Today I’m in the JAFO[1] spot with second section, third platoon. We’re rolling out to provide security for a convoy to the BSA to fir supplies. Not far out from our destination, there’s another convoy stopped short of an overpass. It seems someone reported a potential IED on the bridge going overhead. All of us in the security detail rolled our eyes at each other and prepared to spend half the day pulling security on foot while we wait for the EOD specialists to come check it out.
By this time in our visit, we had grown so accustomed to this that we had adopted a new method. If we were the first to find something suspect, we’d pull over and kick it/check it out ourselves. …things get a bit nutty after I while I suppose.
Anyway, once it’s been called in that is much less a viable option. So we would wait.
We stood outside our trucks, full battle rattle with our weapons chest slung. We scanned the growing crowd of people, the rooftops, the doors and windows, each of us according to his sector. I was a heavy smoker back then (really glad I kicked that habit), so I smoked. We waited for word to come back one way or another, and for disposal if it turned out to be live.
Finally EOD arrived and sent the little Doogie Houserbot up the overpass and about a third of the way down. It was a mortar shell on the side closest to us. They determined with the bot that it was likely packed with C4, and identified wiring coming out of the side opposite of the road. For what it’s worth, C4 can usually be expected to explode away from the wires; so this was wired to explode towards the road. The EOD team used blast charges from Wall-E - basically like a shotgun shell with water instead of ball bearings - to blow out the wiring. Now it was safe for a human in a bomb suit to go dismantle it…and it was about time, we were ready to get back on the road.
While the EOD guy marched up the overpass in his full bomb suit, I chuckled about all the potentials we’d kicked this year. I knew he had to wear it according to protocol but I thought, just what a shitty way to spend your last few moments if things ever went south. Trudging up a long-ass hill in a hot-ass bomb suit…a hot-ass bomb suit that probably wouldn’t help at all if things took a turn for the worst. Whatever. I guess no one was really having fun anyway. I let it go.
Random shot of me and a friend, just to break things up a bit.
I continued smoking and surveying my sector, here and there checking in EOD guy’s progress up the overpass.
I don’t remember what I had been thinking the moment before. I honestly don’t - but I remember taking a look up there to see if I could get a feel for how much longer we’d be here. It just so happened that right as I looked up, he was approaching the site. He hadn’t even finished leaning over it. I mean, completely it caught me by surprise. One moment there was this man looking like a desert tan Michelin guy, then all there was was a red mist settling quickly over the road. The explosion itself lagged by a few milliseconds…just enough to catch me off guard once more.
My heart was pounding, I was fully alert and actively scanning my sector for any follow up engagement. 1SG began making his way briskly up the overpass. My 1SG that first year was the most battle heardened SoB I’ve ever encountered. He was like Andy Dufresne in the heat of active firefights. Just as soon as that bomb went off, he was on his way up there; but when he called back down to the section sgt over the radio, the only medical supply he called for was a body bag.
I guess we all make our mistakes under pressure, so I won’t judge it, but for whatever reason, the section sergeant decided to send me with that, on foot, as opposed to just driving up there. I guess he figured with so little body left to put in the bag, having me carry it back down made the most sense? I’m not sure. Doesn’t matter; I’m reaching the end of my story and I’m realizing that, although the whole thing flashed through my mind in an instant, telling it in writing is going to feel like a lot of build up for at best a loose relationship. So I might as well go on and get to it.
I headed over to the lead truck, that was second section first platoon, and the section sgt tossed me the body bag. It was a little heavier than I’d expected, and certainly I wouldn’t have access to my M4 while carrying it, but I could manage. I took off at a force-march pace, which is to say I basically was speed walking, but just as I approached the base of the ramp, there was gunfire from the far side of the overpass. I heard 1SG return fire. We had no trucks on the far side and no eyes on the shooter(s), which meant 1SG was taking fire without backup. I broke into a sprint for the top of the overpass.
And here it is. I was maybe half way up the overpass ramp when I completely lost steam. I still jogged. Actually as I’m writing this I just remembered I had been walking with a lit cigarette in my mouth. My hands were full, so I had run with it there too. I remember holding the body bag and stabilizing my rifle with one arm so I could throw that cigarette away as I downgraded to a jog, questioning my choice to be a smoker.
The rest of the story is further underwhelming. I got to the top of the over pass and 1SG yelled at me “Get the fuck outta here dickhead, gimme that fuckin’ bag and get back to the truck - and stay down!” I did as he said and crouched behind the barrier as I brought him the bag. I wasn’t up there long, and whoever was shooting at us stopped shortly after I got the bag to 1SG.
I headed back to the truck, slow and sober. I had been called to arms and had failed.
Some nights when I’m on the road, I think about that day, and when I do, I haul ass up the next hill I come to. I push myself and make damn sure if I ever need to get to the top of a hill with my gear that my body will help, not hinder my effort.
I ruck for the peace and tranquillity I find in walking under the weight, but sometimes I do get motivated by something less jovial. If you’re out there ruckin’, what’s driving you? Do you go slow and enjoy scenery? Do you haul ass and go for broke?
If you made it this far, thanks for reading. I know it was a bit off topic, I hope not too much so.
[1] JAFO is what we called someone with no specific function on the truck. Just Another Fuckin’ Observer.
