Reality rears its ugly head

A few days ago a soldier from this camp was killed in a roadside explosion. I heard about it right after it happened. It was my turn to monitor the radio and Bridget (a good friend who was keeping me company) and I listened as the unit called in what had happened. Bridget has only been in country for a few weeks and this was the first time she had heard the details of a soldier’s death. We both heard more than we wanted to. The soldiers that had been hit were a unit that my company had worked with several times during our training. I was afraid that a soldier that I knew had died. What also struck close to home was the fact that the bomb had been planted on a stretch of road that we have traveled many times.

One of the other platoons from my unit was activated to go and provide additional security for the troops who had been in the attack. I got a pit in my stomach when 3rd platoon was told over the radio that they would need to bring a body bag with them.

Later that night we were all briefed by our squad leaders and they told us the name of the soldier who was killed. I feel guilty admitting that I went to bed relieved that it was not a name I recognized. American soldiers are killed and wounded everyday in this country. The Medical Evac helicopters which frequently fly overhead are a constant reminder. But you trick yourself into thinking that it’s all happening somewhere far away. You read the names of the dead in the daily paper or hear them from other soldiers and as long as it isn’t a name you know then you’re able to detach yourself from it.

Someone woke me early the next morning and said that I had a visitor. I asked the sergeant that woke me who it was and he said it was Bridget. Still groggy from sleep I walked into the hallway towards our front door. When I saw Bridget the first words out of my mouth were, “It’s 8 o’clock in the morning, have you lost your mind?” Then our eyes met and I immediately regretted my thoughtless words. Something was definitely wrong. She immediately broke into tears, her body shaking. I grabbed her close and asked her what was wrong. Through her sobbing she asked “KIA, bring a body bag?” I didn’t understand at first, but when I sat her down she explained it to me. That morning when she was on shift someone had told her the name of the soldier who had been killed the day before; the soldier whose remains were discussed over the radio as we both sat listening. It was her brother’s best friend. He would be 21 years old. His birthday was in just a few days.

We sat for a long time and she told me what kind of person her friend had been and how he had always been kind to her. She worried about how she would break the news to her family and wondered how her brother would handle it. After she had finally cried herself out, she laid down and fell asleep.

Days like this make me sad, but they mostly make me angry. It is easy to feel helpless. You can talk all you want about staying alert and the importance of vigilance, but here survival so often boils down to blind chance. All the training and planning in the world can’t guarantee your safety or that of your friends. I think that’s probably what I hate most about this place. The uncertainty of it all. I’ve always taken comfort in the fact that I had some control over the situations I find myself in. Maybe it has always been an illusion and this place is no different. We aren’t fighting an enemy who shows himself in the light of day. We are fighting men who hide in the bushes as a near 21 year-old kid is blown up in a passing car before he even knows what hit him. We face men who walk into a restaurant with a bomb strapped to their chest killing their innocent countrymen and women. And this will continue until we break their will or they break ours. Until the death on both sides are stacked up high enough that someone decides to call the game.

I am not saying that our fight is in vain or that we should pack up and leave this place. That is what our enemies want us to feel, but they need to understand that it isn’t the effect their actions have on us. These men need to realize that their cause and their hatred has become tiring. They do not help this country or the interests of their people with death and destruction as their tool. In killing yet another American soldier they do not weaken our stomachs for fighting but instead strengthen our determination to wipe their maniacal kind from the earth. I am so angry that this killing continues day after day. I am so angry that another mother and father have lost their son. I am so sad that a very sweet young girl is sick and broken hearted as she mourns the loss of her friend.