Republished from WSI Connections Magazine, March 2010

Below is an article I was asked to write for the WSI Connections Magazine. It is a recount of the events of January 9, 2010. January was a hard month for me this year, the toughest actually. Thanks to all who were a part of my support system during that tough time.

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It has been my pleasure and honor to be a member of the WSLLC Fire and Emergency Services family here in Iraq since September of 2009.  I have enjoyed camaraderie amongst my peers, valuable training, and a once in a lifetime opportunity to protect those who protect freedom.  On a typical day, we respond to emergency calls, conduct fire inspections, and participate in training exercises.  For all intensive purposes, we are like any other fire department conducting routine fire department business.  On the morning of January 9, 2010 I was personally reminded that we are very much operating in a war zone and things are anything but routine.

While conducting standard physical fitness training at the Division MRW, the base at which I was working sustained a mortar attack.  I was nearing the end of my workout on the rowing machine, pleasantly listening to Lady GaGa on my iPod when I heard and felt an extremely loud bang.  I can only describe it as someone slamming the largest door they could find the hardest they possibly could.  Dust and smoke filled the building I was in as soldiers around me immediately hit the deck taking shelter in the doorways .I struggled to free myself from the foot brackets on the rowing machine, even laughing to myself that I was stuck on the machine.   I remember realizing that the bang was a mortar and also that it was extremely close.  When I finally freed my feet I joined the soldiers and other civilians on the floor for a few seconds and then together we fled to the concrete bunker that was just outside the main doors of the gym.

Just a few moments after entering the bunker I heard multiple voices shouting and a distinct call for a medic.  I looked around the bunker and no one moved.  Given my ten years as an Emergency Medical Technician I responded hoping I could be of help.  What I saw when I emerged from the bunker was a partly flattened MWR facility and a soldier laying a civilian down on the ground.  As I ran towards them, I could see other soldiers bringing more bodies out of the leveled structure.   

When I approached the first of the wounded civilians, my mass casualty training both from my department back home in Fairfax County, Virginia and  WSLLC-Iraq kicked in.  While simultaneously assessing the condition of the patient before me, I began to step back and get an overall picture of the situation.  The first victim I encountered was pulseless and not breathing.  As difficult as it is to imagine, I knew that there might be others I could help and that this man was most likely not going to survive.  I initiated triage of all of the wounded, including entering another bunker where other casualties had been brought for safety.  Training teaches us that ensuring victims have an open airway is a priority.   I assessed all of the casualties breathing and stopped at one point to show a soldier how to manually hold open the airway of a man that was struggling to breath.    Ultimately, I returned to the first casualty and initiated CPR as a plan for transporting the victims came together.  Soldiers began pulling up personal vehicles and we loaded the most critical of patients first for transport to the Troop Medical Clinic.   Eventually, all of the injured were evacuated from the scene.

There is no doubt that morning will serve as a defining moment of my time in Iraq.  There are so many things that strike me about the event that I am still struggling to put it in perspective.    Mortar attacks vary in their frequency and severity, and while we still take incoming rounds on base, I feel no less safe.  

There were in fact fatalities that morning; two of them were men to which I rendered aid.  They were not soldiers; they were not Americans.  They were subcontract workers employed to clean the gym and keep water stocked in the coolers.  They were men taking advantage of an opportunity to support their families in their home country.  But on that morning you would not have known there was any difference between us.  The soldiers on the scene that morning reacted with no less urgency than had it been on the battlefield.  The ex-patriot contractors responded just as it had been a fellow employee.  Race, religion, and occupation ceased to matter.  A life, is after all a life.

Note: I was in fact given an award for my limited actions on that day.  It was a nice gesture and as you can see I am smiling, but honestly, during the ceremony I just wanted to dig a hole in the ground and crawl in it.