"Fastest way outta here! GO!"

“Why don’t you just let Walter walk point, he knows that area pretty well.” Staff Sergeant JJ thought he was being cute by recommending me for point. He was even grinning. I didn’t think it was very funny. I stared at him with a “I’m going to fucking kill you, if I make it back alive” look on my face.
“Ohhh hey there Sargn’t J-, that’s a great idea. Walter…” And with that, First Sergeant B- pointed me to the front gate.
Motherfucker, I don’t want jack shit to do with this fucking patrol. I sure as shit don’t want to walk point. I don’t even know where the hell we’re supposed to be going. All he said was “We’re gonna go for a little walk up north” and now I’m in the lead with 6 of our guys and 5 Iraqi soldiers. What the fuck? I should’ve just lied and told Top I was busy and couldn’t go with him on his “little walk”.
It was about 1300hrs when I went downstairs to hit up the shitter. First Sergeant happened to be walking past when he stopped me and asked “What are you doing around 1600?” I told him I didn’t have anything going on other than my rooftop O.P. shift at 1800. He said, “Good, then you can come with me on a little walk up north.”
A little walk up north? I thought to myself. “Uh, sure first sergeant, where are we going?”
“Oh just up north a ways.” He said with a smile and headed into the house.
I headed for the shitter thinking “ He probably just wants to show CPT B- around or something. We’re probably just going to show him the traffic control points and what-not. After all, our new CO needs to get a feel for the area". Call me naive, but I certainly didn’t think he planned on taking a dismounted patrol all the way up Route Anne to Sinsil. Surely he had no intentions of taking a small group of us on foot into an area that hadn’t been patrolled in months. An area where we heard fierce firefights going on everyday between the 1920 Revolutionary Brigades and the Islamic State of Iraq. We wouldn’t just walk into an area inhabited by these two groups who would gladly turn their weapons on us. No, we’d never do that. That’s naiveté for ya.
To say I had butterflies in my stomach underscores the fear that I had about leading an 11 man patrol with no crew served weapons, no real task and absolutely no fucking purpose whatsoever into an area some referred to as “Indian country” . “Butterflies” is a term used to describe that feeling before playing in a big high school football game or before taking a college entrance exam. At least I think it is. I never did either. But maybe if I had, I wouldn’t have found myself in front of a bunch of dudes from our headquarters platoon and a group of Iraqi soldiers I’d never worked with.
I pulled the charging handle on my M4 and chambered a round as I walked past the Iraqi soldiers guarding the front gate.
One stood up and shouted “Shakoo makoo!?”
“Kushi makoo!” I hollered in return.
“Ahh, good mista!” He gave me a thumbs up and flashed a toothless grin my way.
I headed to the north Bradley O.P. where SGT Pat vigilantly scanned the palm groves and buildings to the north. At least he’s on the north O.P. That makes me feel a little better. I knew SGT Pat didn’t let anything get by him and as long as he was there, someone we could count on to get to us if we needed was near. I took a knee by the concrete T-wall at the traffic control point hoping this was as far as Top planned on going.
“Oh hey there Corporal Walter, go ahead on over the bridge there,” said Top.
The bridge was the beginning of the area no one in our squadron had gone into for months. And for good reason. Our squadron was stretched thin patrolling Muqdidiyah while maintaining an entire Troop at the patrol base in Shakarat. The patrol base was named K-Wal, in memory of SPC K- from Charlie Troop, who’d been shot in the back of the head by a sniper. That happened the last time anyone came north of the bridge. Since then, we focused on the areas to the south. Keeping the road to our patrol base open and free of IEDs tied up an entire platoon. That left one platoon to maintain force protection and conduct patrols. The rest of the squadron was busy patrolling Muqdidiyah. That left no one to head north into the palm groves and villages that made up the area we called the “bread basket”. Hembis is the largest village in the area. We once recovered documents in an Al Qaeda safe house that identified Hembis as a “Brigade” headquarters for the Islamic State of Iraq. I always figured that one day we’d push into the bread basket for a fight. I just never thought I’d be doing it with 11 guys.
I tried stopping at the first buildings I came to. I pulled security to the north, up Route Anne while first sergeant pointed out this and that to CPT B-. SGT W- called up our location to the TOC on the radio. We were only about 200 meters from the Bradley sitting on the bridge. No problem, I’ve been this far a few times, not a big deal. Just as long as Top doesn’t make us go any further we should be all right.
“Corporal Walter, why don’t keep on heading that way,” said Top as he pointed north up the road towards the first village along the route, Sinsil. Oh fuck me, I thought. No matter how this plays out from here, it’s not going to be good.
The road was flanked by thick palm groves on either side. I got the hell off the road and walked along the edge of the trees. As we neared the village, I saw people running. Women, children, old men, they all scattered.
Ho-ly fuck, here goes… When Iraqi’s run away, especially when an entire village clears the streets at the sight of approaching Americans, it’s not good. I took cover behind a thin wooden fence that wasn’t strong enough to stop a BB gun.
“Hey Corporal Walter, what’s going on up there?” shouted Top from the middle of the patrol.
“The entire fucking village just scattered, first sargn’t.”
He ran up to my position and looked into the empty streets ahead.
“Oh, this is a bad place Corporal Walter. We shouldn’t be up here without Bradley’s.” Ding ding ding! That’s right Top! We really shouldn’t be up here at all! Now let’s just head back to— “Why don’t you take us through the palm grove there.” He pointed to the wood line to the east, in the direction of a large cemetery where hajji routinely staged indirect fire attacks on our patrol base. Goddammit.
I got to my feet and headed through the thick brush. I couldn’t see 5 feet in front of me without getting on my knees and looking around. Diyala is full of very short trees that only seem to grow leaves between your waist level and the top of your head. In order to see anything further than a few feet, you have to get on your hands and knees. I’d do this every few meters. I knew Apache Troop had sent a small kill team into this area a while back. They ended up on the receiving end of an L shaped ambush. An Air Weapons Team that had luckily been there at the time bailed them out of that one. I didn’t hear a single bird in the air as we continued through the dense foliage.
Every so often we’d come across a mud hut or old shack and Top would point to it and ask me, “Hey, has anyone ever searched this?”
My response was the same every time, “No first sargn’t, nobody has ever come this far north.”
As we moved along, Top kept pointing out buildings and asking if they’d ever been searched. The irritation in my voice was growing until he finally said, “Well ya don’t have to yell at me Corporal Walter!”
We’d reached the edge of the cemetery. It was massive. Much larger than I’d expected. At least 500 meters across. Towards the northern edge of it was a gigantic dirt hill with graves laid out across it. It was completely surrounded by tall palm trees and the thick underbrush that grows below. I attempted to reiterate to first sergeant the fact that we were in an area we shouldn’t be in.
“Awww, are you scared Corporal Walter?”
Fuck you cocksucker.
“Negative first sargn’t,” I lied. “It’s just that I think this a really bad idea is all…”
“Well okay then, we’ll head back to Shakarat.” Whewww, I knew you weren’t all that bad, Top. “ But first why don’t you lead us around to the other side of the cemetery, then we’ll circle back around and go back.” Oh! You dick head!
“Well fuck-head I could think of a lot of reasons why we shouldn’t do such a stupid fucking thing”. I wish I’d said that. I mean really, I would have probably lost some rank but that would’ve come back to me eventually. Instead, I let out a deep breath and said “Roger.”
I started walking through the middle of the cemetery. A wide open area completely surrounded by palm groves. I headed towards the hill on the other side. First sergeant said “Hey make sure you’re not walking in a straight path. Zig zag a little bit so a sniper doesn’t get a bead on you.” But when I started zig-zagging in between the headstones he told me to get off the graves and stay on the road. Holy shit, you really are a fucking idiot aren’t you Top? This is it. I’m gonna get shot in the fucking face because my first sergeant is a fucking moron. Great. What a way to go out.
As we circled around the hill we came up to a village. Same deal as before. A little kid spots us first, turns and runs through the streets screaming in Arabic and the entire populace just disappears. Like cockroaches in the kitchen when you turn the light on. I immediately take cover behind the largest grave I can find (graves in Iraq are of the same style as those found in New Orleans, like concrete boxes laid on top of the earth).
First sergeant trots up to my position and asks “Well what do you think Corporal Walter?”
“First sargn’t, I think we have 11 dudes, no crew served weapons, and this is a bad idea,” I replied flatly.
“You’re right, this is a bad place, we shouldn’t be here. Head back the way we came and take us to K-Wal.”
Before I jumped to my feet and began running, re-tracing my steps back around the hill, I see the panicked look on everyone else’s faces. Top yells at me, “Hey don’t run! They’ll think we’re scared! And don’t go back around the hill! Go straight up over it!”
Aaaaarrgggghhhhh! I AM FUCKING SCARED! FUCK YOU! I wanted to argue with him. I wanted to point out the flaws in his logic. I wanted to muzzle-stroke him in the face. But at the moment, I knew that would only slow my progress in getting back to K-Wal. My shoulders slumped, I exhaled sharply, and began jogging up the hill. I can’t believe this dickhead wants me to run up and over the hill. He actually wants me to go to the top of the highest point in this wide ass open cemetery. Wow, I can’t believe I’m actually doing it!
We made it up and over the hill without a single shot fired our way. Top wanted to stop and check his map and actually use a fucking compass to shoot an azimuth to the patrol base. I knew exactly where we were. I knew exactly where we had to go. It was only about 900 meters to K-Wal. I even told him this. But he decided to take a detour on a dirt road that lead us further to the east before turning back south to K-Wal.
We headed down the road and came up to an Iraqi home. It was typical of most homes in the area. A two story house surrounded by an 8 foot concrete wall, with a mud outhouse, a cow-pen, and a fenced off area for the chickens. As we entered the compound I looked to the far side wall and noticed a door that opened to the south. As first sergeant approached the Iraqi family with Peter, our interpreter, machine gun fire erupted from the cemetery.
I could hear the ping ping ping of the incoming rounds as they bounced off the house and the quick hiss of the rounds that flew past overhead.
First sergeant, his face with a look of shock on it, yelled out “Fastest way outta here! GO!”
I did a double take of the surrounding walls before remembering the door behind me leading to the south. “FIRST SERGEANT!” I yelled out as I turned and sprinted for the exit.
Machine gun fire tore through the air above our heads as we ran for our lives into the dense underbrush. There were at least two PKC machine guns that sounded like they were on top of the hill in the cemetery. I could hear them alternating fire and in between their bursts I heard AK47s spilling fire into the trees surrounding us. We ran.
The terrain was rough. The trees were the kind that grew at waist height and the ground was flooded and canalized. I was rolling my ankles when I wasn’t jumping across the narrow waterways. The fact that I was wearing around 50 pounds of gear didn’t help either. I stumbled my way through the branches while hearing rounds whistle through the trees. I came upon a barbed wire fence about as high as my chest. I tried to kick over one of the posts but quickly realized it wasn’t about to budge under the pressure of my boots. I started climbing over it when my ammo pouches got snagged on the barbs. First sergeant came up behind me and shoved me over the wire. I landed hard on my back and gasped for air. As I stood up, Top handed me his M4 and I grabbed his arm and pulled him over. I moved away from the fence and across an open path that ran along it. I lay down in a ditch and waited for everyone to scale the barbed wire.
The machine gun fire stopped. Everyone was across the fence and bunched up along the path.
“First sargn’t, we have got to keep fucking moving!” I urged. SGT L- looked my way with wide eyes and nodded his head in short, quick movements in agreement.
SGT W- was earnestly calling our CP back at K-Wal and requesting an Air Weapons Team. None was available. Again, first sergeant broke out with his compass and started to shoot an azimuth to K-Wal.
“First sargn’t, I know exactly where we fucking are! We gotta keep moving that way!” I yelled and pointing to the southwest. He lowered the compass from his cheek and pointed in the direction I just had and said “Keep moving that way!”. No fucking shit!
Before I’d gotten to my feet the two machine guns opened fire again. This time though, they were much closer. Maybe 100 meters. The rounds zipped through and I thought about returning fire. No, that won’t do shit, I thought to myself, one, my 5.56 won’t make it through these trees, and two, I don’t think these dicks know exactly where we are. They’re just spraying and praying. If I shoot back though, they’ll know exactly where we’re at.
“GO! GO! GO!” yelled Top.
And so, we sprinted. We ran for our lives. I was smoked. My body felt beat. My thighs burned and my back was throbbing. A little voice inside my head said “Fuck it, just give up, maybe they won’t find you if you just lay low”. Another little voice in my head answered “Fuck you! They’ll find me and chop my fucking head off! Anyways, this ain’t so bad, you’re only about 500 meters from the Bradley on the bridge, think of it like running coast to coast back at Hood, just keep going!!”
Branches whipped our faces and cut our lips. We ran some more. So did the assholes with the PKCs. They were actually chasing us through the trees, firing their machine guns along the way.
I thought about how Top had taken me to FOB Normandy the day before to talk to the re-enlistment NCO. I thought about how he was trying hard to get me to re-up and stay in the Army. As I hurled my body through bush after bush, my M4 swinging back and forth in my hands, I thought “There’s no fucking way I’m re-uppin’ if the Army is run by assholes like Top. No fucking way. I’m taking my ass to college. I’m supposed to be partying and having irresponsible sex right now! I’m NOT supposed to be getting fucking killed! I’m only 21 years old for fuck’s sake! Fuck this shit!”
I began to hear the rumbling sound of a Bradley on the move off to the west. The machine guns had stopped firing. I can’t remember which came first. The sound of the Bradley, or the machine guns stopping? Didn’t matter at the time, I kept running. We broke through the palm groves and came out on a dirt road that runs east-west along the canal. I knew the bridge, with the Bradley sitting on top of it, was about 300 meters to the west. We got a count of everyone and made sure no one was left behind. We kept running. CPT B-, the man who would be taking over command of our Troop in a month, was lagging far behind, his face beet red and gasping for air.
“We gotta…gasp!.... stop run…running!....We’re losing….gasp!.....discipline!” He actually fucking yelled that from the rear of our small group.
Is he fucking joking? Is he seriously telling us to stop running because we’re “losing discipline”? Do I really have to listen to him? After all, he hasn’t taken over command of the Troop yet. I mean is this dude really fucking serious? Did he not hear the two machine guns chasing us through the palm groves? Is he really going to be my commanding officer? Fuck no, I am not re-enlisting. I ignored him and kept running.
We’d finally made it to Route Anne and I saw SGT Pat’s Bradley some 300 meters north up the road scanning into the palm groves. SGT W- called him up and had him move back to pick us up. I piled into the back of the Brad with 5 other dudes, American and Iraqi. As soon as the ramp went up we all started giving each other high fives and everyone lit up a smoke. We headed back to the patrol base where every weapon we had on the roof top, a couple M240B machine guns and a MK-19 grenade launcher, was raining fire down into the palm groves we’d just come from. They’d opened up as soon as they got the word that we were in the Brads and didn’t let up until their barrels were too hot to keep firing. I seriously doubt they got anybody, but ya never know.
The first thing I did was find SSG JJ and ask him to come around the corner of the building with me, away from everyone else.
“DON’T YOU EVER FUCKING VOLUNTEER ME FOR SHIT WITH THAT MAN! I WAS ALMOST FUCKING KILLED BECAUSE HE’S AN INCOMPETENT FUCKING DOUCHE BAG!” I forget what all I said but I went on for a minute or two like that. Picture that, an E-6 Staff Sergeant being bitched out by an E-4 Corporal. He just stood there with a look of disbelief on his face. I was venting. He knew it. He understood. He didn’t put me at parade rest or anything. He let me rant. I apologized later.
But looking back, what do I have to bitch about? I’m alive now and have a cool ass war story to tell. Fuck it.