Every year I make the same thread because every year I find myself thinking about it again. I tried to find the one from last year so I didn't have to make another but..eh couldn't find it.
April 4, 2004. Black Sunday in Sadr City, Iraq. The deadliest day in the Iraq War up to that point. The Long Road Home book and mini series did a decent job of showing what went on but it was so much more just being there. I rolled out in response to one of our platoons being pinned down because some Iraqi lady offered one of our guys water. That pissed off insurgents so they opened fire. Our guys could have left and saved their own lives but...they stayed and fought to protect that family. The one who offered them water and for that, were sentenced to death.
Rolling into the city of over 5 million, the streets, usually teeming with people, were empty. No horse drawn carts, no cars. No street vendors. No people. Nothing. It was ghostly empty and the city was quiet. Ever been in a perfectly silent city? It's unsettling. We rounded a corner headed for our guys and I was in the turret of a soft skin HWMV with my SAW and I saw a little girl, 8 or 9, black hair, white shin length dress or undershirt with one of those big, 1980's phones held to her ear. She waved to me and I waved back. I didn't think anything about it because "We're the US Army." I didn't know she was calling ahead.
We rolled through until we hit a roadblock of cars across the street. You could tell they'd just been pulled across and left and we had just combat loads. I had 1,000 rounds on me, everyone else had 210 rounds and our tracks had 200 rounds of 7.62 and maybe 20 rounds of 25mm. That's it. We went on a rescue mission with that. I called down to my TC (truck commander) "Hey, remember what we were taught about kill zones?"
"Yeah."
"What was that again?"
"Don't go back through a kill zone.'
'What are we about to do?"
"Go back through a kill zone."
"Roger. Just checking."
I knew it was wrong. It felt wrong. We were being herded but if we wanted to get to our guys who were actively engaged, we had to go around this. Backtracking, we found our path backwards blocked by flaming tires and thick, black smoke. Then the shots came. At first, they weren't anywhere near. I didn't even have a reason to look for someone to shoot at because someone shooting in Iraq wasn't that big of a deal. Then it started pinging off the truck. That's when there was a problem.
April 4, 2004. Black Sunday in Sadr City, Iraq. The deadliest day in the Iraq War up to that point. The Long Road Home book and mini series did a decent job of showing what went on but it was so much more just being there. I rolled out in response to one of our platoons being pinned down because some Iraqi lady offered one of our guys water. That pissed off insurgents so they opened fire. Our guys could have left and saved their own lives but...they stayed and fought to protect that family. The one who offered them water and for that, were sentenced to death.
Rolling into the city of over 5 million, the streets, usually teeming with people, were empty. No horse drawn carts, no cars. No street vendors. No people. Nothing. It was ghostly empty and the city was quiet. Ever been in a perfectly silent city? It's unsettling. We rounded a corner headed for our guys and I was in the turret of a soft skin HWMV with my SAW and I saw a little girl, 8 or 9, black hair, white shin length dress or undershirt with one of those big, 1980's phones held to her ear. She waved to me and I waved back. I didn't think anything about it because "We're the US Army." I didn't know she was calling ahead.
We rolled through until we hit a roadblock of cars across the street. You could tell they'd just been pulled across and left and we had just combat loads. I had 1,000 rounds on me, everyone else had 210 rounds and our tracks had 200 rounds of 7.62 and maybe 20 rounds of 25mm. That's it. We went on a rescue mission with that. I called down to my TC (truck commander) "Hey, remember what we were taught about kill zones?"
"Yeah."
"What was that again?"
"Don't go back through a kill zone.'
'What are we about to do?"
"Go back through a kill zone."
"Roger. Just checking."
I knew it was wrong. It felt wrong. We were being herded but if we wanted to get to our guys who were actively engaged, we had to go around this. Backtracking, we found our path backwards blocked by flaming tires and thick, black smoke. Then the shots came. At first, they weren't anywhere near. I didn't even have a reason to look for someone to shoot at because someone shooting in Iraq wasn't that big of a deal. Then it started pinging off the truck. That's when there was a problem.
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