A Letter Home



CPT John Hallett Afghanistan 2009

 

SPC Dennis Williams, Driver Afghanistan 2009

I wanted to share with all of you a letter I wrote to Cynthia on 18 September 2009. About three weeks after the death of my Company Commander Captain John Hallett, his driver SPC Dennis Williams, our Battalion Physicians Assistant CPT Cory Jenkins and our Battalion Senior Medic SFC Ronald Sawyer.

SFC Sawyer with his niece Emma and his 20 month old son Daniel
picture courtesy of Iraqiwarheros.com

    "Just wanted to write you a letter and say I love you and miss you very much. Things are going good here and I don't want you to worry. I remember you told me I could write you about things here that were happening and how I felt during the situation and the things I did. Well I figured that now would be a good time to tell you about something. It is therapeutic right?

I have been reading a lot going to bed around 0100 or 0130. It is funny how when I am home I never really buy anything for myself and now that I am in Afghanistan I am Amazon biggest customer. I always have that feeling that I should read all the books I can in case, well, you know.

I wanted to write you and tell you about what happened on 25 August. This is probably the hardest thing I have had to do, actually write to you about it.

The patrol we were on went to the Shah Wali Kot district center to do a Key Leader Engagement with he leaders then conduct an assessment of the medical clinic in the village. We left that morning at 0800. I had two medics in my MRAPand cross loaded CPT Jenkins and SFC Sawyer into CPT Hallett's Stryker. We departed the FOB and headed north to Shah Wali Kot. When we got there I got out with CPT Hallett and we talked a little bit (he was sick) as we walked up to the district center to meet with the police chief and ask about the clinic that was about 1/2 mile away. We left and went to the clinic and we were there for about hour. During this time CPT Jenkins and SFC Sawyer look at the facility and even treated a few people that were there.

CPT Cory Jenkins

As we mounted back up to head to the Forward Operating Base (FOB) I had move forward in my MRAP and got onto the road. We had 2 Mortar vehicles, the HHC commander, my vehicle and CPT Halletts vehicle so five total vehicles. 51 was already ont he road and pushed forward, the road was very narrow and the strykers could not pass me so I called CPT Hallett and said the order of movement would be 51, me, HHC 6, A66 9CPT Hallet's vehicle and 52 picking up the rear. We left and headed to the OB. As we were driving I heard a big "Boom" and the radio came to life. HHC 6 called me and said "IED hit" I immediately looked in the rear view mirror and saw a huge pillar of smoke rising in the air. I immediately told my driver to turn around and drove past HHC 6 towards the the vehicle that was hit by the IED. I saw it was A66. The scene was horrific the vehicle was flipped over and the back end now faced the direction we were traveling.

Out of the back door I could see a leg hanging out like someone was lying down in the back. I dismounted and ran to the vehicle. I did not know if anybody was with me but I knew we had little time if we were going to save anyone. My biggest fear was that it was going to explode. In retrospect I should have been worried about the enemy ambushing us with small arms fire. But I did not think about it. I ran up to the vehicle and the fire inside was spreading and the smoke was rolling out of the vehicle. I got inside and someone was yelling for help. I could not see any further than about 2 inches in front of my face. I was choking from the smoke and could feel the fire on my face. I heard someone yelling and could see SPC Pannel crawling through the smoke towards me his head was bleeding so I grabbed his vest handle and pull him out of the stryker. At this time SPC Chaney (my company medic) and SSG Banuelos (my HQ PSG) took care of him and began to take off his gear. I went back to the stryker to find my friend and commander CPT Hallett.

I saw an arm under the back part of the Stryker and knew that was CPT Jenkins. I got back into the Stryker now with SSG Banuelos with me and the .50 cal rounds were now starting to cook off and we could hear them exploding outside the Stryker. SSG Banuelos and I tried to get SFC Sawyer out of the vehicle but the fire was intensifying and I knew that it would be only minuets before the AT-4 (Anti-Tank Missile) would explode causing in effect more casualties. So I pulled everyone back away from the vehicle. I was mad because I could not find CPT Hallett............

SPC Pannell was air medevac'd I I helped carry him to the bird shielding his face from the flying debre and placed him on the bird.

When I got back I started to think about what happened and that CPT Hallet's vehicle was in the spot of the convoy I was supposed to be in. I feel bad like maybe I had something to do with this tragic event and was the cause of many deaths that day. I gathered the company and told them the news as I fought to hold back my tears. After things had settled down I sat and watched while members of the company started to pack up CPT Hallet's belongings, my thoughts went to his new born daughter that he was talking about at dinner the night before.

I can't explain how I felt losing my friend. How helpless I felt watching that Stryker burn and knowing my friend and other Soldiers were in it. I still think about this at night went it is quiet and I know that I could not have saved them without jeopardizing the lives of even more Soldiers. Did I do the right thing? Did I do EVERYTHING I could? I have held my feelings in for this long and try to remain strong and focused for the Soldiers and the leaders of the company, but I never thought it would be this hard again. After Iraq and all the fighting we did in Mosul I thought I had become hardened by battle but the feelings just resurface with every death.

But I am doing it baby and I could not have asked for a better group of Soldiers and Leaders. I just wanted to write you and let you know what happens and courage our young men display every day they are here. The impossible tasks that they are asked to perform everyday. But they put there fears aside and continue the mission.

Even through this ugliness goes on I still know that I have an angel waiting for me at home. I want you to know that I WILL be home soon and give hugs and many kisses.

Gene

This is a letter I know that there were many hero's that day and I write this a tribute to all of those involved. Thank you all for letting me tell you about an event I still think of everyday.

LT Kim XO, me, and CPT Hallett NTC

   

Refections on hating Christmas

This is a piece shared by my great friend Raub Nash whom I served with in "Deuce Four" 1st Battalion, 24th Infantry in Mosul, Iraq.
He makes a great point when he speaks about reflecting "I see it as a cathartic view into how people need, and should, reflect on everything that happens to them that they did not control." I encourage people to think back about some times when you served write it down and send it to me. Respond and tell us what you think;

Reflections on hating Christmas

By Raub Nash

Last year in Graduate School I was inundated with the idea of reflection and how it is the key to successful development. For 30 years I pretty much took every day for what it was worth and I rarely looked back on what I did or, more importantly, what events happened to me that I could not control. As I prepared to take over my new job as a leader developer at West Point, I felt as though I should at least try out what I would be preaching – it was scary.

A lot of things have happened in my short career, as I no doubt know is the same for all Soldiers in this time of a two-front war. What scared me was how little I knew how these events have changed me –both for good and bad.

As we come out of the traditional Christmas leave period, I was forced into a realization that, I hope, will make future Decembers better for me and those I spend the time with. For the longest time, or since about 2004, I have never really been in the uplifting mood that a father and husband should be in around this time. The old me would say that it was because I was raised on little extravagance, especially with respect to Christmas and gifts in general. After one evening of some rather disturbing and violent actions on my part – no one was hurt, just a sliding glass door, a scotch glass, cooler, and a shirt – I had to look in the mirror and try to understand why and where that person came from.

I was forced to think about several things on the journey to the realization of what caused my actions and what consistently causes my less than uplifting spirit over this time every year. The first event that came to mind was December 21^st, 2004. It was a pristine day in Mosul, Iraq. Clear skies and mild temperatures made it quite bearable. I was a young 2^ndLieutenant Platoon Leader in 1/24 IN. We had been in Mosul for only about 2 months. I finally had some sort of routine, without which I am a mess, and normalcy was setting in – normalcy does not mean complacency. Our platoon had already had our share of the“baptism-by-fire” incidents and we were operating as a cohesive unit for the first time. A routine patrol day started out with the usual events; drive up to our platoon area, search houses/garages/offices, chase some people that ran from our patrol and drive back.

By the time we returned to the FOB it was time for lunch. So, we dropped our gear and headed on the long walk to our chow hall. Before we headed out, our commander and a few other officers asked my Platoon Sergeant and me to go with them to get lunch. We declined so we could help close up our vehicles and let our Soldiers get to chow before us. The routine was almost always the same: clear your weapon and wash your hands outside, get a tray and choose main or short order line, get some salad and dessert in the middle of the chow hall, sit down to eat and talk about whatever, and finally clean up and leave. This day however would deviate drastically from the routine.

About the time I sat down, I noticed that I was the first one in our group of 4 that would sit together. I took a quick look around and quickly saw the other 3 heading over. I followed this with obligatory wave of the hand to let them see where I sat and for them to join me. No sooner did my Platoon Sergeant sit down in front of me than a flash of light and a loud boom shocked our world. I did what I think, especially regarding the fact that normalcy also included the occasional mortar attack, most everyone did – I jumped up, looked for those by me and we ran to a bunker just outside the door. I won’t write anymore about what happened next. It is an image and an event that I still want to keep buried somewhat. The result of the event was that I had my first experience with the loss of a comrade. My commander, CPT Bill Jacobsen, and our NBC NCO, SSG Robert Johnson, were killed while they ate lunch on the safety of their own FOB. They were not the only ones that died that day, but they were the ones I knew.

8 days later, our Platoon responded to an event that would also change me. A suicide car bomber drove a dump truck full of explosives precariously close to an outpost and detonated the device. PFC Oscar Sanchez was killed in the blast, but what most people don’t know is that he probably saved his entire platoon mates lives. If that truck made it another 100 feet or so, the entire building would have most certainly collapsed. This event I recall not because of the incident in itself, but of my actions during this. I was forced several times to place my Platoon Sergeant and the squad with him in danger. When I say forced, I really mean it. I did not like the orders I was getting, but a leader understands that sometimes orders must be followed and that people can get hurt following them. What scares me about this incident is how happy it made me to see things get destroyed while in this firefight. It was eerie how I could feel great joy as we engaged suspected – yes, suspected – targets with heavy machine guns and strafes from F-16s and, the now retired, F-14. I don’t know why I felt as though I did, but I suspect it was because I was in the young stages of burying my emotional destruction that came from the chow hall bombing.

Fast forward to December 20^th, 2007. I am a young Company Commander in the 101^st and we were finishing up an operation that my Soldiers dubbed “Operation Shitty Christmas”. This was one of those times that, much like the outpost bombing, I really did not agree or understand the intent of what we were trying to accomplish. But, the orders were legal, ethical, and moral and I was given ample time to object and add my spin on the operation – so, we executed it. After about 5 days in the middle of nowhere during an unusual cold spell, we trudged away at the invisible goal trying to find a non-existent enemy. This day was just like the others – except that we had finished our mission and were moving back to our base. One of my platoons was tasked with following a route clearance team on an untraveled route to open it for further use by our sister company. I chose to move with my main effort, getting all of our equipment safely back to our company patrol base, and I chose not go with my boss’ main effort. Well, these choices never end up good.

When I first showed up to Fort Campbell and found out which company I would be afforded the opportunity to command, I was given the green light to go and start poking around. The first person I met was SPC Leon. He was youthful looking but had an air of experience that just emanated from him. I was immediately drawn to Wesley. I can remember always looking for him at formations, during PT, and while out at training. As I got to know the Soldiers in the company, I quickly found out that Wesley was a consummate warrior. I knew I liked this kid and I knew that I could always count on him. He was in the patrol that went with the route clearance team, probably located in the order of march where my vehicle should have been, when his vehicle was hit with an IED. This event took both of his legs and cut me to the core. I was already not very good with empathy, and this event made me separate myself from my feelings more than ever which resulted in the desire to never get close to another Soldier. Terrible decision on my part. Even though Wesley hasn’t slowed down accomplishing more than most people, it doesn’t take away the deep feeling that it should have been my vehicle, an MRAP and not a HMMWV, that got hit.

Three pretty major events in my life that happened close to Christmas. No wonder I am a scrooge. This story is much more to me than a revelation of why I hate the Christmas season. I see it as a cathartic view into how people need, and should, reflect on everything that happens to them that they did not control. I wish that more people would partake in this venture and critically look at their actions and reactions to these types of events. I know now why I feel the way I do and this fact will allow me to accomplish my ultimate goal – being a great dad. There is no greater joy for me than to see my sons smile and see them do new things. It would be shame if my failure to change my attitude based on events I had no control over affected my children in a way that would have them dread the Christmas season as I do. I will let you know how I do next year.

So you think you had a bad day?

The 1st Platoon "Punishers" Squad Leaders SSG Diaz (1st Squad), SSG Johnson (3rd Squad), SGT Kreilaus (Stryker and my Vehicle Commander), and SSG Collier (Weapons)

Here is another piece I wrote from Iraq 2004 - 2005.

The day had started off as usual. Wake up and get ready for a 0900 patrol. But it is funny how things can change so fast. We drove into “old town” the section of Mosul that runs parallel to the Tigris River. A dilapidated section of closely sectioned houses, I don’t think you can fart without the rest of the neighborhood hearing you. We had been their conducting dismounted patrols. Patrolling the streets and talking to various people the usual things, “How is the neighborhood?” “Are there any bad people around?” The usual. About an hour into the patrol I heard an explosion relatively close to where we were but far enough away that the residents did not seemed to be alarmed. Much like the responses they give when you ask them questions, if it does not directly affect them they don’t care about it.

I called my Platoon Leader and told him about the explosion, told him we were pretty close and were going to try and move to check it out. Not even two minuets later I got the call to mount up. “We are going to assist a platoon that that has just been hit by an IED (Improvised Explosive Device). Was the reply I got to my message. I quickly moved back to my Stryker and loaded up the weapons squad and myself.

We moved to the site, as we arrived I could see six cars on an off ramp stopped and black smoke rising from them. “I am dismounting with the medic.” I told the PL and quickly got off my vehicle with three of my soldiers. We were on a four-lane highway with guardrails running through the center as a medium. As I jump the guardrails I saw the platoon that had been hit scrambling to evacuate their casualties and immediately met up with the Platoon Sergeant on the ground.

 “Hey man I have my platoon here and my medic we are here to help casevac.” I told him. He looked at me.” Okay man but I can’t hear shit, because the fucking thing blew up right next to me, we are getting out of here. My casualties are gone and we are all that is left.”

“Ok get your guy’s and we will lock it down and I will take care of the civilian casualties.” I told him as his Stryker pulled up and dropped the ramp for him to load up and leave.

I looked around it was now only us four were on the ground. SPC Farmer, SPC Manley (my medic), SGT Feliciano, and myself. The rest of the platoon still on Strykers were moving into blocking positions to prevent us from being attacked again. The AIF are known for attacking the initial responders by direct fire, mortars, or subsequent IED’s. I honestly didn’t think about this. But now that I do it scares the crap out of me. I had injured people and had to help and they had priority over my safety.

A woman runs up to me with her daughter and crying she said something in Arabic that I could not understand. “Calm down.” I told her.” Sit down over there.” I tried to get her away from the cars that were leaking gas and the various other injured people and body parts laying all over the road. My medic was running around treating people with injuries ranging from blown off hands to shrapnel imbedded in there legs, arms, face, and chest. “SFC Hicks, this guy has no hand come here quick.” SGT Feliciano yelled at me I ran over and saw the nub of his right hand blood gushing from it. There was only a piece of a shirt wrapped around his wrist that was very badly trying to stop the constant flow of blood. “Oh shit, Doc get over and help this guy.” I yelled as my medic ran up with a tourniquet. Blood ran everywhere and body parts lay strewn over the road. My squads were now dismounting so I pushed them into security positions to over watch the scene. I saw a man crying and I walked up to him to make sure he was okay. He was again he was yelling in Arabic and I could not understand what he was trying to say. “Red 6 this is Red 7, I need the interpreter now.” I said into my handset. “Roger he is enroute, now.” I grabbed the interpreter and led him too the lady and man. I later found out that she was trying to tell me a man had ran up to her car grabbed her 3 year old and ran off. The PL told her to check the hospital, because the guy may have been trying to help. We found out later that that was in fact what had happened and the child had died on the way to the hospital. I moved to assess the rest of the casualties and see if I had missed anyone. The IED had been place on the side of the road in a medium, in the attempt to kill or at least blow up a convoy. Unfortunately I found the car that took the brunt of the blast was a civilian family. I looked in the back and the slumped down in the back seat lay a nine or ten-year-old boy he had been totally decapitated. I knew he was dead so I went ahead and left him there for now and concentrated on the wounded still alive. I saw a SUV parked on the opposite side of the road, the side we had just come from and saw an old lady bleeding and stumbling over to the SUV, which turned out to be a taxi. I ran over there to see if she was all right. I grabbed the medic and he fixed shrapnel wound in her thigh. I told the driver (through my interpreter, who was also running around with me) to cross over the highway and help take the rest of the wounded to the hospital. I ran back to the other side of the street. The taxi pulled up and we loaded the rest of the wounded up in it.

 I now knew that I had to get the boy out of the vehicle. I attempted to open the door, but the blast had pushed the door out so it would not budge. I grabbed a hooligan tool my squad leader brought over with a body bag and we both attempted to pry the door open, nothing. I grabbed the window railing and in a feat I did not know I was capable of I bent the window frame almost all the way down to the door. Still nothing, I can not explain why I felt the need to get this child out of there I knew he was dead, I was staring at his headless corpse. But I had to get him out of there. I opened the passenger side door and pushed the seat forward and reached in and grabbed the child’s knee. Why? Again I cannot explain, maybe I was wanting him to be alive or awake, maybe to even hearing him cry, would have relieved me. But again I knew he was dead. I reached in and grabbed the boy by the leg and pulled him out a little his shoe came off. Then grabbed under his arms and picked him up. I was holding this child in my hands his lower jaw and ear hung there inches from my face as my soldiers laid out the body bag for me to put him in. I put him in and zipped up the bag. An ambulance had arrived while I was getting the boy out of the vehicle and I told one of my soldiers to help pick up the body bag and we headed to the ambulance and placed him inside. I walked over to take a knee beside the highway and a foot away from me lay a part of a hand, just the index and the middle finger, I got up and linked up the PL to brief him on what was going on.

We stayed there for about 45 minuets to talk to the people in the neighborhood. “Did you see anything?” “Have you seen anyone suspicious?” But the same answers from everyone. No. We loaded up and headed back to the Forward Operating Base. The day was not starting out good.

At 1500 we headed out for our second patrol, nothing hard go talk to some people coordinate a community meeting. Show our presence through the neighborhoods in our company area of operation (AO). We had just started when the patrol passed a suspicious vehicle with about 7 men standing around it talking to the driver I could see three other males in the vehicle. This is the way AIF meetings are held. Quick on the side of the road, meet and take off. As we drove by the PL called back “Red 7 check out that car, that is really suspicious.” I agreed and we slowed down. As we did everyone took off in different directions, and the vehicle drove down the street. We began to follow the car. It took an immediate right, we followed, and then it slowed down. I stood as high as I could in my hatch and yelled, “STOP.” The driver looked at me slowed down and then again attempted to take off. I called the PL “he is evading us”. I fired a warning shot. The driver gunned it. My next shot would hit the driver, shattering the back window immediately the car stopped. The passenger got out and then I saw the driver get out a bloodstain steadily spreading over his right shoulder. I had hit him. We dismounted and my medic began to work on him. He had three wounds where the bullet had broken up and entered his right shoulder and his left trapezoid. Blood poured from the wounds and we loaded him up and took him to the hospital. I learned later that he died later the next day. I looked down to see my uniform and kit covered in blood. I wanted to change so badly. We left and continued our patrol.

Later that evening I attended a memorial service for three soldiers who died from our battalion. They would add to the already growing number (which now total 14) we have taken in the 8 months we have been here.

I write this as a way of letting it go, a way that helps me sleep, and a way to not remember. If you can understand that. I have been shot at so many times that the sound does not really affect me anymore. I have learned that you cannot control fate, accept it and what happens will happen. My men do outstanding work everyday; they can make decisions in a split second. Weighing numerous options and in the fraction of a second and then act. So when you have a bad day or think that things are cannot get any worse, I can one up you.

SGT Feliciano on the C-130