Following his first
commentary written in May 2005, Major H. Luu, a
Vietnamese-American, continues to share his personal
experiences, along with candid perspectives as a medical
doctor on the war front in Iraq. Major H. Luu dedicates this
article to fallen Soldiers who had served in the war in
Iraq. Names of Soldiers have been changed to protect their
privacy.
Other commentaries:
Tribute to
the Fallen
June 2005
Our
squadron’s luck has run out. For the first two months that my
squadron has been in Iraq, we managed to avoid the loss of life
in our unit. We had some serious injuries that needed evacuation
back to the United States, but somehow we avoided death even
with all the close calls. In this war, more injuries are due to
improvised explosive devices (IED), vehicle borne improvised
explosive device (VBIED), mortars, rockets, and motor vehicle
accidents than by direct gunfire. One or more of these things
occur on a daily basis here. During our third and fourth month,
we lost eleven men. The series of deaths, one coming so quickly
after another, gave us no time to recover. Although I knew we
could not escape loss of life, but I did not expect it to be so
frequent.
The deaths of two particular men had profound impact on me. It
was a typical day; I was monitoring radio traffic in the trauma
tent with the medics when I heard the command network requesting
body bags from the supply officer (S4) for headquarter troops.
Unfortunately, requests for body bags are really not that rare
because the troops on patrols often find bodies of Iraqis. Many
of them have been killed in execution style, with a bullet to
the head. The motives for the killings vary from being part of
the Iraqi police force to collaborating with Americans, or
perhaps they were killed to strike fear among the people.
Sometimes the killings are not politically motivated but rather
for religious differences, and other times they are prompted by
greed and money. Although we have an ample supply of body bags,
the troops rarely take the bags with them on patrols because
some of them believe bringing the bags would be bad luck. There
was no urgency in the request so I did not suspect anything
unusual. I left the trauma tent after telling the medics to
expect a request for body bags.
Dealing with the aftermath of death is also apart of war. Once
it is determined that life cannot be saved, responsibility for
the body rests with the S4 for storage and transfer to the
nearest mortuary affairs section. However, the requests for
handling bodies usually get routed to the medical platoon
because most people avoid the handling of dead bodies, including
the body bags.
When I returned, an urgent request for body bags was directed to
the medical platoon. The request was for three body bags to be
delivered to the gate where a vehicle was waiting. My
Non-Commissioned Officer (NCO) immediately notified me that the
body bags were for two captains from our unit. Captain Hill, the
E troop commander, who was transitioning out, and Captain
Farmer, the replacement commander who was doing a right seat
ride (outgoing commander showing the incoming commander the
protocols). I knew them both well and could not immediately
shake off my disbelief. I had so many questions at the same
time. What went wrong? Where were they? More importantly, how
accurate was the information? We have all experienced the fog of
war, and received information that eventually prove to be false.
At the time, I was really hoping the information was a mistake.
Major Bryant, the Physician Assistant of the medical platoon,
and I decided to go to the TOC (tactical operations center i.e.
headquarters) to find accurate information and also to provide
support for this developing situation. The executive officer
(XO, second in command) was standing outside by himself talking
between two radios. The look on his face was all I needed to
know. We just lost two of our captains. True to his
professionalism, the XO was already calling in one of his other
captain at another camp to return and assume command of E troop.
At the same time, he was using the other radio to coordinate
security for the site and pick-up of the bodies. He paused long
enough to give us a brief situation update.
Apparently, a VBIED had gone off about ten kilometers from base,
where E troop had a checkpoint. By now, we are well aware of the
risks with VBIEDs. The insurgents have figured out that they can
pack more explosives and do more damage with a vehicle loaded
with bombs. They either leave the vehicle on the side of the
road or use it to drive into a target. There are so many
vehicles broken down on the main roads that there is no way to
tell which one is a loaded bomb. Driving the vehicle to a target
allows them to pick who they want to kill specifically. The
latter method of setting off the VBIED is used less often as it
would result in the death of the driver.
A vehicle had driven up to the checkpoint then tried to turn
around. The Soldiers stopped the vehicle and the driver tried to
run away. Captain Hill brought the driver back to the vehicle
and started to search the vehicle. The driver calmed down after
brief struggle acting as though he was confused. Both the
captains stood ten feet behind him as he was told to open the
trunk. As the trunk opened, the vehicle exploded with enough
force to send all three men and the vehicle hundreds of feet. By
the time I heard this much, my head was screaming “why did the
captains put themselves in that situation?!” I did not ask, for
we have a much more important task to do.
The squadron commander was at another camp; he called in and
wanted the men to be medically evacuated from the site to the
hospital. Medical evacuation (medevac) is used for live patients
and evacuation from the field is reserved for severe injuries
that threaten life, limb or eyesight. It is a precious resource,
and they have always delivered on time. We could not expect them
to deal with dead bodies when there maybe injured Soldiers
elsewhere. However, by now I have had enough time in the line
units to know not to immediately “disobey” the commander’s
orders. In order to change their mind, one must give them an
alternative course of action. I informed the XO our concerns
because the medevac could refuse when they arrive and we would
be back to where we were. His response was, “Doc, you know best,
tell me what we have to do. I do not want my boys to be left out
there in the sun any longer than they have to.” To avoid any
conflict, I made the recommendation to bring them back to our
base given the short transit time. My rationale was that they
needed to be pronounced by a physician (this is to record time
of death). And, that I will have time to arrange for their
transport later. I know the XO cared deeply for his men, as he
refers to them “my boys” like the two sons he has back home.
Before I scrambled to make the arrangements, I told him not to
come see the bodies until I call him on the radio. I have
already imagined the extent of the carnage, and I wanted to
spare him as much as I could.
We headed back to our trauma tent to inform the senior NCO what
needed to be done. Before I could finish my thoughts, my platoon
sergeant rattled off, “We called for an angel flight, they will
come sometime tonight. We are having problems with the dinning
facility’s NCO not wanting to lend us a freezer.” Angel flight?
Thank god for good NCO’s, I will have to ask the details of how
to call for one later, but for now I would have to work the
freezer issue. We have ordered a freezer when we arrived, but it
has been on back order. Our contingency plan was to use one of
the dining facility’s freezers. As I headed to the dining
facility (DFAC), I told the team we have roughly twenty minutes.
However, there was a bit of confusion at the DFAC, they
obviously did not want to deal with dead bodies. When they
understood that it was our two captains, they immediately
cleared a semi-truck trailer that has refrigeration unit. I
called back over the radio informing the team that we are almost
ready to receive, and they need to meet the “cargo” at the gate
and escort them in. I also asked for medics and materials to
prepare the bodies. The platoon sergeant, a veteran in his
second tour, knew what I was asking can be a difficult for his
medics. They are not all seasoned; most of them have only seen
death once, which occurred from a moving vehicle accident (MVA)
a month ago. The injuries were going to be different, and they
were never trained to work as morticians. He asked only for
volunteers. I found out later that all the medics volunteered
except one. He could not bring himself to do it. “Captain Hill
was my platoon leader two years ago. I did not wanted to see him
like this. I wanted to remember him the way he was. I hope you
do not think any less of me Sir,” he told me the next day. It
would take him a week before he could begin to let go.
We were about to place a ramp up to the trailer when I see the
track vehicle pulling in. Captain Edward was running in front of
the track to ground guide the vehicle in. He was a West Point
graduate, as were our two captains so I knew this was hard for
him. His face was grim, and throughout the process, he never
said a word. The medics immediately descended on the vehicle as
the back door opened. As they try to remove the body bags from a
very confined space, the vehicle commander, Captain Ray, yelled
at them “don’t hit anything!” The medics are trained to act
quickly to offload patients so they can start their treatment.
However, this very sensitive cargo was different. Additionally,
we are not used to having so many officers around. The tension
was high. I tapped them on the shoulders and whispered, “Go
slow.” Three body bags and other personal effects were
transferred to the trailer. In back of my mind I knew what that
meant, but I had to ask.
“Is the Iraqi in one of these bags?” The way Captain Ray looked
at me, I understood it meant “No”. I told the team we are going
to start with the two larger bags. Before we started, Major
Bryant turned to me and whispered, “Are you ready?” I closed my
eyes and quickly took a deep breath. My mind shifted into my
physician mode. What I saw in front of me were two of my
patients, and what I needed to do was to reassemble them as best
I could with the help of the medics. I wanted them to be in
proper face-up position, and preserve as much as we could for
proper viewing. Half way through the process, I turned around
and noticed the XO walking up to the stretcher.
“Sir, I told you to wait for me.”
“I know Doc, I am sorry; I had to see my boys.”
I paused to take a couple deep breaths trying to keep my
emotions in check, and he asked me if I was all right. I did not
have an answer for him, so I walked over to the chaplain who had
tears rolling down his face. I whispered to him the captains
would be ready for their last rites in a few minutes and asked
him to send the message back to see if any of the men want to
pay their last respects.
The men from E troop lined up outside the trailer, one by one
they climbed in to pay their respects. Some moved very quickly,
others lingered. Some were stoic, others cried. As I stood
outside watching them, I noticed that I had blood on my hands
and sleeve. I walked over to the side of the trailer and ask one
of the medics to pour water over my hands. The washing gave me a
very strange sensation and many thoughts crossed my mind. This
is the blood of my friends, am I being too casual? Will this
offend their men as they are walking by? The time we took to
prepare the bodies was a fast blur. In contrast, this act of
cleansing played out painfully slow in my mind.
The angel flight came before all the men could pay their
respects. The XO went out to meet them and asked them to wait.
He told me later of that encounter. The pilots had asked, “Sir,
we are here for two fallen angels, do you know anything about
them?” That was when he broke down and cried.
After all the men were done, we loaded our captains on an
ambulance and I rode out with them to the airfield. I then
understood the true meaning of angel flights. The men were
professional and respectful. They saluted the bodies as we
brought them into the helicopter. We stood at attention despite
the powerful wind coming off the helicopter as it took off,
giving them one last goodbye salute.
Now it was time for questions and answers. True to their
character, the two captains lead from the front. They would
never ask their men to do something that they were not prepared
to do, and this included the dangerous job of searching
vehicles. Usually, we try to limit damage and relegate that task
to one person. It was just bad luck that day with the two of
them shadowing each other for the handoff. The amount of
explosive in the vehicle indicated that it was meant to do much
more damage than kill two Soldiers at a checkpoint. The driver
was heading somewhere, perhaps to a market or police recruiting
station. The captains’ sacrifices prevented many other deaths.
I knew both captains as easy-going and even-tempered men. We saw
each other often during the first two months at the weekly
briefings. Although I do not recall Captain Hill ever telling me
that he was expecting a child, I somehow knew he was. I had many
pregnant patients back home, and I vaguely recall taking care of
his wife early in her pregnancy. I would later learn that his
wife was due to deliver in two weeks. He was changing out of his
job so he could go back on leave to be with her for the
delivery. His son was delivered two days later, never getting a
chance to know him. Captain Farmer always had a soft smile on
his face. He had a gentle voice, but his professional demeanor
demanded immediate respect. When he did speak of his family, his
eyes would sparkle at the mention of his wife and child.
I could not fall asleep that night. We had gone around checking
on the command groups to see if they needed sleeping pills. Some
accepted, most wanted to be “tough” and deal with their own
demons. I believe the use of medication is not a weakness, but
only a tool to give the mind a needed rest. I took a sleeping
pill for myself, but still woke up two hours later at 4 am. I
had a dream about the first time I met Captain Farmer, shaking
his hand and admiring his easygoing style. This was in Kuwait,
and tensions were high because we had to ensure everything was
ready to go. He was the S4 at the time, and we were all asking
for more supplies. He would take all our requests, forgive our
unreasonable demands, and kept trying to get us the supplies at
other camps in Kuwait. As I laid in bed staring into the
darkness, tears began to roll out of my eyes. It came naturally,
and felt like a deep well of sadness in my heart was being
emptied. I do not know how long it took, but I had my final
goodbye that early morning in private.
Military memorial service was a new experience for me. After
attending one however, I have no desire to attend more. It is
just too heart wrenching. Scores of people showed up including a
regimental commander and his staff stationed in another area of
Iraq. It was a warm evening, and the birds were still singing in
the trees. The usual protocol began with the chaplain, and then
the commander. A representative from the immediate unit of the
deceased would give the eulogy. The captains were respected, and
well liked.
The hardest part for me is the roll call. It is a military
tradition to call for a formation and do a roll call. The 1st
SGT (senior NCO of the unit) would call out the names of
Soldiers in his unit, and those present would answer. He would
get to the name of the fallen, and would be met with silence.
After a short pause, he repeated the Soldier’s last name and
rank, this time louder. Again, there is no answer. A lump
developed in my throat. He yelled the third time, this time full
name and rank with more urgency in his voice. The brief silence
was then met with guns salute. We stood there at attention, with
a slight tremble at each volley of shots piercing the silence
and with tears welling up behind our dark sunglasses.
Ours is a small loss compared to other wars in terms of number.
However, each loss is just as costly to the Soldiers and
particularly the family at home. By putting their bodies in
proper position and giving their men a chance to say goodbye, we
hope to at least give them a dignified death. How many Soldiers
in the Vietnam War were lost without proper burial, and their
family received vague information on the whereabouts of their
bodies. This was particularly true for the Vietnamese soldiers.
Although we have been “unlucky”, I know how fortunate we are to
be on this side of this war.
It is disheartening to see the end of life for so many men in
their prime, which inevitably happens during war. Of the eleven
men lost from our unit, most were in their twenties and one was
nineteen years old. We will never know what good these men would
have continued to contribute had their lives not been cut short.
--
Captain H. Luu
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