Baghdad e-mail.......

This is an e-mail that was sent yesterday to a friend of mine from his brother-in-law in Baghdad.......

I drafted this update last night as I lay in bed, processing something I witnessed a couple days ago. I share this experience with you not to be overly dramatic, or to impress, or to tell war stories. I just wanted to put this image in writing, to tell my friends, family, and colleagues about the very real sacrifices made here in Iraq each day. I ask you to consider this, share it, please don’t forget, because I certainly won’t. This is not my story, I don’t know the details of what preceded, nor the names of those I saw. In fact, I’m a bit embarrassed to say all I did was watch the aftermath, as a bystander.

It was approximately 1525, Sunday, 27 Aug 06. I caught a shuttle bus from Phoenix Base (where we work) back to the Palace (U.S. Embassy) compound here in the IZ. I left work early to attend a 1630 chapel service at the Palace, with only the driver and two other passengers on the bus with me, a light load due to the time of day. About halfway back, we stopped to drop off a passenger at the Hospital. As he stepped off the bus, four of five Strykers (a wheeled armored personnel carrier) pulled up quickly to the curb in front of us. The bus could not pull away, slightly blocked by the Strykers, so I took the opportunity to pull out my digital camera to snap a few pictures of these fighting vehicles and the crews. I took only one picture before realizing there were wounded soldiers, so I quickly put away my camera, a bit annoyed at myself acting like a tourist.

So I watched in silence through the window, no more than 20 feet from these soldiers, feeling thousands of miles away, helplessly watching as though it was something on the evening news. I saw a couple wounded men helped out of the Strykers, others limping with twisted ankles or some unseen injury. Several soldiers were sprinting from vehicle to vehicle, a couple guys were doubled over, hyperventilating and suffering from heat exhaustion, sucking down bottled water and pouring it over their heads. Then a young soldier stumbled from beside one of the Strykers, right next to our bus. He had discarded his body armor, helmet, and weapon. He was distraught, leaning against a tree, sobbing. Another soldier came over to comfort him. At that point, I knew it had been a bad day. So I watched.

Part of me wanted to get out to help, to do something for these guys. I also considered getting off the bus to walk the short distance to my bus stop, leaving this scene behind. But I couldn’t. I guess I wanted to see this and remember it, that was all I could do. Our bus driver looked back at me pleadingly for guidance, so I suggested he pull out slowly and well around the Strykers. He obviously couldn’t understand much English, and didn’t know what I was telling him. Other traffic was now passing both ways, but as our bus driver crept closer to the Strykers, a very agitated soldier stepped in front of the bus and yelled “Back up! Back the F%@# up!” The driver understood that English.

At this point, the back door of one of the Strykers lowered. Someone threw a black tarp on the ground behind the vehicle. At first I thought they were using it as a makeshift stretcher to carry one of the wounded men, but then a stretcher appeared and they loaded someone on. Now our bus started to slowly pull around to pass. As we passed the Strykers, I realized the black tarp was a body bag. The soldiers placed their fallen comrade in the bag, onto the stretcher, and carried him into the hospital. I thought, a young American had just died in combat. Someone’s child, husband, friend was gone and they didn’t know it yet. Their grief would start soon, the soldiers were feeling it now. That bothered me, still does.

What also struck me was how young these soldiers are, how much they care for each other, how hard they work each day in this dangerous place. In the news media, his death will be reported as “A U.S. soldier was killed on Sunday by small arms fire in Eastern Baghdad,” and he will join the list of fallen before him. To many, he will just be a number, but he was real, his friends and family loved him, and so should we. All these brave young men are worthy of all our respect and admiration.Ten minutes after leaving this scene, I sat in the Palace coffee shop, watching people laughing, working, going about their lives. It just didn’t seem right somehow. The feeling I have now will fade, I know, but for now, I will salute the young soldiers I see before they salute me, I will wave or give a thumbs up to every Humvee or armored vehicle that passes me into harm’s way. As I do, some soldiers smile or wave back, others don’t see me, or just stare through me with their mind somewhere else. But I want them to know I appreciate their sacrifice and service.

Believe me, this is not meant to be a lecture or sermon, so I apologize if it seems that way. I know those that read this share my feelings already, but just wanted to share this with you to help me think through it a little. But if you could do me a favor, thank a soldier, airman, sailor, or marine the next time you see one. Or better yet, thank their parents and families. Salute all of them, they are protecting you and are dying for the freedom of this country everyday.I look forward to seeing each one of you very soon. Thanks for reading.