I Have a Sad Story to Share
Can you help put him on the hood?
That's what my First Sergeant asked me. I declined.
I was among the first men to invade Iraq in 2003. We were instructed to clear and secure the tip of America's sword. The Iraqi Republican Guard were blowing up their own bridges to slow down our invasion into Baghdad. We came upon a bridge, where they had been stopped. And by stopped, I mean killed. It was passable, but we pulled over anyways.
I just stared in disbelief. The bodies were scattered everywhere.
A few moments later, a woman and children ran up to a man's body. We all drew our weapons and got behind the vehicle, but no one fired. They were wailing.
Our interpreter got involved and explained that the woman was the man's wife and she was afraid he'd be thrown into the dump truck and taken to the mass grave, like the others.
And she was correct. The truck wasn't far behind us. The thought of what was in there and the smell that ensued was enough to make most men nauseous, if not actually vomit.
I couldn't do it. We were warfighters. My heart was shattered for the family, but this is the cost of doing business. There's no mercy at war.
I've come to regret that decision. I watched, as the others put his body on the hood and drove him down the road to, what I'm assume, was their home. A home that is now fatherless.
My kids....I can't imagine.
Of all the things that haunt me about either of my deployments, this decision is the worst. To fight and kill our nation's enemies was ingrained in us. It was instinct. I was not man, but beast.
And out of nowhere, a beast was asked for compassion.
That's what my First Sergeant asked me. I declined.
I was among the first men to invade Iraq in 2003. We were instructed to clear and secure the tip of America's sword. The Iraqi Republican Guard were blowing up their own bridges to slow down our invasion into Baghdad. We came upon a bridge, where they had been stopped. And by stopped, I mean killed. It was passable, but we pulled over anyways.
I just stared in disbelief. The bodies were scattered everywhere.
A few moments later, a woman and children ran up to a man's body. We all drew our weapons and got behind the vehicle, but no one fired. They were wailing.
Our interpreter got involved and explained that the woman was the man's wife and she was afraid he'd be thrown into the dump truck and taken to the mass grave, like the others.
And she was correct. The truck wasn't far behind us. The thought of what was in there and the smell that ensued was enough to make most men nauseous, if not actually vomit.
I couldn't do it. We were warfighters. My heart was shattered for the family, but this is the cost of doing business. There's no mercy at war.
I've come to regret that decision. I watched, as the others put his body on the hood and drove him down the road to, what I'm assume, was their home. A home that is now fatherless.
My kids....I can't imagine.
Of all the things that haunt me about either of my deployments, this decision is the worst. To fight and kill our nation's enemies was ingrained in us. It was instinct. I was not man, but beast.
And out of nowhere, a beast was asked for compassion.
