Post by Fire Wraith (Evelinne) on Mar 5, 2007 15:22:00 GMT -5
It's not really the sort of thing you consciously think about.
In fact, it barely even registers at all. Oh, you're aware of it, alright. It's just a fact of life here. Iraq, for the most part, is a very dangerous place 'outside the wire', or beyond the fortified perimeter of the bases used by US and Allied forces. IEDs are what most people hear about on the news, and are the constant worry of anyone that has to drive anywhere. That's the real danger, the one you focus on.
Artillery? That's a threat from a different war. Oh, sure, you practiced against it in training, sometimes with fireworks or noisemaking machines designed to emulate the sounds of incoming artillery. You learn to dive to the ground, and wait for the blast. That way you can avoid the worst of the effects, unless of course it lands right on top of you. Mostly it just means you had to get your uniform dirty, and for seemingly little reason.
That's not to say there isn't any artillery fire here. It's easy enough for this insurgent or that terrorist to roll up in a pickup truck, fire off a pair of mortar rounds, and drive away before someone comes to deliver some high-explosive payback. One US base gets mortared so often the soldiers there nicknamed it 'Mortaritaville.' It's just harassment fire though - there's no aiming involved, and certainly no correcting of fire, or sustained barrages. Anyone who tried to pull something sophisticated like that would have a pretty short life expectancy. These guys just fire randomly at the entire base, and hope to get lucky. Overall, you're probably more at risk of getting hit by a drunk driver back home than you are by artillery in Iraq.
All of this was probably the last thing on my mind as I walked out to go to the bathroom early one night. It had been yet another boring day, and promising to be just the same tomorrow. I had been through several artillery attacks before, and had claim to being one of the more experienced such people in my unit. After all, I had endured a night of heavy mortar fire the night that Saddam Hussein's death sentence was announced. I had also been in the mess hall when a pair of mortars landed close enough to rattle all of the windows in the room, probably just to the other side of the large protective wall surrounding the building.
All in all, I considered it a big inconvenience. After all, it would mean having to go through all of the response and defense drills, even though it was basically for little value. The attacks were brief, and rarely ever followed up. As I said, it was for harassment value.
Coming back from the bathroom, I glanced up at the night sky, quietly humming a tune to myself. The moon was bright, and the scene was one of peace and serenity. I crossed the road to the building where my office is, and turned to walk in between it and the protective barriers that surround it.
I was nearly halfway to the second entranceway when I first heard the sound. I knew right away that it was a rocket attack, and my immediate thoughts were of mild irritation. It would probably mean sitting in a bunker doing nothing until it was determined that things were 'all clear.' Still, habit is habit, and so I moved next to the barrier wall, and crouched down beside it. I heard two explosions off in the distance, which was about as I expected.
I saw orange.
I could feel the shock, infinitely stronger than anything I had ever experienced before. I was suddenly no longer certain of anything, and the words 'that is just too close' flashed through my mind. I was gazing up slightly, at the gap between the wall and the overhanging concrete roof. Instead of darkness, I saw orange. It seemed to be happening so slowly that it took a good thirty or more seconds, even though it was all over in the span of perhaps one or two. Rocks and dust sprayed all over, though nothing struck me hard enough to cause major injury. The air was thick with the smell of concrete dust and smoke. My ears were ringing, and I simply remained where I was, stunned.
A few moments later, I heard someone shouting, asking if everyone was alright. I yelled back "I'm alright, I think." I looked down, and didn't see any immediate blood. A quick inventory revealed no body parts missing, nor any visible major wounds. I didn't feel any significant pain. Everyone else boiled out, once it was clear the barrage had stopped, and we moved to the hardened shelters. My heart was pounding relentlessly, though there was nothing left to do but sit and wait.
When it was judged safe enough, we came back out, and looked around. I had no idea where the explosion had been. So far as I could guess, it had been in the roadway on the other side of my barrier. Walking back over, I discovered that it had hit just a short ways away, putting a hole completely through the barrier next to mine. Twisted bits of metal and shards of concrete had gone hurtling out.
Five feet away had been the spot where I was crouching.
By some miracle, I had not only survived, but emerged relatively unscathed. I was taken to be seen by medics regardless, once it became known just how close to the explosion I had been. Being within five meters of a hand grenade is lethal, let alone five feet, and something with far more explosive power, such as is found in rocket artillery, is another order of magnitude entirely. Something designed to destroy armored vehicles and hardened structures has little trouble shredding flesh at ground zero.
Everyone tells me I'm incredibly lucky. I don't know how to respond, in truth. Yes, I suppose I am, but at the same time, it all feels so surreal. The very next day, I'm expected to be right back at work. After all, I didn't suffer any major injuries. All I have is a concussion and some recurring headaches brought on by that.
When I was brought in to be checked out by the medics, a few other guys that had received more serious injuries than me were being taken out on stretchers to waiting helicopters. They will probably wind up going home. Would I have been luckier had I been like them? Would I be better off with an injury serious enough to get me out of here, rather than remaining here taking my chances that next time I will not be so lucky?
I will receive no awards, no Purple Heart for this. I have no scars to show. In all external aspects, I am no different than before. I feel different, in ways that are hard to explain. At the same time, even I can easily slip back into old routines and habits. I still eat the same foods, still enjoy the same hobbies. I still hate my work, and count the days until I can go home.
When I walk outside now, I feel a mixture of trepidation and strangeness. I cannot simply ignore my surroundings, and yet, at the same time, to continually take cover and safe routes seems quite silly amidst all of the normal day to day routine going on around me. To everyone else, it is just another day, the excitement of the previous day fading into memory. When will it do so for me?
I wish I knew.
In fact, it barely even registers at all. Oh, you're aware of it, alright. It's just a fact of life here. Iraq, for the most part, is a very dangerous place 'outside the wire', or beyond the fortified perimeter of the bases used by US and Allied forces. IEDs are what most people hear about on the news, and are the constant worry of anyone that has to drive anywhere. That's the real danger, the one you focus on.
Artillery? That's a threat from a different war. Oh, sure, you practiced against it in training, sometimes with fireworks or noisemaking machines designed to emulate the sounds of incoming artillery. You learn to dive to the ground, and wait for the blast. That way you can avoid the worst of the effects, unless of course it lands right on top of you. Mostly it just means you had to get your uniform dirty, and for seemingly little reason.
That's not to say there isn't any artillery fire here. It's easy enough for this insurgent or that terrorist to roll up in a pickup truck, fire off a pair of mortar rounds, and drive away before someone comes to deliver some high-explosive payback. One US base gets mortared so often the soldiers there nicknamed it 'Mortaritaville.' It's just harassment fire though - there's no aiming involved, and certainly no correcting of fire, or sustained barrages. Anyone who tried to pull something sophisticated like that would have a pretty short life expectancy. These guys just fire randomly at the entire base, and hope to get lucky. Overall, you're probably more at risk of getting hit by a drunk driver back home than you are by artillery in Iraq.
All of this was probably the last thing on my mind as I walked out to go to the bathroom early one night. It had been yet another boring day, and promising to be just the same tomorrow. I had been through several artillery attacks before, and had claim to being one of the more experienced such people in my unit. After all, I had endured a night of heavy mortar fire the night that Saddam Hussein's death sentence was announced. I had also been in the mess hall when a pair of mortars landed close enough to rattle all of the windows in the room, probably just to the other side of the large protective wall surrounding the building.
All in all, I considered it a big inconvenience. After all, it would mean having to go through all of the response and defense drills, even though it was basically for little value. The attacks were brief, and rarely ever followed up. As I said, it was for harassment value.
Coming back from the bathroom, I glanced up at the night sky, quietly humming a tune to myself. The moon was bright, and the scene was one of peace and serenity. I crossed the road to the building where my office is, and turned to walk in between it and the protective barriers that surround it.
I was nearly halfway to the second entranceway when I first heard the sound. I knew right away that it was a rocket attack, and my immediate thoughts were of mild irritation. It would probably mean sitting in a bunker doing nothing until it was determined that things were 'all clear.' Still, habit is habit, and so I moved next to the barrier wall, and crouched down beside it. I heard two explosions off in the distance, which was about as I expected.
I saw orange.
I could feel the shock, infinitely stronger than anything I had ever experienced before. I was suddenly no longer certain of anything, and the words 'that is just too close' flashed through my mind. I was gazing up slightly, at the gap between the wall and the overhanging concrete roof. Instead of darkness, I saw orange. It seemed to be happening so slowly that it took a good thirty or more seconds, even though it was all over in the span of perhaps one or two. Rocks and dust sprayed all over, though nothing struck me hard enough to cause major injury. The air was thick with the smell of concrete dust and smoke. My ears were ringing, and I simply remained where I was, stunned.
A few moments later, I heard someone shouting, asking if everyone was alright. I yelled back "I'm alright, I think." I looked down, and didn't see any immediate blood. A quick inventory revealed no body parts missing, nor any visible major wounds. I didn't feel any significant pain. Everyone else boiled out, once it was clear the barrage had stopped, and we moved to the hardened shelters. My heart was pounding relentlessly, though there was nothing left to do but sit and wait.
When it was judged safe enough, we came back out, and looked around. I had no idea where the explosion had been. So far as I could guess, it had been in the roadway on the other side of my barrier. Walking back over, I discovered that it had hit just a short ways away, putting a hole completely through the barrier next to mine. Twisted bits of metal and shards of concrete had gone hurtling out.
Five feet away had been the spot where I was crouching.
By some miracle, I had not only survived, but emerged relatively unscathed. I was taken to be seen by medics regardless, once it became known just how close to the explosion I had been. Being within five meters of a hand grenade is lethal, let alone five feet, and something with far more explosive power, such as is found in rocket artillery, is another order of magnitude entirely. Something designed to destroy armored vehicles and hardened structures has little trouble shredding flesh at ground zero.
Everyone tells me I'm incredibly lucky. I don't know how to respond, in truth. Yes, I suppose I am, but at the same time, it all feels so surreal. The very next day, I'm expected to be right back at work. After all, I didn't suffer any major injuries. All I have is a concussion and some recurring headaches brought on by that.
When I was brought in to be checked out by the medics, a few other guys that had received more serious injuries than me were being taken out on stretchers to waiting helicopters. They will probably wind up going home. Would I have been luckier had I been like them? Would I be better off with an injury serious enough to get me out of here, rather than remaining here taking my chances that next time I will not be so lucky?
I will receive no awards, no Purple Heart for this. I have no scars to show. In all external aspects, I am no different than before. I feel different, in ways that are hard to explain. At the same time, even I can easily slip back into old routines and habits. I still eat the same foods, still enjoy the same hobbies. I still hate my work, and count the days until I can go home.
When I walk outside now, I feel a mixture of trepidation and strangeness. I cannot simply ignore my surroundings, and yet, at the same time, to continually take cover and safe routes seems quite silly amidst all of the normal day to day routine going on around me. To everyone else, it is just another day, the excitement of the previous day fading into memory. When will it do so for me?
I wish I knew.