or them? This is the situation that so often happened in Vietnam and believe you me, it happens in Iraq. That very scenario, even though we here in America are not aware of its occurrence, and will not affect any events in our day to day life, it DOES affect those of us that have been put in those positions.
None of us are proud of EVERY decision we have ever had to make. But it is the decision that had to be made in order to accomplish the mission, save our own or one of our buddy’s life or to ensure that our families and friends back home are able to enjoy the freedoms we so easily take for granted.
I will take this opportunity to share something with you. The majority of Iraqi citizens love the American servicemembers. They appreciate what we have done for them. Stabilized their country, brought wells to a town that has little or no water. Bring pencils, paper and chalk to 10 year old children that never learned to write because the school was never provided the resources to teach them. But there are those few that do not. And believe it or not, too often, it is those that want us there that end up injuring or killing us. Confused? Ill explain….
Too often, Iraqi fathers have been faced with this situation. Someone comes into his house, takes his wife and daughter and threatens to kill them if he and his son don’t do exactly what they are told to do. Wether it be set up a roadside bomb or to fire a few mortars into a military base.
Another situation is bribing them with money. Mind you, this family is so poor, they cant even provide pencils for their children. So when someone tells them that they will be paid an equivalent to a year’s salary (which is about $2000) if they just place a mine under the road. Sometimes, it’s a combination of both. What father wouldn’t do everything he could to ensure that his family is safe and is provided for? What would you do if you were in the same situation?
On this Memorial Day and every single day after that, take a minute out of your day. To say a small prayer, to thank someone in uniform, to bring a meal to a Veterans home, or to visit a gravesite.
To thank them for the service they have provided. To show your appreciation to those that will forever bear the memories of actions necessary for survival. Of actions necessary to ensure freedom back home. Im often asked if I had the opportunity to go back in time, would I change the way things worked out. Would I tell my driver to turn around a few seconds sooner? Would I have avoided that route altogether? That is a tough question. Mainly, because that decision doesn’t just rely on my outcome. My gunner and one of my best friends was killed as a result of what happened on July 13th, 2006. So in a sense…I would change my decision. Theres nothing more that I want than for Tommy Turner to be able to be with his family today. But at the same time, the fact that my vehicle was blown up ensured that someone else’s wasn’t. And in that sense…Im glad it was me. Also, due to what has happened to me, be it physically, mentally or emotionally…I have been able to help out other service members and their families that have been placed in similar situations. In situations where I may have failed or stumbled on since my injury…Like relationships (girlfriends, family and friends), adapting with the adjustments of civilian life, finding a job…Things like that, I have been able to take my experiences and use them to help out those that are currently or WILL be going through them.
I would also like to take this opportunity to thank the Army and the VA for the care that they have provided for me. I am officially retired now and I can tell you personally that I have NO complaints whatsoever about the care that I received both while on Active Duty and since the day I enrolled in the VA healthcare system. I am eternally grateful for what my doctors and nurses have done throughout my recovery process.
Lastly, I truly believe that none of us are heroes. We are just men and women doing our jobs. Doing our jobs just like the teachers, doctors and nurses that everyday look after our minds or our bodies. Men and women who felt compelled by patriotism to give back for the lives we lead and the freedoms we have been blessed with.
But every once in a while, we may be having a bad day. We may be jarred by a memory of something from the past. And a simple “thank-you” from an appreciative citizen will brighten up our day and remind us…. that our blood, sweat and tears were all for a reason and have not been wasted away in vain.
March 25, 2009 (Memorial Day)
A Veteran is someone that at one point in their life wrote a blank check, made payable to the United States of America, in the amount of: Up to and including my life…
Today is Memorial Day. While families today are gathered around a barbecue grill, at a local park playing football, soccer, basketball or whatever other sport they enjoy, many Americans are currently overseas ensuring that we as Citizens are free to enjoy those activities and the many freedoms we so often take for granted.
Freedom of Speech (wether politically correct or incorrect), The Right to Keep and Bear Arms (which protects us from those criminals who choose to break the law, regardless of which ones or how many are emplaced) and The Right to practice whatever religion we choose are just some of those that we are aware of but so easily forget that there are those who shoulder the responsibility AND the burden of ensuring those rights are there for us.
As an Iraq War veteran, I have been lucky to come back home various times to a country that not only supported us but greeted us with open arms. There are the occasional conversations where someone, as soon as they learned that I served in the military and in Iraq, feel that it is their duty to inform me how they think that service members are entirely overpaid (Yes, there are those) and that they believe that we have no business in that country.
I will admit, that although anger immediately rushes through my veins due to their ignorant and ill-informed comments, I smile and remind them that if it wasn’t for the French intervening, we would still be under British control and would not have the freedoms we enjoy today. I remind them that it is our duty as a world power to help out those less fortunate than ourselves. I also remind them that it is due to those “overpaid” service members, that he or she is able to make such comments. I also, just for my own amusement, ask them how much a civilian Infantryman makes.
But the Vietnam War veterans were not so lucky. Too many times they were shunned and cursed by those that they saw when theyd walk down the streets of their own hometowns. Too many times were they called names like “baby killers”. In actuality, most combat veterans took great measures when fighting around civilians to not injure or kill them. These cautions sometimes led to injuries and death unto themselves. Now, I will not stand before you today and claim that children as young as the very same age as my son haven’t been killed as a result of combat action. But let me ask you this, put yourself in the same situation. A man, woman or child is shooting at you from a hundred meters away...Who’s going home? You or them? This is the situation that so often happened in Vietnam and believe you me, it happens in Iraq. That very scenario, even though we here in America are not aware of its occurrence, and will not affect any events in our day to day life, it DOES affect those of us that have been put in those positions.
None of us are proud of EVERY decision we have ever had to make. But it is the decision that had to be made in order to accomplish the mission, save our own or one of our buddy’s life or to ensure that our families and friends back home are able to enjoy the freedoms we so easily take for granted.
I will take this opportunity to share something with you. The majority of Iraqi citizens love the American servicemembers. They appreciate what we have done for them. Stabilized their country, brought wells to a town that has little or no water. Bring pencils, paper and chalk to 10 year old children that never learned to write because the school was never provided the resources to teach them. But there are those few that do not. And believe it or not, too often, it is those that want us there that end up injuring or killing us. Confused? Ill explain….
Too often, Iraqi fathers have been faced with this situation. Someone comes into his house, takes his wife and daughter and threatens to kill them if he and his son don’t do exactly what they are told to do. Wether it be set up a roadside bomb or to fire a few mortars into a military base.
Another situation is bribing them with money. Mind you, this family is so poor, they cant even provide pencils for their children. So when someone tells them that they will be paid an equivalent to a year’s salary (which is about $2000) if they just place a mine under the road. Sometimes, it’s a combination of both. What father wouldn’t do everything he could to ensure that his family is safe and is provided for? What would you do if you were in the same situation?
On this Memorial Day and every single day after that, take a minute out of your day. To say a small prayer, to thank someone in uniform, to bring a meal to a Veterans home, or to visit a gravesite.
To thank them for the service they have provided. To show your appreciation to those that will forever bear the memories of actions necessary for survival. Of actions necessary to ensure freedom back home. Im often asked if I had the opportunity to go back in time, would I change the way things worked out. Would I tell my driver to turn around a few seconds sooner? Would I have avoided that route altogether? That is a tough question. Mainly, because that decision doesn’t just rely on my outcome. My gunner and one of my best friends was killed as a result of what happened on July 13th, 2006. So in a sense…I would change my decision. Theres nothing more that I want than for Tommy Turner to be able to be with his family today. But at the same time, the fact that my vehicle was blown up ensured that someone else’s wasn’t. And in that sense…Im glad it was me. Also, due to what has happened to me, be it physically, mentally or emotionally…I have been able to help out other service members and their families that have been placed in similar situations. In situations where I may have failed or stumbled on since my injury…Like relationships (girlfriends, family and friends), adapting with the adjustments of civilian life, finding a job…Things like that, I have been able to take my experiences and use them to help out those that are currently or WILL be going through them.
I would also like to take this opportunity to thank the Army and the VA for the care that they have provided for me. I am officially retired now and I can tell you personally that I have NO complaints whatsoever about the care that I received both while on Active Duty and since the day I enrolled in the VA healthcare system. I am eternally grateful for what my doctors and nurses have done throughout my recovery process.
Lastly, I truly believe that none of us are heroes. We are just men and women doing our jobs. Doing our jobs just like the teachers, doctors and nurses that everyday look after our minds or our bodies. Men and women who felt compelled by patriotism to give back for the lives we lead and the freedoms we have been blessed with.
But every once in a while, we may be having a bad day. We may be jarred by a memory of something from the past. And a simple “thank-you” from an appreciative citizen will brighten up our day and remind us…. that our blood, sweat and tears were all for a reason and have not been wasted away in vain.
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