My Time in Iraq: Part 3

Goat Story:

First of all, let me say that I love all animals- especially goats.

One of my responsibilities was working the firing range as the Range Medic. Ideally, I would have chilled in the back of an FLA (ambulance) with a partner and waited for something to go wrong- but, we were short staffed so I pulled security instead.

Close your eyes and picture a large brown ceramic bowl. Now picture the ceramic is really sand. Add 120 degree scorching sun, 20 guys with a large assortment of weapons aiming at an old Iraqi tank in the bottom of the bowl- and me...baking in the turret of an up-armored HMMV holding a SAW (squad automatic weapon), waiting for insurgents to sneak up on us. It was not fun. So, you can imagine my relief when the NCOIC yelled my name, " Hey McGill. You wanna shoot this thing?"  "Hell Yes!", I proclaimed as I stumbled out of the tin can and ran almost Baywatch style through the sand towards the Mark-19 mounted on top of the Sergeant's HMMV.
 A Mark-19, I learned was a semi-automatic 40mm round grenade launcher. It is mounted on a tripod because the barrel itself weighs 80 lbs. The stock of the weapon is almost the length of my arms and at the middle is a butterfly trigger that you push down with your thumbs to fire. I told him that I had never even seen one of these before. He laughed and all of the guys gathered round to watch the girl shoot the big gun.
"What do I do?", I asked. He told me to aim just like any other gun/rifle- center mast on the tank, hold steady, hold my breath and push on the trigger. I did exactly that and a grenade shot out of the gun and landed near the bottom of the basin, missing the tank by mere feet. It exploded on impact, sending shrapnel and sand 20 feet in all directions. The smile on my face told SGT Simmons that I wanted another shot. "Wanna do it again?", he asked- already knowing the answer.  I steadied the weapon again and held my breath as I took my aim. I pressed down firmly on the butterfly with both thumbs...a little too hard. As I put weight on the stock, the barrel raised upwards- and, it was a semi-AUTOMATIC weapon. 3 grenades shot out the end, each one about 10 feet higher than the previous. The last two rounds were shot so high that they cleared the top of the canyon wall. We waited what seemed like minutes for the familiar sound of an explosion. It was definitely too long. We knew the grenades had flown really far. As it was my first time at the range, I asked the SGT what was over there. He replied that he really didn't know. Usually, it was just an empty field of scrub brush and sand but nomadic herdsmen were known to walk all over the southern desert. He quickly gave the order to round up and head back for base.
As the crow flies, we were a mere 2 miles from our front gates- but everything in the Army takes longer than it should. So, we had to drive for 30 minutes on our chosen route of the day to make it back to Bucca. When we came up to our checkpoint, I saw the damage I had done. A lone Iraqi shepherd with a rickety homemade wagon was waving his arms angrily at the prepubescent guard. Behind him lay the remains of a goat, freshly killed and another, badly wounded and soon to give its last breath. Although the shouting was in Arabic and the guard knew only English, the conversation was clear. I felt only remorse as my brothers congratulated me with slaps on the back then we inconspicuously entered the safety of our gates.