The following third
article was written by a Vietnamese American who is a U.S.
Army physician and has been deployed in Iraq in the last few
months. Major H. Luu continues to share his personal
experiences, along with personal candid perspectives, as a
medical doctor on the war front.
Other commentaries:
Irony of
War
September 2005
There
is no doubt war is confusing, even for those of us on the front
lines. There are too many underlying issues that color our view,
even as we try to maintain the simple picture of good versus
evil so that we can focus on the job at hand. On one given day,
I noted so many incongruities that made me wonder if we are
naïve to think that our job here is clear and simple.
Part of the medical troop’s responsibility is to maintain
medical supplies and we often make trips to Baghdad
International Airport (BIAP) to pick up the much-needed
supplies. The main supply route (MSR) is a four-lane freeway
that could be a breezy trip if it was not for the many surprises
along the way. Improvised explosive devices or vehicle
improvised explosive devices (IED/VBIED) are often planted on
the road, and some parts are so frequently targeted that we call
them “IED alley”. On this day, I was traveling with two of my
medics escorted by a convoy of armored trucks. As always, the
nervousness begins as we leave the gate, with our weapons locked
and loaded. It was not until we exited off the MSR onto a dirt
road toward BIAP, that the mood of the men in the vehicle
lightened. Along this stretch, the men often throw out candy to
children and they have brought with them a large box of candy on
this occasion for this purpose. When asked if they were aware of
the risk of running over the overzealous children vying each
other for the treats, the sergeant in charge replied that they
would be careful.
“You see, they run up to our vehicles anyway. The road is so
narrow it is hard to avoid them. We throw the candy away from
the road, that way we keep them off.” He continued to tell me
more about his plans, “I am looking for a little girl. I have
something special for her. My wife sent it for me”. The sergeant
held up a small teddy bear.
“Last time we were here, some of the boys beat her up and took
her candy. I felt so bad, and wanted to get out of the vehicle
but could not”. This time, he planned to throw candy to the
boys, and wave the girl to the side and give her his teddy bear.
He grins, “I love these kids, they have nothing. They remind me
so much of my kids at home. It is the adults that I have a
problem with. Most of them are nice, but I can never tell who I
can trust. It is much easier with kids”. He was genuinely
disappointed when he did not see “his” little girl after half of
the candy from the box was given out. The other half is saved
for the trip back. It struck me that something as simple as
giving out candy can be complex, and requires “good” judgment to
avoid causing harm. In this case, that would mean violating a
general rule that was put out: to not throw candy or food from
the vehicle.
We spent the day at BIAP getting supplies and indulging our
cravings at Burger King and the Post Exchange store (PX). I
could not get over the enormity of the base and different vibe
emanating from it compared to our small outpost base. It did not
feel like we were in a war zone in BIAP. The soldiers stationed
here lived in trailers with air conditioning, and walked around
without body armor. They even conducted salutations here.
Everywhere I looked they had all the newest armored vehicles,
while we had to beg to borrow a “hillbilly” vehicle (plates of
armor wield to the doors for protection, which is hardly the
same caliber). It would seem the allocation of resources was not
always on target. Some people were surprised that we still slept
and worked in tents.
BIAP was also where Saddam had some of his famous palaces. There
is a large man-made lake surrounded by multiple palaces, which
had large doors, marbled floors throughout and magnificent
chandeliers hung in almost every room, even the bathrooms were
opulent. It appeared that even during Saddam’s time, this place
had many more luxuries when compared to what was available to
the common Iraqi people.
As we left the base, I noticed a group of Iraqi workers sweeping
the road. This was odd, because we were in the desert with loose
sand all around us. As soon as they swept one part of the road,
the wind would promptly blow dirt and sand back. My guess was
that they needed to be gainfully employed so that they could
care for their families. They did not seem to care that their
work was an exercise in futility, so long as they were paid.
During our drive back we passed a motor vehicle accident. The
civilians appeared to be trying to free a trapped driver from
the collapse of the roof. The gunner in the group asked me,
“Sir, correct me if I am wrong, are we not here to help these
people?”
I replied, “Yes, why do you ask?”
“Why didn’t we stop back there to help that trapped driver?
Between all our vehicles, we would have had some equipment to
help that man. Sometimes I wonder what we are doing here.”
I was caught in a dilemma; I knew that the answer he was looking
for was not that simple. I was also surprised that he showed so
much emotion and compassion, given our precarious position every
time we are on the road. I had to think of a proper answer,
because the decision not to stop was not mine. This
responsibility falls on the convoy commander, and I did not want
to undermine his authority by simply agreeing with this Soldier.
I told him that I was not sure why we did not stop, but we have
to consider our security. The convoy commander has
responsibility for all 5 vehicles, 20 men.
“Recall that one of the vehicles was having engine problem and
could not keep up; maybe his decision was based on the risk of
stopping and having a deadline (meaning nonfunctional) vehicle.”
The Soldier seemed to accept my answer.
We pulled to a stop five minutes later as the road was blocked
by EOD (explosive ordinance disposal) team. These men put
themselves in danger everyday by detecting and destroying IED/VBIED
on the road. There was an IED ahead, and all traffic was stopped
in both directions until they could secure and detonate it. In a
blink of an eye, our simple supply mission turned into a
security mission. We dismounted to provide security and ensure
no one passed us and drove into the IED. Traffic began to back
up for miles as the EOD planned for the deliberate detonation.
Many of the Iraqis got out of their vehicles and congregated at
the road barriers, causing a small commotion. Apparently, there
was an important sheik in the crowd that needed to get his
funeral procession to their destination. Without a translator,
all we could say was “Bomb” and make a loud boom sound. The
sheik was agitated because of the Iraqis’ custom to bury their
dead before sundown. I thought to myself, this will get
complicated if we do not clear the road in the next hour, as the
sun is beginning to come down to the horizon.
Some of the vehicles got tired of waiting and decided to go off
the main road and drive around on a dirt road 200 feet away. We
could not risk them interfering with EOD so we waved them to
stop. Some did stop and turn around, but then after a few
minutes another vehicle tried to repeat the process. He kept
coming despite all our signaling. The last option was to shoot
warning shots. Here we were trying to protect the civilian
traffic from harm and we ended up shooting at them in order to
protect them. Even after the four warning shots, the stray car
kept coming. We would have to shoot at the vehicle, not in front
of it, to get the driver’s attention. After two more shots he
finally stopped behind a tree. There was no visible movement for
five minutes. Now the convoy commander was worried that we may
have accidentally injured the driver. He wanted to dispatch two
vehicles to assess the damage. I rode along with a medic to see
if we could help.
I rode on the front passenger seat, with my medic in the back.
We were in the second vehicle, so we had limited visibility. As
I was rehearsing in my mind where everything was packed in my
aid bag, we slowed down to approach the vehicle. Suddenly, we
accelerated and the gunner began to yell something that I could
not hear clearly. The Iraqi vehicle took off as we got near and
now we were chasing them down a dirt road on through farmland.
Our lead vehicle shot off two more rounds and they finally
stopped. This medical rescue mission had now changed, yet again.
Now, we had to figure out why they would deliberately run away
from us. We quickly dismounted and stayed behind our armored
doors to provide security in our sector (each person takes up 90
degrees of the 360 degrees). The lead vehicle had already sent
two Soldiers to begin the search process. Two Iraqi men were
ordered out of their car, and to sit ten feet away on the right
side of the vehicle. This put them about twenty feet in front
from me.
By now the adrenaline was in full throttle, I felt my heartbeat
in my throat banging in my ears. Both my hands clutched a 9mm
handgun. I reminded myself that the bullet was already in the
chamber, my thumb rested on the safety switch, which was the
last barrier to the weapon going “hot”. I looked over to see
that the Iraqis were not exactly cooperating. One Soldier was
inspecting the vehicle and the other kept an eye on the Iraqis.
They were told to sit down several times, but each time the
Soldier turned to communicate with his partner, they stood back
up and tried to talk. This made me really nervous, I wanted to
yell out, “Keep those guys down and do not turn your back!” But
nothing came out. My mouth felt dry and I felt strange, like a
fish out of water. I thought about how I was not trained to do
this and that I came to Iraq to save people not to kill them.
However, I am a Soldier first and I am prepared to protect my
comrades if the need arose. I began to plot out a plan of
action, should the Iraqis make a move. In front of me were
plowed rows of dirt that appeared to have not been planted yet.
I was not confident that I could take a clear shot, even at this
close distance, thus putting the two Soldiers at risk. I began
to rehearse in my mind what to do. I would run along the ditch
toward them, in order to shorten the distance and improve my
odds of hitting the target. Looking back, this was not necessary
because the gunners on top of the vehicle would have picked them
off easily because they had better weapons, training and
visibility. I probably would have gotten myself into their kill
zone and created more problems.
I glanced over to check on SPC Edwards, my medic. He was on one
knee with his weapon pointed straight out from the right side of
the vehicle. “Ed, you doing alright?”
“Roger Sir, I have got our sector covered. There are a couple of
kids 100 meters away, I have signaled them to stop approaching”.
I followed the direction of his weapon and realized that he was
aiming at two teenage boys. Edwards was a junior high school
history teacher until 9/11. He felt compelled to enlist in the
army although he was fifteen years older than the average
recruit. He has a college degree and is a gentle, well-read, and
articulate man. How strange that he is here now pointing a
weapon at two boys who would be the age of his students back
home. I know he is very competent, but I could not stop myself
from reminding him not to shoot them. I appreciated that he
simply replied “Roger that Sir” rather than some sarcastic
remark.
As we completed the search of the vehicle, EOD detonated the IED.
The loud boom for a moment made me duck instinctively. A new
habit developed from being mortared every week. We drove back to
the main road and set off for home. It had taken two hours for
EOD to do their work, but for me it felt like minutes. I did not
breathe a sigh of relief until we approached our gate. It was a
long day, but we managed to accomplish the mission safely. I
reflected on all the ironies and complexities that this one day
brought forth. As we approached the medical compound, I am
reminded of one last personal twist of fate. The sign for our
base bears the history of a second lieutenant who served and
died in Vietnam. He was a professional football player. It is
ironic that this is the only named structure that I know of that
bears any ties to the Vietnam War, and I am here to fulfill my
debt to those veterans.
--
Major H. Luu
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