COMBAT MEDIC: A Soldier's Story of the Iraq War and PTSD

  Contents

  COMBAT MEDIC:

  Prelude

  Chapter 1: The Beginning

  Chapter 2: Respect

  Chapter 3: Order and Chaos

  Chapter 4: Gas, Gas, Gas

  Chapter 5: Weapons

  Chapter 6: Storms

  Chapter 7: North Victory

  Chapter 8: Death and Disorder

  Chapter 9: Twenty-four Hours

  Chapter 10: Days/Nights

  Chapter 11: The Mission

  Chapter 12: The Convoy

  Chapter 13: Casualties

  Chapter 14: The Front Line

  Chapter 15: Ghosts in Hell

  Chapter 16: Hit

  Chapter 17: Danger

  Chapter 18: Worn Out

  Chapter 19: The Raid

  Chapter 20: Hate

  Chapter 21: Suicide

  Chapter 22: Homecoming

  Chapter 23: Selection

  Chapter 24: 86’d

  Author’s Note

  PTSD

  COMBAT MEDIC:

  A soldier’s story of the Iraq war and PTSD

  By: S. M. Boney IV

  © 2016 S.M. Boney IV.

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission contact:

  Bone6699@icloud.com

  Edited by Julie Boney Special thanks to H.J Harry

  TO ALEAH AND JESSICA:

  Thank you for being the shining stars that keep guiding me through the darkness in my life. I’m blessed to be loved by you.

  Warning: the language and actions that take place in this book may come across as offensive to some. It is not my intention to offend anyone; I’ve written everything from memory to help you understand what it’s like to be a combat medic in the Army at war. Nothing about it is pretty.

  Prelude

  Slamming the door, I locked it and rested my head against the wood frame, trying to regain my thoughts. You’re home…you’re safe.

  Sunlight is beaming in through the blinds, making it hard to see. Leaning against the marble counter in the kitchen, I set my keys down before wiping the sweat that wasn’t there from my brow. I wondered, Does it ever stop? My angst was making me feel cold. No…it never will. I stared at the floor. What if I was dead? Would anybody really care? I wouldn’t have to deal with this pain anymore. The thoughts; the nightmares…

  My lower back throbbed. I pushed myself up on my hands, thrusting my hips back and forth, waiting for the pain to go away. I closed my eyes, put my head down, and started taking deep breaths, trying to calm down.

  Standing up I grabbed a glass of water when a loud bang shook the room. My heart started racing; a chill ran through my body. The hearing in my right ear fell out, leaving a high-pitched ringing in the background. My heart jumped then started beating faster. I closed my eyes and saw flashing lights and heard gunfire – echoes and bangs.

  I squatted to the ground behind the counter with my eyes wide open staring at the door. A chill ran through my back, into my heart. My jaw started shaking; teeth chattering like I was stark naked in a blizzard.

  Someone kicked down the door dressed in battered, torn clothes with dirty rags covering his face. He ran towards me with an AK-47 rifle pointed at my face, shouting gibberish. I felt a rifle in my hand, the weight of the barrel upon my fingers; but it wasn’t there. I felt naked without a weapon, cold and unsafe.

  My heart felt like it was being pulled in four different directions. It thumped, pumping me full of cold blood and adrenaline. My mind raced. What should I do? I smelled gunfire and smoke, but I could see that I was in my apartment. Is this real? The back of my throat was sore; there was a bad, acidic taste in my mouth.

  I took in a couple of shallow breaths then jumped up and ran over to the kitchen. I grabbed the handle of my 8-inch chef knife and pulled it from the drawer figuring it would be better to have a weapon in case it wasn’t my imagination. I turned toward the door crouched down, waiting for anything that came through.

  A minute slowly passed. “This isn’t real.” I thought out loud, “What am I doing? This is crazy.” At that moment excruciating pain shot from my mid-back down to my left foot. It was like someone had sliced my back in half with a searing hot knife. I tried taking a deep breath in, but stopped short when pain wrapped around my lung.

  I dropped the knife. Feeling dizzy and nauseated, I slowly walked over to the bathroom, flipped the light on, and stood over the toilet, holding my stomach and head. I was sweating hard now. The room started spinning as an overwhelming smell of gunpowder filled it.

  Images from war started shooting through my mind. In one, I was holding pressure on a wound, trying to stop the bleeding from a severed leg. In another, blood was splattered all over a sand-covered ground. Specialist B pointed to the blood, then over to a building. I raised my weapon as we went in for the kill. The last image was of eyes. A pair of glazed over, hauntingly sky blue eyes. They were staring directly into mine. I stared blankly into the toilet, engulfed in those eyes. The sight of death captivated me. I wanted it; it wanted me. It almost had me.

  My focus shifted from his eyes to his head. I started to see blood running down his face as it came into focus. A green aid bandage was wrapped around it, attempting to hold his severed skull together. I looked down and saw blood covering my hands. I knew it wasn’t really there, but it all felt so real.

  At that moment I felt numb, emptiness grew inside; my chest slowly became cold. Icy blood pumped through my veins. It felt like I was dying; like life was being drained out of me. I started shaking as a chill crept through me. Death enveloped me, clutching my soul with a wanton lust. My spirit quaked as my heart blackened.

  Tears started falling down my cheeks as the visions slowly faded away. I felt like a hollow shell, void of any substance of life. Shaking my head I wiped the tears, but kept crying; unable to stop myself.

  I walked to my bedroom, empty except for a small dresser. It’s been 7 months since I moved and still no furniture. Saddened, I closed the door and opened the window. A cool breeze blew through. The sun was bright, warm, and comforting. I took in a couple deep breaths; my jaw still jittered from the flashback as I let it out. My shirt was drenched in sweat.

  I opened the drawer of the dresser and grabbed my pipe and weed. I ground some up, put it in the pipe and took a couple of long, slow hits. After about 15 minutes I was fully medicated, seeing everything in a haze. I stared out of the window and looked down at the courtyard. A young couple sat at a table drinking wine; talking… they looked happy. I could see smoke rising from the grill next to them and smelled the scent of barbeque.

  Everything I was worrying about started to fade away. The pain in my back turned into a slight annoyance. I smiled a grin ear-to-ear and started beat boxing and singing; doing anything and everything to stop thinking about things – the nightmares from hell that still haunt me.

  I poured a glass of cold water from the tap. After slamming a couple, the blue eyes started haunting me again. I felt myself sliding back into the other place when my phone snapped me out of the fall.

  I looked at the screen and saw that it was Jessica; I answered annoyingly, “Hello.”

  “Hi, what are you doing?”

  “Just got home from work,” I said sharply. “Why, what’s up?”

  “I don’t know; just seeing what you’re doing. You never call me just to talk,” she said, waiting silently for an answer.

  I didn’t know what to say. “Sorry, I’ve just been busy.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Working. You know my hours at work.” I got upset. “Is there something you want?”

  “Yeah, I was wondering if you would like to come over and eat dinner with me and Aleah tonight and this weekend? You know… have some family time.”

  I was torn, feeling deep in my heart like I wanted to. But then I start thinking about what had just happened. The pain, the flashbacks, I was afraid to leave the house. I missed my daughter so much but I couldn’t drive like this. I lied, “I can’t, I have an appointment later today and I have to work this weekend.”

  “Really? You told me you were off,” she said angrily.

  “Well Mick asked me to work a couple extra shifts and I said yes.” I got upset again. “What do you want me to do about it? I can’t just say ‘No’ now; it’s work.”

  “You never want to spend time with us. Aleah is always asking about you. What should I tell her?”

  I felt awful. My heart started to burn.

  “I’m sorry, Jessica, but I have to work.” I gave in a little, “I can come over after my shift is done. We can eat and play games. You can tell her I have to work and I’ll see her later.”

  “Ok. Whatever,” she said.

  Then it went silent for a minute.

  “How come you don’t love me?”

  “I never said I didn’t.”

  “Then why did you leave?”

  “Because we argue too much.”

  “We argue because you don’t even try to listen to anything I have to say and you yell,” she said.

  “You do too!” I quickly chimed in. “All you do is yell and I can’t take it. I don’t need people around me yelling all the time. I can’t handle it.”

  “If you loved me you would try.”

  My gut
started hurting. “I do love you, Jessica; I just don’t know what to do.”

  “Talk to me.”

  Silence fell again, I felt so bad that we couldn’t get along. I do love her, but the arguments and fights, yelling in front of Aleah… it was too much. I don’t want her to think that is how relationships are. She should have a happy life.

  “Ok, Sam! Bye!”

  “Tell Aleah I’ll call her tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yep, bye.” She hung up, her tone saying all she needed to say.

  The room fell quiet. I looked down at the phone and thought of all the good times I’ve had with them. The times I’ve curled over laughing when playing with Aleah. Hearing her laughs echoing throughout the house when I tickled her, I loved it… missed it.

  How did I get here in this empty apartment, feeling sad and numb inside? I’ve tried my whole life to feel alive; to feel wanted, to be someone special. I joined the Army because it was where I belonged. Fighting for America, saving lives and making a difference, proving to myself that I could do anything, go anywhere.

  Now I’m lost, stuck; sealed away in a cave at the center of a deserted world. I want to feel normal again; feel alive, not numb. My past keeps taking over my mind, flooding it with blood and explosions. I want it to end. I want everything to end.

  How did I get here?

  It was because of the war. Why did I ever sign up to go in? I don’t want to feel like this anymore; alone, struggling to hold onto reality day in and day out. I want a life worth living.

  God, what happened to me?

  Chapter 1: The Beginning

  I remember watching the planes blow through the twin towers on CNN. I was watching the television in the corner of my literature class when the screen lit up as the second plane hit; my heart dropped. The entire class went quiet.

  We listened as the reporters went back and forth about the carnage that was unfolding. We saw people running for their lives away from the falling debris. People were jumping from the burning buildings and landing on the street. Reporters said that an airplane hit the pentagon, and another one went down over land at the same time as the twin towers.

  My God, I felt like the whole thing was just a prank by Hollywood. I even said so, but my teacher said it was real. I was shocked; I’ve never witnessed anything like it before. It terrified me, the thought of jumping out the side of a building, over a hundred stories high. Who would do something like this? How could this happen in America?

  Later that night, reports came out that Al Qaida, some terrorist organization had claimed responsibility for the attacks. It was the first time I heard of a terrorist, let alone a whole organization. I was fuming inside.

  How could someone do this? So many innocent people died, for what? I wanted to do something about it. I felt drawn to the military after what I had witnessed that day. I, like so many others, fell victim to the lust for revenge.

  Friends in Junior Reserve Officer Training Corps (JROTC) talked about the army all the time. Some of them went to basic training during their junior year in high school. We talked about drills and the training. From what I gathered, it wasn’t that much harder than football training.

  Dad and I fought for months before I graduated from high school, on what the best plan was. It was my life, but he had a say, to an extent. He initially gave me two options: college or the military. He said he didn’t want me still living at his house doing nothing after I graduate. I resented him then, but in hindsight, I should thank him for that.

  I wanted to go into college for acting so I could play on Broadway; it was a dream of mine. I played in a couple different productions in school and loved it. My dad, on the other hand, thought I wouldn’t make any money and said to be more realistic. The only other thing that I was interested in was the military.

  An army recruiter showed up at school one day. I was nervous; half of me wanted to run over and sign up right away, the other half worried if I’d be good enough to make it. Finally I broke the ice and we talked about my options in the service. He said I could go to basic training right away as an enlisted soldier, a private, and work my way up from the bottom. Or, I had the option to go to school for a two-year degree called “college first,” then go in as an officer and make more money.

  I talked it over with my dad. He didn’t like the fact that I wanted to join, which was strange because that’s one of the options he gave me, but he did like the thought of my getting an education before joining. So, I decided to go to college first, and signed a contract a month before graduation.

  College turned out to be a bad choice, though. I didn’t know how to handle it. I partied way too much and skipped class. A lot of the time I was too hung over to get out of bed. I flunked most of my classes the first half of the semester.

  On winter break the realization came that I should probably just go into the army. America started accusing Iraq of harboring terrorists and stockpiling weapons of mass destruction. President Bush held press conferences threatening Saddam Husain with military action; maybe even war.

  I felt like the military was where I was meant to be, even though my parents didn’t want me go. They thought I’d be shipped off to war. I wanted to help though; to do something to help my country. Too many innocent people lost their lives on 9/11. I was ready to serve; to do my part.

  It became clear to me that my future was in the army. I called my recruiter and asked him to get me in as soon as possible. I wanted a challenge – to be a soldier for my country.

  My recruiter came to me with two options: military police (MP) or medic. My dad suggested that I pick a career to do both in and out of the service. I didn’t want be a cop, so MP wasn’t even an option. The recruiter told me that the training I’d receive as a medic would help me be a nurse. He said there was a 90 percent chance of being stationed at a hospital too. I thought being a medic would be great. Learning how to save someone’s life on the battlefield…something felt powerful about that.

  I was sworn into the military on March 3, 2003, with 50 other people. My recruiter picked me up early that morning and drove me to the Military Entrance Processing Station (MEPS). After waiting a few hours, we all filed into a room and were put into formation. There was a podium with the American seal on the front of it. An American flag hung on a pole next to it, swaying slowly from the air vent above it.

  A male captain walked into the room dressed in his perfectly pressed class A’s. He marched over to the podium and brought us to attention. The officer read a letter from the president of the United States then ordered us to raise our right hand and swore us in.

  A tingling heat rushed through my chest at that point. I’m doing it. I’m actually joining the Army. I felt proud and super nervous at the same time, knowing that turning back wasn’t an option. I didn’t want to, but knowing the option wasn’t there was unsettling.

  I repeated everything the officer said then put my hand down. He congratulated us then handed us over to a sergeant, who led us into a room where we received our orders for basic training.

  I knew I was going to be ok no matter where I went; I was in good shape and that was half the battle. The other half was mental, which I had doubts about.

  ***

  The flight to Oklahoma took just under an hour. I was feeling pretty nervous around a bunch of strangers about to go through the hardest thing in my life. I missed home already.

  On the ride to the base my stomach got jittery. I didn’t know what to expect. I watched videos about the shark attack; twelve drill sergeants barking at the top of their lungs, spitting and cursing in your face.

  When we got there it was much more relaxed than I thought. The drill sergeant that came on our bus to talk was pretty normal and oddly nice. He asked us to follow him and get into formation. He had patience when someone didn’t know what to do or if someone wasn’t listening. His job was different; not really training us, just prepping us for the torment to come.

  The first week was in-processing. We were assigned our dog tags and the gear we needed for training. We also received multiple inoculations and took a physical training test. If you failed the PT test they’d hold you back until you passed; it’s called recycling. The military never kicked anyone out for failing the test; they were just forced to work out most of the day until they could pass and go on to the next phase. I’m in good shape, so I wasn’t as concerned as some of the other recruits were.