A Soldier's Account

People often asked me why I joined the military. Among the many fraudulent answers, I felt ashamed to divulge the honest truth. No doubt the events of 9/11 served as a linchpin to signing up. Ultimately back then I was nothing more than a small-town kid who played one too many video games. They made me believe that it could be so easy, a life of travel and adventure.

This type of thinking gave me arrogant thoughts. That for what I am disgusted at myself when reflecting back on. I honestly believed those that served our great country and fell into sleeping on the streets were victims of their own choices. That they didn’t have what it took to truly be an American soldier. I allowed delusions of grandeur to run rough shot in my mind.

When I enlisted, I immediately grew up there and then. The moment it became confirmed I felt a shiver down the spine and nausea hit the bit of my stomach. It didn’t feel like the best start realising I was nothing more than a stupid kid who had just gotten way over his head. Those opinions I once had disintegrated into a million pieces the minute basic training began.

Picking up a video game controller is a lot easier than an assault rifle. Not only did I struggle to hold it efficiently, but once I worked out to reload they wanted it to be done in a swift and smooth motion. Never had I experienced an adult shout and screaming at me the way the instructors did.

“This is real fucking life!” they kept screaming at me as they saw my eyes drift away into a daydream state in an attempt to zone out the harsh criticisms.

Unlike the teachers back at school, they didn’t give up on me. I eventually passed all requirements and got deployed overseas in Afghanistan. At that point I felt proud of myself, like I’d tasted the new life in serving the United States Army, like I had it all worked out.

I was wrong.

When I and some other fresh faces arrived at a military base in Afghanistan, nothing but the best was expected from us. We went from being screamed at to follow instructions to save our own skin to now following them to save other people. Many of us never walked in a desert before, yet here we were adjusting to the never-ending landscapes and blinding glares from the sun reflecting off our equipment.

We operated a strict routine.

Our sleep would take a certain amount of time, along with how quickly we ate. Every aspect of our lives ran on our superior officer’s clock and schedule.

Raw recruits like ourselves weren’t trusted to venture out straight away. Adjusting to the environment, attending briefings, and receiving the most strenuous drills to date made up our daily agenda for over two weeks.

On the sixteenth day, I was assigned to scope out a small town to make a show of force. Another unit had recently engaged in a heated firefight with insurgents. Troops were garrisoned after the conflict, and a retaliation effort soon followed. Intelligence believed that there had to be something hidden in this area for them to strike back so quickly.

For us greenhorns this gave us the perfect opportunity to venture out and break into real work.

Three teams were dispatched, and I fell in with Sergeant Harrison’s company. A good man took no shit but you could tell was someone who’d comfortably hold a beer and conversation with anyone. Down to earth and held his rank with the respect it deserved.

Our orders were simple, people control. We’d patrol the streets, observe any suspicious behavior and subdue any civilian attempts to harm or cause disruption to the peace. Investigators were already sent out to uncover any secrets being concealed by the enemy, and as a result, their safety became another one of our priorities.

I’d never seen a town like this. Growing up in the West I felt spoilt and an idiot for taking our way of life for granted. The quality in which people lived there, it brought a tear to my eye, especially seeing bullet holes painted on buildings along the streets.

When you’re a soldier you think people love and respect the uniform. Overseas, those stares by enemy countrymen can unnerve any man. A glance as if they’re signing your death warrant in their minds. I kept my finger poised on the trigger, despite the safety is on.

Two hours dragged by. It seemed as though an uneventful day laid ahead. Sergeant Harrison received instructions over the radio for us to keep people far away from a particular area. A terrorist had caved in during interrogation and divulged locations for car bombs laid out prior to Allied Forces overrunning the town.

One street that ran through the centre formed the perfect death trap. The moment you were in, you’d be engulfed in fire without a hope in hell of being found alive. We followed orders. Interpreters managed to get people to calmly evacuate using megaphones.

No soldiers were permitted to enter, in case these explosives were intended to be detonated remotely. Civilians kept over four metres away from vehicles, to avoid triggering proximity bombs.

The operation went fluidly. Zero incidents or casualties.

We waited patiently in position while senior officers debated over comms to decide the best strategy to clear the danger zone.

Suddenly, another piece of information came to our attention.

The terrorist under interrogation mentioned hostages being held in an abandoned hotel. Among those imprisoned, are American journalists that been captured weeks previously. They believed the guards would not have left their position and were still an armed threat in the town.

Sergeant Harrison volunteered us to investigate the lead.

The hotel did not take long to locate, based on the details fed to us over the radio.

Half way those directions were no longer required. Screams of civilians drew our instincts the rest of the way there. People spilled out of the hotel onto the streets. They barged into us as they were frantically panicked.

A couple of soldiers caught one holding a machine gun, they managed to disarm and drag him along for the walk. He fought like a wild man, trying to eye gouge, and did not hold any concern for a weapon being pressed up to his chin.

We believed he was a captor not wishing to get caught, who thought he could escape by hiding within a crowd.

We were wrong.

I helped cover the entrance as the other men breached and that’s when it happened.

An explosion. The entire building had been rigged.

My carcass flew fifteen feet. My left leg blew twenty.

Sergeant Harrison and the rest did not make it. I wasn’t the only one covering the entrance, yet only I survived.

I almost bled to death, discovered by another team that heard the explosion nearby.

Everything the terrorist said was a ruse.

The street we closed off had no threat, nor did the hotel hold any hostages.