Professor Bonnie Wheeler received this from 2004 graduate SMU (in History and Medieval Studies) Chris Smith, who serves as a soldier in Iraq. He wrote this report so that current SMU students can see what it is like to be immersed in war.
Regrettably, I must begin with a disclaimer. Everything you read constitutes my personal opinion and in no way should you, as the reader, assume that I speak on behalf of the United States Army or the 82nd Airborne Division. Many of you have friends or relatives serving overseas and my experiences may or may not align with what you have already heard (or possibly seen firsthand).
I graduated from SMU in December 2004 with a B.A., perhaps we shared a class or two. In February 2005, I was called to active duty from the Inactive Reserve for a period of three years. After volunteering for airborne school, I received a posting to Fort Bragg, N.C. and prepared for the inevitable deployment. My unit had just returned from Afghanistan a few months prior to my arrival and word trickled down that we were earmarked for a tour in Iraq the following summer.
I deployed to Forward Operating Base (FOB) Summerall as the Operations NCO of Echo Company, 1st Battalion 505th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 82nd Airborne Division in August 2006. Geographically, my unit operates approximately 30 miles north of Tikrit close to the city of Bayji. Among the numerous duties assigned to 1-505 PIR, security for the Bayji oil refinery remains our primary mission, as much of the country’s crude oil gathered in the fields near Kirkuk passes through this region before being shipped throughout Iraq.
In August 2006, the battalion assumed control of AO Spartan (northern sector of the Salahuddin Province) from the 101st Airborne Division. Reflecting back on it a year later, the whole experience seems surreal. I remember stirring from my bed, donning my body armor and running to the company’s command post the first time a mortar exploded over the FOB. Now we cheer when insurgents manage to land one within 100m of us before returning to work. Experiences such as this, some mundane, others harrowing, lead me to conclude that soldiers will tolerate virtually anything to safeguard the man next to him.
All of us draw strength from each other. Few remember (or care to remember) the politics behind the invasion and fewer still could provide a clear assessment of the current situation. Consequently, every soldier fights to protect those with whom he serves. Safeguarding the Iraqi people and rebuilding the country are incidental. I voluntarily walk into culverts every week to ensure insurgents have not emplaced explosives beneath the road that could destroy a coalition vehicle and kill its occupants. One time I stumbled upon a 500-pound bomb that, luckily, did not explode while I was down there. My friend had to come halfway down the culvert and pull me up the steep incline, knowing full well that armed explosives sat within feet of us. That is the camaraderie all of us share, even if we dislike each other on a personal level.
Last month, suicide bombers attacked a combat outpost inside Bayji manned by paratroopers from my battalion and Iraqi policemen. The car bombs leveled two city blocks killing 30 Iraqis and wounding hundreds of civilians and soldiers. Upon hearing the blast and picking up radio reports of gunfire in the area, every soldier on the FOB immediately readied to join the fray. The company’s first sergeant rousted every soldier available and pushed outside the wire with only a T-shirt beneath his body armor.
The ensuing gunfight was anticlimactic compared to the initial gambit. The insurgents understand that prolonged firefights are typically losing propositions and, true to form, they broke contact rather than commit to battle. Nevertheless, they caused extensive damage to the outpost by collapsing a concrete wall 60 meters long and reducing several buildings inside the perimeter to rubble.
Through the efforts of every soldier in 1-505 PIR, the battalion sealed the breach within hours. I was part of a support effort that continually pushed building materials to the outpost while also delivering medical supplies and foodstuffs to the Iraqi civilians whose homes were destroyed in the blast. The resupply operation lasted two weeks during which nobody slept more than two or three hours in one stretch. By the time we were finished, the outpost was 30 percent larger with twice as much protection around the walls. Throughout the duration of those continual missions, I never once heard a soldier complain about sleep deprivation, exposure to 120 degree heat for prolonged periods of time or the likelihood of suffering an IED attack along the well-traveled route. Every paratrooper in the battalion, from the commander to the lowest ranking private, understood that failure carried dire consequences for the soldiers still manning the outpost.
It is not my place to explain the dynamic amongst soldiers as I have no background in psychology but I have seen it played out many times in sector. Last December, I was in an LMTV with two other soldiers when an IED exploded on my side throwing me into the soldier in the middle seat. The blast rendered me unconscious for about two minutes and filled the driver’s compartment with smoke and dust. I awoke to someone reaching into my body armor searching for open wounds while calling in the situation on the radio. Despite the chaos, I could still discern genuine concern on his face despite the fact he had been in the company less than a week and this was his first patrol. We have become good friends since that night but his actions would have been the same regardless of the duration of our acquaintance. This bond is typical among soldiers. Every man on this FOB is my brother even those I have never met (There are about 10 females on the FOB, but they predominantly search Iraqi females at checkpoints. Occasionally they will accompany the infantry on raids, but that is a rarity).
When my time is up and I return to the civilian world next year, I will probably never cross paths with another soldier from E/1-505 PIR. Most of them have chosen the military as a career and will become the non-commissioned officers that shape tomorrow’s Army. Others will go to college and return as officers. As for me, I will apply to law school and, hopefully, find my calling in the private sector. I cannot say how I will remember my 15 months in Iraq once out of uniform. Over the course of the deployment, I have seen much that I would rather forget – the best and worst of human nature. Nevertheless, I am proud to have served with some of the finest men I have ever met.
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Last week a senior NCO in my company stepped on an AP mine that severed both arms and both legs. Despite applying four tourniquets, he still died from blood loss. The oddest thing was he was entirely lucid up until the point he passed. Realizing that his arms were gone, he cracked jokes on having wasted so much money on tattoos his entire life. When asked how his pain ranked on a scale of 1-10 he laughed a blurted “about a 17.” He even had the wherewithal to bury the hatchet with another NCO with which he had been quarreling the past two months.
I have never seen that; usually victims are unconscious or hysterical. That incident will probably always stick with me although I cannot fathom its significance. With the younger privates, everybody here is tired and ready to go home. Nobody is looking for a gunfight anymore and we would rather finish these last months in relative peace. Every time I go into a culvert I am scared about what I will find and what could happen if my time is up. Yet this man was as calm as I had ever seen him (he yelled at me more than once in the two years I knew him).
I suppose everyone meets their end in their own way. Personally, I would probably scream and fight to stay conscious which makes me wonder: Is there dignity in resignation? I guess the answer is just as relative as the question. The only thing I know for sure is that the death of SFC Heringes hit the unit hard mostly because we should have been home in early August. Our three-month extension cost him his life.
PFC Christopher F. Smith, SMU Class of 2004
