The following 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. Captain H.
Luu shares his personal experiences, along with personal candid
perspectives, as a medical doctor on the war front.
Other commentaries:
Iraqi
Deployment Experience
May 2005
It is the year 2005 and I am
in Iraq, in the middle of an ongoing war that the US is waging
against terrorism. Having been made a refugee because of the
Vietnam War and having fully embraced the US as my adopted home,
I have mixed feelings with regards to our involvement in Iraq.
However, I am here as a soldier for the US Army fulfilling my
responsibility. For me, the politics of war is not as important
as the lives that are impacted by it. The innocent civilians and
the patriotic Soldiers doing their duty are really the ones that
will have to pay the price. I have always felt indebted to the
many Americans who had died fighting in the Viet Nam War. I was
too young to be cognizant of the war; however, I have never
forgotten that the freedom and opportunity I have been enjoying
are in part due to the many lives lost during that war. I am
also keenly aware that countless South Vietnamese Soldiers died
trying to preserve and promote democracy for Vietnam. My role as
a physician in my Iraqi deployment is to help all that are
injured and sick.
I am part of an active army
unit, which is attached to a National Guard unit that is
attached to a marine division, which in-turn is attached to an
army corp. Emblematic of today’s military, we are “forced” to
mix units to meet the demands of the deployments. There are
obvious problems of cohesion and operating procedures
differences, but there are positive effects as well. For the
first time, I came to appreciate what the national guards bring
to the fight. They know each other well and carry years of
experience on the civilian side. For example, one medic is a
paramedic in the fire department at home; he knows every member
of his battalion and lives in the same town as they do. He is
even related to some of them by marriage so when he told me that
he wanted to make sure that he “[would not] fail them if they
get hurt,” it brings home a whole different meaning. Then there
is this father who, after serving twenty-six years of his own
duty, volunteered to continue his service so that he could be
deployed together with his son. There are men who volunteered
for this deployment when they heard that their old unit has been
called up. Then there are the few-weekend warriors who never
intended to be part of a war outside the US and end up
complaining about being here. The majority of the men here carry
a palpable sense of duty to protect our nation and bring freedom
to the people of Iraq.
The medical assets for our
camp include thirty medics, a physician assistant, and me—the
physician. We address general medical issues such as colds,
coughs, muscle aches, and minor injuries twice a day. In
addition, we stay open twenty-four hours for emergencies.
Emergencies can vary from minor accidents such as cuts, bruises,
to vehicle rollovers, gunshot wounds, improvised explosive
device (IED) injuries, and mortar shrapnel wounds. Luckily, most
of the time, there is not much going on and I would supervise
classes to improve the medics’ skills. As a Soldier and a
leader, I have to make sure that I train my men well and bring
everyone of them home safely.
Life for the medical unit
and me here follows a thread of emergency moments interspersed
with many slow days in between. We have rehearsed many times in
the past and now are capable of reacting to emergencies with
purposeful teamwork. We have been fortunate as the injuries have
come in small doses, never too much to handle in comparison to
mass casualty. The concept of medical care in battlefield begins
with the injured soldier receiving buddy aid, followed by the
medic on the ground for hemorrhage control such as application
of bandages or tourniquets, etc. When he arrives at our aid
station, we re-evaluate the wounds, give medications for pain
and infection, and decide if an evacuation is necessary based on
his wounds.
It amazes me how we all have
come to adapt to the environment here. We are fully aware of the
possible danger that can end our lives at any given moment, but
the thought never really becomes visible. On average, mortars
are lobbed into our camp once a week. Usually, two to three
random rounds are fired off and the shooter disappeared. These
random rounds are probably aiming to harass us, as there is not
enough time to take a good aim without being detected by our
perimeter security. However, random rounds can and have caused
casualties. There is really no choice but to maintain our daily
schedule without letting the idea of possible danger consume us.
There have been many incidents and the first major one stands
out because it was such a new experience for me.
It was a typical night. I
was changing in my quarters when a deafening sound came from
over-head. A sharp shrieking sound streaked very close by. I
knew from the direction of travel that it could mean disaster
since it was headed toward the men’s sleeping tents. It took me
a second to realize that I needed to seek cover. We live in
tents that lend a false sense of security, and we forget that a
round can easily penetrate. The tents are surrounded by bunkers
and barriers filled with sand and rocks for protection, but
unfortunately no overhead protection. The usual drill is to
immediately go into your bunker and wait up to about thirty
minutes for the “All Clear” signal. As for medical personnel, we
do not stay in our bunker for more than five minutes because we
need to make our way to the treatment tents so that we can set
up our teams to most effectively treat the injured.
It was dark so we had to
work in tactical lighting: red and blue light. All we could see
were movements and could not recognize the faces. Since we knew
each other and our surrounding so well, confusion is not a
given. We just had a lot to prepare for. Most of us did not even
turn on our lights; we could recognize each other by voice. The
silence was thick as we stood in our station waiting for the
emergency call on the radio. The guards on the towers are our
best eyes because they usually can pinpoint where the impact has
been. We monitor their radio as well as that of the command and
control center. Between the two, we get an idea of where to send
the ambulance teams.
As I had feared, the rocket
had landed into one of our sleeping tents approximately fifty
yards away from where I was and three injured Soldiers were
coming our way. The adrenaline did not cease until we got word
from the ambulance team as to the extent of the
injuries—shrapnel wounds to the hand, back, loss of hearing,
ringing in ears, and concussion. These injuries were not life
threatening so we thankfully sighed in relief. It was not until
the next day that I was able to appreciate how fortunate we
were. The rocket went through a tent, penetrated a television
and impacted in between two sleeping cots, thus destroyed
everything within five feet of the impact. A few minutes prior
to the attack, the soldier playing video games on the television
had gotten up to go to the bathroom. The two Soldiers, who sleep
in those cots, had moved down fifteen feet to watch a movie with
their buddies. No doubt would I have lost someone that night if
the circumstances were different.
The recent mortar attack was
different than usual. I was working that night down by the
airfield. When the first round hit, we all immediately scrambled
to the nearest bunker. With two months of experience, I acted on
instinct. I sat in the bunker with two other marines who had
just arrived one week ago. I could sense their nervousness,
given that it was their first experience with a mortar attack. I
mustered up some confidence and told them not to worry; we
usually get a couple of inaccurate rounds. The rounds sounded
like thunder with a loud cracking noise and felt like it was
within fifty to seventy yards. It is the vibration of the ground
after the round hits that makes you shake because it gives you
the impression of how close you are to the impact site. Even
more worrisome was that they were “walking them in,” which means
that the shooter was taking time to aim, using the previous hit
as a guide to find the next target. One after another the
explosions felt like they were getting closer. One marine was
nervous because he did not put on his body armor in time, but
neither did I. The other marine kept muttering, “Keep it coming
you MF.” I knew what he was thinking: the longer they shoot, the
better the chance for our guys to counter attack. After the
third round, I found myself cursing after each round, “Where the
hell are the counter-mortar rounds?” It felt like an eternity as
I counted eight rounds of explosions. Apparently, they were
aiming for our aircrafts. I now can fully appreciate what it is
like to be under attack even though it was somewhat brief.
Thinking back to previous wars, including the Vietnam War where
Soldiers did not have body armors, I feel strangely fortunate to
be in this situation.
As soon as the volleys
ended, I knew I had to get back to the Aid Station. It was a
long two hundred yards away. I remember calling out for my medic
to get his get his gear and I would meet him at the Aid Station.
There was no movement in the compound as the Soldiers were still
in their bunkers. As I made my way in the darkness, a voice
yelled out “What are you doing? Stay in the bunker!” I just
responded that I needed to get back to the Aid Station and kept
moving. He yelled back “Stay low!” and I remember thinking,
“What on earth does he think I am doing?”, given that he could
not have seen me other than my little red light. I was running
with my body armor on, which weighed about twenty pounds, bent
over, eyes straight ahead, and thinking to myself, “Don’t trip
on loose rocks covering the ground and stay two feet away from
the barriers to avoid any ricochet.” I smelled smoke from the
rounds as I took deep breaths and tried to keep my legs moving
as fast as my mind.
I knew we were prepared, but
my mind kept rehearsing the setup of the team—who is doing what;
where to direct the wounded if we have mass casualties—while I
tried to block out the thought of losing any soldier tonight. I
was out of breath as I arrived at the Aid Station. It was
probably the fastest two hundred yards I had ever run. Training
definitely kicks in at time like this. First rule is to take
your own pulse to calm down because your team responds to your
tempo: stay calm and they will be calm. I took a few deep
breaths, forced a smile to my men to lighten the mood and told
them that I had just run the longest two hundred yards of my
life. They were already set up, and again we had to endure the
silence and chaotic mixed messages coming from the radios to let
us know how many men had been wounded. This event was also
anticlimactic as only one marine wounded and he was quickly
treated and evacuated. I can live with this “disappointment”! If
we are bored the whole year, that would be fine by me!
Those of us that leave the
gates endure many more hazards because IED are planted in the
roads and you are more vulnerable to attacks. More often than
not, no serious damage, but we have already suffered casualties
from this as well. One month ago, the brigade had loss a soldier
due to an IED. His companions said the injured soldier was alive
for only three minutes after the explosion. What unimaginable
pain they had to bear to watch their friend slowly pass away. I
do not know how they could continue on. He casually told me
about the events almost without emotion. I fully understand it
is absolutely essential for Soldiers to remain professional and
continue their mission while in battlefields. I just know that
at some point later in life he may suffer the post-traumatic
effect of the whole situation. How can we ever help him enough
at home? These are questions that the Army and Veterans
Administration is considering as they look to improve the care
for returning Soldiers and provide counseling to transition them
back to their civilian lives. It is sad that we really only
began to learn this lesson from experience in the Vietnam War.
The greater tragedy is that many South Vietnamese Soldiers had
to endure the loss of their country and physically and mentally
suffered under the new regime.
Another serious incident
recently occurred, in which a vehicle hit an anti-tank mine.
With that amount of force, there were severe injuries to the
occupants of the vehicle. One man lost both of his legs, and the
other fractured his pelvis. It was amazing that we could save
them both. With proper training, the men on the ground placed
tourniquets and called for immediate evacuation. The
availability of air evacuation and the short-distant flight to
the nearest hospitals have saved countless lives. There are
numerous statistics out there that show more lives are saved in
this conflict than any other war in history. I am proud to be a
part of that; yet it still pains me to think of the man that has
to live the rest of his life without the use of his legs. He was
not a part of our unit, but we knew him well because we had
worked with him during the last two months.
The loyalty that ties
Soldiers together deepens in times of war. It is unsaid, but the
bond within the unit is tightened the minute we crossed that
border from Kuwait. These are the guys we eat with, work with,
sleep in the same tents with, and often share our fears, hopes,
and dreams with. Perhaps because of this, we feel more loyalty
to them and more loss when they are hurt. As a physician, I
treat them all and hope to not fail them when they need me most.
But as a member of the unit, I admit to breathing a little sigh
of relief when the bad news does not come from my immediate
unit. The other reason is that I know and have taken care of the
families of those in my unit at home. I have even delivered some
of their babies. I dread the day we return and have to face the
families of the fallen. I am a realist; I know it is a matter of
time and the odds are against us.
I have entertained thoughts
of getting wounded myself, but it is more of how to self-treat.
I would rehearse how to reach into my medical pouch and apply
dressing and tourniquet with one arm. I am not sure why, but I
have not considered the possibility of dying here. It would be
difficult to do my job if I have to worry about dying. Besides,
I have my mother’s jade Buddha and a good friend’s Virgin Mary
on my neck along with my dog tags to protect me.
It frustrates all of us that
we do not have an enemy to shoot back at. Usually, they set off
the IED by timer or stay hidden after setting off the bomb.
Worst yet, they set off a small one, wait until the convoy
stops, then set off a “secondary” larger IED. The roads are
guarded and swept daily, but you never know when it will hit
next. It was a daily occurrence for us during the first month.
Whenever I left the compound, I could feel the nervous energy
overwhelmingly occupied my being. We always have our brief prior
to leaving: where we are going; what is the danger; how will we
counteract in the situations of IED or small arms attack; and
vehicle breakdowns and communication problems. The minute we
cross the gates, we all lock and load our weapons. I do not have
much experience with guns, and it gives me an uneasy feeling
knowing that I have a loaded weapon on my thigh. I have used
this type of weapon three times in my entire life, only at a
shooting range. Although I am qualified, I hardly have enough
experience to feel confident. I often find myself frequently
checking the weapon to ensure that the safety switch is on. I
would occasionally stare down my leg as a natural reflex to make
sure that I would not shoot myself or the man sitting in front
of me if it accidentally fires.
It is strange to be driving
down the road, seeing farmers and children going about their
daily life just outside the window. We go as fast as the slowest
vehicle in the convoy and basically commandeer the road. All
other traffics are waved off to the side so that we get
priority. I am sure this can really upset the Iraqis. The
problem is that if we slow down, we are vulnerable to attack.
Thus, we become unfortunate monsters on the road, not giving any
courtesy and demanding total control. We have toss rocks at
vehicles, wave our weapon at them, and at times have had to
shoot warning shots to get our ways. Most people understand and
move aside, but some try to come into the convoy only to be
violently repelled.
The children wave: some
gives thumbs up; some gestures to their stomach as if asking for
food. At first we would throw them candy and food, but this
became dangerous since they started running onto the road and
risked getting run over. Now we just wave back. It is actually a
part of the campaign to win the “hearts and minds” of the
people. The majority of Iraqis are good and gentle people. We
know that children are innocents in this conflict, and if we can
at least show them that we are friendly, maybe they will not
grow up with fear or hatred for us. We have treated three
children with burns at our aid station. Because of our limited
supplies and desire to rebuild the Iraqi health systems, we only
treat those that have life-threatening injuries. Other types of
injuries are referred to Iraqi clinics and hospital. However,
when it comes to kids, my medics could not refuse them at the
gate. I once recalled asking my Non-Commissioned Officer in
charge why we are seeing this child and he said “Sir, she
reminds me too much of my daughter at home.” We see them weekly,
change their dressings, and give them candy.
There are civil affairs
projects to rebuild schools, clinics and hospitals going on.
Most of us feel that these are our greatest achievements, the
type of work that we can go home and be proud of. We are not
here just to kill insurgents and attempt to dominate the
country. Few people take pride in killing the “bad guys”; many
of us look for the satisfaction in helping the Iraqi getting
back on their feet.
--
Captain H. Luu
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