A SOLDIER'S PERSPECTIVE
THE WEB'S LEADING MILITARY BLOG SINCE 2004
I’ve been debating sharing this story here for a LONG time. Even when I sort of wrote about it when I shared my journal a few years ago, I glossed over this episode. I’ve been ignoring it for a long time publicly, while battling it daily privately.
I recently started back to school in a difficult step towards getting a degree. One of my assignments for my English class was to write about an event that shaped my life. Before I even finished reading the assignment, this story popped into my head. I don’t share it in an attempt to gain sympathy or cry for help. To me, it’s just therapy; one of the reasons I began this blog to begin with.
I believe that war is an inhumane act. It forces people to become animals. Now, that doesn’t mean that I’m a pacifist or that war isn’t necessary. On the contrary, it is unfortunately. However, I can’t help but feel like war took me a few steps back in an evolutionary sense. Survival tends to tap an instinct most of us suppress until called upon. The story I’m about to tell isn’t pretty. You won’t find a hero in this story. You won’t even find a noble soldier. You’ll find a human who was required to make a difficult decision…and made the wrong one.
March 26, 2003: The day I lost my soul.
We had been fighting a very determined, though ill-trained, enemy. The smell of moisture mixed with dust and sand was in the air, forcing its way into our lungs. The blistering sound silence resonated into the core of our ears, it threatened to drive us mad. In the distance, the howl of a mangy dog sounded the attack. The silence was broken by the unmistakable whistling sound that precedes the thunderous boom of an artillery shell landing nearby. The concussion literally steals the very breath from your lungs. The air turned into the stale odor of explosives. The air seemed to thicken around us in a hail of bullets. The fight had only just begun. Before it was all over, I would abandon my personal values and lose my soul.
In the distance I could make out a flash. At first it appeared as if it could have been lightning. However, lightning does not whistle after it flashes, and it doesn’t get louder and closer.
“INCOMING!!” I shouted. My team hit the ground. We covered our faces with our hands as if that would save us. At such a moment, one tries to minimize his presence and the fetal position seems to be the best way to hide. Katink, tink, tink….
The round is a dud and lands within several feet from our position. In the distance, I heard a loud boom and instantly the radios came to life.
Everyone was talking over everyone else trying to find out what had happened. A familiar voice finally waded through all the static and fuss and the commander told everyone to shut up. A few minutes earlier, we were told that a car slammed into one our tanks.
Shortly after the loud boom, a blur moved past us just a few inches above our truck. It was followed by a whoosh and left a smoke cloud in its wake. It had come and gone before we even had a chance to react to the RPG being fired at us. The shooter was taken down. I was getting angry at all these close calls.
The occupants of the car arrived at my position. The loud boom I heard two minutes earlier was their car exploding in a huge ball of fire and debris. After it crashed into the tank it was pushed off to the side of road. It had failed to detonate when it crashed, but was obviously still armed. No one was hurt in the explosion.
Through the thick sand I could make out the three silhouettes moving towards us. One of the men was dressed in common Iraqi clothing – tan, baggy pants, a plain white t-shirt with a few splotches of blood on it, and some generic brown tennis shoes. The second man had been shot a few times. His upper, left shoulder looked like it had been hit twice and a trail of blood dripping down his right arm most likely hid the evidence of a third shot. He wore a tan, short sleeve, button-up shirt that was tarnished with sparkling red blood oozing from the bullet wounds. He wore a greasy mop of dark hair that appeared to have a mind of its own, collecting as much mud, blood, and dirt as possible. The last individual appeared to be the oldest and most in trouble. He was propped between the shoulders of the other two men, hunched over and barely able to keep his head up. As he approached us, his knobby knees, covered with tattered material from what used to be his jeans, buckled twice. His leathery face attempted an awkward smile as his defeated brown eyes met mine. Without saying a word, every expression called out for my help.
My training was very specific in times like this: I was to provide first aid to anyone that needed it. This old man needed it. His left hand was all but nonexistent. He had maybe two fingers left. The brilliant white bone what once connected fingers jutted out like quills of a porcupine. One of his bloody, mangled fingers simply hung from his hand, swinging from side to side freely with each movement. A skeletal pinky bone was all that remained of the last finger. It had been stripped of its meat and muscle. Someone had placed a tourniquet around his lower arm in an attempt to stem the bleeding. It wasn’t working. The stench of iron permeated my nasal cavities as we seated the bloodied men next to our truck.
We were still getting shot at and he kept asking for help. I asked him where the soldiers were coming from. They claimed to have no idea. I asked him why he rammed into one our tanks. Silence. Swooooosh….
Another near miss from an RPG, though not as close as the last one.
My face turned red. My pulse quickened. My blood pressure shot up. I decided I didn’t care if this old man died right then and there. We stopped trying to stem the flow of blood and forced him to keep walking. For the first time in this war, I refused medical care to someone in need and I paid for that decision with my soul. The shell of my body returned to its position, unloading my weapon into the forest.
For the remainder of my time in Iraq, I thought about this one event. What became of that old man? Did he make it over the bridge behind us? Did I now have blood on my hands, both literally and metaphorically speaking? My parents always raised me to think of others before myself. My faith teaches me to love everyone, even those would rather see me mangled and lifeless. To this day, I think about that man and wonder…
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Miriam
Facing the truth about ourselves is hard sometimes. I’m afraid that when we refer to terrorists or murders as “monsters” we defame the poor beasts of the earth. Only mankind is capable of inhumanity. I learned sometime ago that there is no evil that another human being has done that I am not capable of.
But it is not necessary to loose your soul. I gave mine away when I was quite young to the only one who can keep it safely. And if at some time in rebellion I do the unthinkable (which has incidentallly happened before), he is the only one who can do anything to fix it. I tell you the truth, in every difficult situation I have ever faced–even the ones of my own making–his grace has been more than enough.
Tracie
War is terrible, no question, no matter if it’s right or wrong. It doesn’t matter how much training, how much experience, it all comes down to survival, and you are just a human, and part of a band of brothers. The fact that you are not proud of your actions shows how great a man you still are, and I truly believe you did what you thought best in the heat of the moment, and I am sure there are a lot of those moments, for all service members. Please do not beat yourself up about this. Those men made a choice too.
Grumpy
CJ, you wrote your post from the perspective of a person who has lost his soul. Please help me, does the actual evidence support this view? In my view, the facts show you writing about that internal battle going on in your mind. Without a soul, this awareness would be impossible. I am glad you had the strength and courage to write about it. Respectfully, “Grumpy”
Terri
Having met you in person CJ, I know that you’re definately not a person who’s lost his soul, but instead a very giving, loving and caring man who did what he thought best in a very difficult situation. The CJ that I know and care about is someone who is proud of his job, proud of his country and someone who gives of himself, even in the face of possible death and ridicule from others who don’t share the same beliefs you do. You acted in a very tense and heated situation that many of us will never have to face in our lives. You did what you felt was necessary at the moment to make sure your men were safe. I applaud you for writing about something that has bothered you for sometime, for sharing something about yourself that many wouldn’t have the courage to do.
Donna
CJ,
I’m like the others here. I don’t blame you for what you did over there. Until we have been in the same situation you were in, we will never know what we would do in that situation.
From all your writings, I can see that you are a very kind person who would not intentionally hurt anyone. Yet in the heat of battle, you have to do some things that you don’t like I’m sure. Thank you for being such a brave soldier and for doing your duty for our country!! You are one of my heroes and don’t ever forget that!!
Anyway, if you did something wrong, we have a loving God who will forgive you and let you go on with your life. I will pray for you about this. May God Bless You Always!!
wordsmith
CJ,
You are one of the noblest Americans I know. A fine example of everything I could hope for in a representative of our country and in our values, and in our military. I think your writing proves that you still have your soul. Thanks for sharing your experience. It is remarkable in its stark honesty, and I shed a tear for you. Thanks again, a million times over, for your service.
Carole
Wordsmith said what I was thinking and put it into words better than I could. I would only add that we love you CJ.
jane-marie wright
You know my Grandad left Diary’s after WWII. He also left his small King James Military New Testement Bible which I now have on my book shelf. I often look at it, not to read it, but to put my hand around it like he did, you see there were times when he was so terrified that he gripped that Bible for all he was worth and his hand has left indentations in the leather.
I suppose what I’m trying to say is, unless you have to go through what you did then you would never now how that felt. You were being fired upon, your duty wasn’t to that man it was to yourself and the men in your platoon. The possibilities of the if’s and but’s of what happened to that man are vast.
Mother Teressa was once asked how she could sit and eat a hearty breakfast before going to help the poverty striken, starving people before her. She replied “If I don’t look after myself then how can I expect to look after any one else?”
I feel so very priviliged to read your diaries CJ. God has given you a gift. He allowed you to go through what you did. If that is only to show his grace and mercy through you online in this virtual world, then it works! Everything you write is filled with consideration for others, and even in those dark days of 2003 you managed to convey a sense of responsibility for your thoughts and acts when faced with the extreme.
Jack Mayhoffer
S*** Happens!! Suck it up the pain goes away with time. Don’t try to forget about it by burying it. Talk about it. It gets better!!
Debbiie
Thank you for telling thetruth. IF you hav enot already found your forgiveness, it is there in Christ Jesus. He died for you, tell Him.He can and will restore your soul. Have hope. When we sin, any sin, we give room to the enemy of our soul to lie tous and bring us anto beelif that we are unsaveable..not true. Jesus says everything is forgivible except blasphemy of the Holy Ghost..Paul murdered the Christians and Jesus not only restored Him, saved and deliered Him, but Paul ended up writing 3/4 of the New Testament..Peter said He did not even know Him after 3 years of walking with Him. Brother..trust in the Lord GOd inJesus CHrist..you will be restored and saved..