1530Z, 23 March 2003, Sunday

Happy Sabbath!! What a busy day!! I’m beat. We moved a few kilometers from the town of As Samawah. The latest intelligence before we left was that the town was just waiting for us to show up so they could throw a victory parade. The town was poised to surrender immediately and we would just move through and continue north. Well, here we are on our second day of battle in the town.

We had 5 enemy prisoners of war that we had to interrogate. All of them surrendered and were very cooperative. One of them was severely wounded with a bullet hole through his lower back that exited just below his front rib cage. He had pieces of fatty tissue sticking out of the exit wound. We weren’t able to talk to him; he was in too much pain. We gave him what medical aid we could, shot him with morphine, and air evacuated him. We got a lot of good stuff from the other guys. A platoon from another company built a cage for the EPWs to stay in and put a guard on them. The cage was constructed of triple-strand concertina wire and pickets.

About thirty minutes ago, some huge artillery rounds hit us. We estimate them to be about 155mm rounds. They were too big to be the 60mm they’re only supposed to have. They landed about 500 meters from where we were. Everyone high tailed it out of there and we repositioned a little further south of the town. After a few more minutes, some smaller artillery rounds landed another 500 meters from us. I’d say there were about 8 rounds that hit that first time. This time we only heard one. Right now we’re sitting in the middle of a bunch of sand dunes.

The interesting thing about this is that we almost predicted the artillery strike. About ten minutes before the first round landed near us a car with four individuals drove by. They were looking very suspiciously at all of our vehicles. It looked to me like they were counting something. I reported it up and told everyone on the road that if that car came by again, to stop it even if it meant shooting rounds into the hood. The men were very clean-shaven which is unusual for around here. One of the things we were told was that the only way to tell the difference between the soldiers and the civilians is that they would be carrying weapons and be clean shaven.

The Iraqi soldiers have been playing very dirty. They have been using ambulances to replenish troops on the battlefield, placing mortars in the schools and hospitals, and dressing up as civilians. Some of the displaced civilians have told us that they were using women and children as human shields in the buildings they were firing from. Others told us that the Iraqi soldiers were taking family members out of their houses and putting them into prisons. The rest of the family was given a choice to fight the Americans or get out of town. A lot of them chose the latter. Entire families were seen walking down the street past our position. One guy had four kids with him and told us that he couldn’t get his other two kids and wife out in time. One family had their grandmother riding on the back of a donkey with about six kids in tow ranging in age from months to about twelve. I’ve been giving all the kids that go by candy. Everyone keeps asking us for water, which we can’t spare right now. We haven’t been resupplied in about five days and we’re running low on water and food. I talked with the guy who was walking down the road with his four kids with him (the one who had to leave his wife and two other kids behind) and he showed a sheet of paper with an address on it for what he said was a friend in South Carolina. I wanted to get the address and write her to tell her he was okay, but I had to separate my job from my personal feelings. It’s not easy seeing these people suffer like that. I could never leave my wife and kids in a town being bombed by the enemy. I can really feel his pain right now. I have trouble leaving them at home now, but I know they’re safe. This guys family is being shelled by American tanks, bombed by American planes, shot at from both sides, threatened by the Iraqi soldiers, you name it. It’s a hard pill to swallow.

We couldn’t even afford to feed or give a lot of water to the EPWs. By the way, when the artillery started falling, Nate and I ran down to the EPW cage and let them out. We were the only ones with the balls to get out and do the right thing by letting the EPWs out of their cages. We told them to take off their uniform jackets and just keep going south. We told them not to take off their EPW tags so that when they run into the next group of Americans they can be taken care of. We don’t know where they are now. All they have with them right now are pants, shoes and the shirts on their backs. They have no place to stay and no shelter tonight unless some other Americans pick them up. I probably shouldn’t be worried about the enemy, but these guys are forced to serve. They are given a choice to fight or die. The Iraqi officers literally point weapons at them and will shoot them if they don’t fight or try to surrender. One of those guys was a farmer. All he wanted to do was go see his family and let them know he was all right. Hopefully, he’ll make it back to his family.

[Author's Note: As I read back on this, I'm surprised I didn't mention the fact that this is the day that I was injured. As the artillery shells were landing, Nate and I rushed out to free the EPWs that we couldn't protect. Through the artillery concussions and landing with all that gear on, my spine was compressed. I remember thinking at the time that it hurt, but i thought I had just pulled something at the time. I find it interesting that the pain that so consumes my life on a daily basis right now wasn't even worthy of a comment when it happened. Still, I'll probably never be able to fully tell the story of what happened publicly. Perhaps, if I just left them there, they would've lived through the strikes and I wouldn't be in the situation I'm in today. CJ]