Tuesday, August 31, 2010

My Time in Iraq: Part 2

I was stationed at Camp Bucca. It was named after a fallen 911 firefighter. This little camp was in spitting distance from Um Qsar and an hour drive from Al Basra. The purpose of Camp Bucca was to hold Iraqi detainees and Foreign Nationals. My Unit was almost 300 strong, mostly Military Police. We detained 6,000 Iraqi Men.
When I first arrived, everyone lived in long trailers- the exact same single wides that tornados like to destroy.As the newbie, I had the privilege of bunking next to Allen, AKA Private Deanna Allen- who would later make the news back home for her late night breast baring-mud wrestling excursions. There was definitely a click within the females, and they did not like Allen. I unpacked to ease my mind's tension and an older man came to the door. He asked for me and suddenly I heard my name, "MCGILL!", being repeatedly called by several girls. I ran to the door and extended my formal Army courtesy. SGT. Davis was his name. We sat down and he went over my duties and responsibilities. Camp Bucca was not fully staffed or equipped. One important MOS that didn't make the roster was that of the Preventive Medicine Specialist. They were the Health Inspectors of the Camp. I was asked to fill in as a Prev. Med. Spec and work as a Medic. I was Gung Ho! and up for the challenge.

Between every event, there are very long moments of boredom. Iraq was like that. Mundane rituals, crunching gravel underfoot, chow time, chow time chow time, clean your weapon, chow time...the events are what we remember.

Cat Stories:  We had a lot of feral cats. This fact coupled with lack of intimacy and affection created pets- or Mascots. The cats were everywhere. Some were sick and none of them had been vaccinated. SGT. Davis and I decided to spay/neuter these animals so the population would be under control. We met up with a Veterinarian from Northern Iraq. He came down and performed several procedures with us as assistants. We didn't have a surgical table or normal anesthesia- so we used Ketamine and an ironing board. The ironing board came from the male barracks (we never told them either).
One day, sunny and bright- I again heard my name being called loudly. An out of breath boy ran up to me and said that I was needed right away, ordered by Col. Hauser. I grabbed my aid bag and followed the long legged messenger. On the scene, I realized the magnitude of the situation and wondered why on earth the Colonel thought I was the soldier for the job. A Staff-Sergeant had started the engine of a HMMV with a cat in the engine. The fan blade had hacked at its' back and tail. It was in poor shape. I decided, okay- save the cat. I applied a pressure dressing on the venous bleed and splinted its' leg. Bandages were taped to the other various cuts and tears. Later that day I was summoned to the Colonels' office. He asked for a SITREP. I informed him that the cat was not eating nor drinking and it would surely die. He asked what could be done. I replied that the cat needed an IV and I didn't know how to perform that procedure on the feline species. Under an hour later, a plan was devised.  A movement order was written and the cat hacking SSG and I were placing our tiny friend in a box and taking our seats in a security escorted HMMV. We had a secret mission that if revealed, had serious consequences for our Commander. Together we rode up to the check point leading back into Kuwait. The guard unknowingly waived us thru. After awhile, we parked inside a small camp where we would try to persuade an Army Veterinarian to assist us and our feral friend. "Absolutely Not!!" said the Vet. He didn't want to lose any brass over some ragged Iraqi cat. We began walking the long walk back to the vehicle when a soft voice became audible. A young Vet Tech told me that although she wouldn't help the cat, she would explain to me what needed to be done.
The checkpoint back into Iraq would be much more difficult. This time, I didn't have a breathless cat on the verge of death. I had a scratching, meowing cat in a box with an IV in its' arm and a plastic IV tube coming out to a hanging bag of saline. ..Again, he waived us thru.
Kitty ICU was in my small hooch that I called home. My roommate, Allen, had already been kicked out of the Army by then, so I had converted her area, locker and bed into a couch and entertainment center- complete with mini DVD, books, and Cap'n Crunch. (for some reason I was addicted to that stuff while there) My patient was still in her box and her IV bag was hanging from a hook. I sat back and read for a while..maybe too long of a while- you see, I didn't know how much saline a cat should get. My little girl was completely round. She looked like a melon, ready to pop. Astounded, I DC'd her IV and waited a long and anxious wait- for her to urinate. At last, the sand beneath her darkened with fresh urine and I knew that all our trouble had not been in vain. After a couple of weeks, she was released back to the desert. And, just to make it a well rounded story- after his tour, Col Hauser sent for the cat and it is now living in North Carolina. True Story.

My Time in Iraq: Part 1

Our troops are heading home and changing tactics- to save instead of kill. It's making me think of my time spent in that country...what I did and what I didn't do

I will tell you exactly what I told my Psychiatrist and if I have time, I may tell you some more:

I wasn't supposed to be going. In August 2004, I finished Combat Medic School. I had received my blood pin (yes, some schools still do that) and I was completely brain washed. All I could think of was how to save a life and the Army Values. I came home from San Antonio...a civilian. Civilian is almost a dirty word in the military. I started my new job as a Health Care Tech in a Gyn Clinic- and no, we did not perform abortions there. My new unit that I had joined was in Asheville, NC. They had deployed before I even came home from Texas- so I wasn't all that concerned about Iraq. Usually, you deploy and then wait a couple of years before your unit is selected again.

It was a regular day at work when my boss answered the phone. She looked puzzled when she handed me the receiver and said, "It's a Master Sergeant Green for you". I stood at attention quickly and spoke self-assuredly, "Yes Master Sergeant". He babbled something about meeting my unit and joining "In Country" and "30 days..blah blah Ft. Bliss blah blah...Orders" When I hung up the phone 30 seconds later, my slick sleeved military mind had absolutely no idea what I had just heard. My boss looked at me with a screaming question in her eyes. I quickly said, "I need to take a walk outside".

Almost 30 days, a Living Will, Power of Attorney, and a Last Will later, I rode to the airport in Raleigh to deploy in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom. I met the other 4 chosen ones inside the airport. Like me, they were barely enlisted Privates. We had one "No Show". The FBI found him a few weeks later and he reluctantly boarded his own plane of destiny.

The Army didn't have time to train us like they had trained my unit. The Military Police that I was attached to had experienced close to 6 months of preparation for their mission. They had even spent time in the Mohave Desert to acclimate to temperature changes. No, we were given 5 1/2 days, one of which was Thanksgiving. Well, after sad cell phone goodbyes, pokes/prods and vaccinations, we boarded a plane with our empty   M-16s. I took Benadryl so I could sleep. It was a long flight with a layover in Germany. Weary eyed, we all stumbled off the plane so it could be examined and refueled. Several hours later we re-boarded and set off for our final destination, Camp Doha, Kuwait.

I awoke in pitch black. Outside the windows all that was visible were flickering orange flames from oil rigs in the desert. The plane landed and we were told to move quickly towards a waiting bus. Several volunteers were chosen for baggage detail and the rest of us anxiously boarded a Kuwaiti Public bus with drawn shades, fringe and bad hip-hop music sung in Arabic. We had no Flak vests, no bullets, no gear, no destination and absolutely no idea what we were doing. As the other soldiers began to fidget and peek out the windows, they were reprimanded by an NCO. We were told to leave the curtains alone so no one would know that solders were aboard. We listened.

An hour or so later, we were inside the U.S. Camp Doha. We swiped our ID cards so that our tax free pay would begin and then sat for an inbriefing. Intently we sat- listening to the Rules of Engagement, Learning simple Arabic commands and taking notes about recent enemy activity. Finally, we were shown our bunks. My 5'2 frame lugged duffle bags, a rifle and ruck sack into the female barracks. Surprisingly, I saw a familiar face. My Battle Buddy from Basic Training, Rachel was on her way out. She had chosen a different MOS after Basic and deployed immediately after it was over. Already, she was leaving for her mid cycle vacation. She smiled and we hugged...but there was something in her eyes that said things had changed. She was wiser now...had seen things. Training was over. I said goodbye to her as though I would see her for the next formation and then layed down in my bunk and slept.

The next day, I awoke without an alarm. I quickly remembered what had transpired over the past 24 hours and felt an unexpected exhilaration for the day's events. My orders did not come that day. No one came. After another night in Doha, our chariot arrived. My new friends and I were each issued our gear and ammo. We were told that everything was about to change. Kuwait was a resort, we were told. Hell was on the other side of the border and when we cross- we lock and load, set it on Hot, eyes vigilant. We passed the checkpoint into Iraq and adrenaline coursed through every vein of my body. My life would be different and nothing would ever be the same.