Chapter 18: Humpty Dumpty
Only a couple of days went by before the MEF Headquarters decided it was time to put an end to the problems in Gharma. We would no longer have to drive in fear through their streets, nor would it be a safe haven for insurgents.
The plan was pretty simple. The infantry battalion was going to set up defenses around the town while some of its units entered it and routed out the enemy. When the enemy fled, we would be able to capture them on their retreat. We would do this by setting up multiple vehicle checkpoints and observation posts on the outskirts of Gharma. The main body of the Outlaws was to assist in this defensive perimeter while one of the platoons, White, assisted the assault force within the city. All this would take place in the early morning to catch the insurgents off guard.
Although it didn’t promise any combat action, we were all still excited to get a little revenge for not being able to take part in the last attacks. I, for one, was excited and hoped I might be able to use the SMAW this time around. My chances were slim, but there was always hope.
We got word of the mission a couple of days beforehand, so we were able to conduct training for the scenario. The scouts of all the platoons split up into sections to have classes, and the vehicle crews met with Captain Shepard and the rest of the platoon commanders to go over the mission on a terrain model to see how it would be conducted.
The tricky part was the terrain we would be traversing. Al Gharma was a farming town. Unlike farms in the United States, farms in Iraq consisted of many irrigation ditches and canals to supply water to their crops. This created very narrow and difficult terrain, especially for vehicles as large as an LAV. Not only were the roads narrow, but they were made out of dirt. This caused a big problem because with the combination of the weight of the vehicles and the erosion from the canal water sloshing up against the sides of the road, the banks of the river could easily give in and overturn a vehicle. So rehearsals were absolutely necessary, as were the classes.
The day of the mission arrived, and with it came the anxiety and adrenaline that filled the air. Everyone seemed completely revved up and excited to be going on this mission. After a quick briefing of the mission, we conducted vehicle and personnel checks and then loaded up onto our vehicles.
The LAVs started up their engines and began pulling away, one by one, from the parking lot. Any Iraqi who saw the convoy passing by must have had chills going down his or her spine. For a half mile down the road, I could see the train of LAVs heading toward their destination. The amount of firepower in a company of LAVs is tremendous or terrifying, depending on which end you look at. With fourteen LAV-25s, a few LAV TOW variants and mortar variants, and about fifty infantry scout Marines, the Outlaws were a force to be reckoned with.
We traveled down a series of roads and paths. The night was quiet with very little illumination. This made it hard for the drivers of the vehicles to navigate through the maze of canal roads that led to our destinations because their sights were very limited and the depth perception was horrible.
I was standing on the floor grate in the scout compartment with only my shoulders and above showing (something we learned after many IED patrols and explosions). Lance Corporal Redd was doing the same thing on his side and had his M-249 SAW resting on its bipods on the scout hatch. We had been out for only about thirty minutes when we started to close in on our selected defensive position.
Lance Corporal David Grove was doing a hell of a job negotiating the very narrow, crisscrossing dirt roads that followed the canals. My vehicle commander, Staff Sergeant Phelps and the gunner, one of my good friends, Sergeant Mike Honigsberg, were also helping Grove steer the vehicle when he couldn’t see clearly.
I was scanning the sides of the roads and canals, noting the various shacks that were set up alongside the canal. It didn’t seem as if the noise of the vehicles was waking anyone up, which was good. I looked over to Redd to make sure everything was going all right on his side. He nodded and gave the thumbs-up, and I returned to scanning.
After a few minutes, I figured we must have been getting close to our position. I let my mind wander for a bit about being home and other random thoughts. They were interrupted briefly by a slight dip in the road. It was common for the vehicle to lean slightly to one side or the other when we were in this type of terrain. I didn’t take much notice and went back to scanning some more. But then I noticed something was wrong.
The vehicle was leaning more and more to the right and wasn’t straightening itself. Grove was gunning the engine and turning the wheel to try to get the vehicle back on course. But it was too late. The side of the road gave way, and our vehicle took the plunge into the canal.
I was starting to fall inside the vehicle just as the top scout hatch that I was leaning on decided to close itself. It smacked me right on top of the head. Fortunately, I was wearing my Kevlar helmet, but even with that, it knocked me straight down to my knees. Everything inside the vehicle came crashing down on us, and the momentum of the flip had us rolling around and smashing into one another. It reminded me of the cartoons when a character would get inside a barrel and then go tumbling down a hill. We were helpless.
However, luck was with us that night. The portion of the canal that our vehicle flipped into was only about five feet deep. And as luck would have it, the vehicle didn’t flip upside down but rather on its right side.
My whole team was confused for a second, and then the adrenaline kicked in. We needed to get out, and we needed to do it fast. Who knew what else could happen to the vehicle, and we weren’t about to stick around to find out. I unlocked my rear scout door and tried to open it. The problem was that the back scout doors were designed to open vertically on their hinges, like a typical car door, not horizontally. Since the doors were made out of steel, they weighed nearly two hundred pounds each. Being on the left side of the vehicle and due to the way my body was positioned, it was nearly impossible to push the door upwards. Fortunately, Redd and Zabala had kicked their back door open and, as the vehicle was laying on its right side, the door opened downward. They got out and immediately went about trying to help the remainder of the crew. Doc and I were in a bit more trouble. Water was rushing in, and we couldn’t seem to lift the door open long enough for both of us to escape.
Finally, I was able to get the back door open just wide enough to squeeze my legs out and gain some footing on the door that was submerged in the canal, the one which Redd and Zabala had pushed open. I planted my feet firmly on the submerged door, stood up, and with all my might raised the top door. I don’t know how I did it, but I figure it was because of the fear of drowning and one hell of an adrenaline rush.
I was able to hold it open long enough for Doc Barajas to slide out, and suddenly the little bit of friction that was helping me stand on the submerged door gave way, and I slid underwater. Unfortunately, my wrist was still in the door frame when the hatch came crashing down. A sharp pain ran through my hand, and I winced and clenched my teeth. Now was not the time to worry about that, I thought. I still needed to make sure everyone else was okay.
Redd and Zabala were half submerged in the water, trying to pull Staff Sergeant Phelps out of his turret. The canal was very narrow when the vehicle fell, and the turret crashed into the other side of the canal, which happened to be the side that our vehicle commander was on. Staff Sergeant Phelps had injured his back in the fall, and his flak jacket was hindering his ability to easily escape through the hatch.
Sergeant Honigsberg slid out of his turret hatch and started to help Redd and Zabala in their efforts to free Staff Sergeant Phelps. That left Grove. Grove was a different story. He was fresh out of LAV school when he came to our company and still had some of his teachings embedded in his head. He did what he was taught to do, something that can be seen as honorable: he went down with his vehicle, and he was going to continue to do so until he could fix the problem because he felt he was to blame.
He started banging on his escape hatch, trying to lift it to get out. I jumped from the road onto the side of the vehicle to help him open the door. He had a handful of documents and gear that he was determined to take with him, as well as his rifle and helmet. Not only that, but he was furious.
I reached out to give him a hand in lifting himself out of the vehicle. He straightened himself out and jumped over to the canal road. I asked him if he was all right, and all he did was look in shock at what had happened to his vehicle.
“Fuck! Fuck! God damn it, I am in so much shit!” An endless stream of foul language spewed from his mouth as he took in the damage that had occurred.
Not only did I notice a bit of anger in him, but there was fear in his eyes. I tried to calm him down and let him know everything was going to be all right.
“Grove, chill out. It’s not your fault. Everything’s going to be all right,” I said calmly, trying my best to make him relax.
“I’m in so much shit Corporal Tanner. I’m gonna get fried for this,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.
Regardless of what I said, he kept shaking me off and cursing at himself. He blamed only himself for what had happened to the vehicle and wouldn’t let anyone talk him out of it.
While this was all happening, the rest of the platoon had stopped to set up a defensive perimeter around the accident. Sergeant Learn’s vehicle took up rear security, Sergeant Krall’s took up forward security, and Lieutenant Snipes brought his vehicle over to our position.
He jumped out of the vehicle and made his way to me. He immediately wanted to know if everyone was all right. I gave him a brief situation report letting him know everything that had happened from my perspective, and I informed him of the state of shock Grove was in. He went over to Grove to give him words of comfort and to let him know that it wasn’t his fault nor would anything happen to him. Coming from the platoon commander, it meant a lot to him, and he relaxed a bit.
Lieutenant Snipes surveyed the scene and assessed the damage. Staff Sergeant Phelps was lying on the side of the road with Doc Barajas attending to him. Lieutenant Snipes talked with him a bit to find out more of what happened and to ensure he was all right. He then spoke with the rest of the crew and headed back to his vehicle to send a situation report to the company headquarters.
Meanwhile, all of our equipment and vehicle gear was starting to sink into the bottom of the canal. Gasoline, oil, and a few other chemicals were starting to pour into the water surrounding the vehicle. We had to recover as much of the gear as possible before it was too late. I had Grove, Redd, and Zabala provide security around the vehicle while Honigsberg and I took off our camouflage shirts and jumped into the canal to recover what we could.
The canal water was chilly and smelled horribly of diesel. The chemicals started to coat our bodies and clothing as we took gear out of the water piece by piece. After recovering what we could feel outside of the vehicle, we started to search inside. It was an absolute mess. Mud and water coated everything. Ammunition was strewn about the compartment. Wires were mangled. Our gear was everywhere.
I called for Redd to set up a poncho for us to lay out the gear on so it could air dry. As we waded through the water in the compartment, the chemicals started to burn our skin a little bit. My arms felt as if a thousand needles were poking them, and it seemed as if my crotch was on fire. Honigsberg and I were both joking about how we wouldn’t be able to have kids anymore. It took us nearly an hour to recover everything we could possibly find, and it felt like an hour too long. By the time we got out of the water, my whole lower torso was itching and burning, and I was soaked from head to toe. We looked at each other, laughed for a bit, and then carried on with organizing and cleaning the gear.
Lieutenant Snipes was back at the scene and was tending to Staff Sergeant Phelps. We found out that he seriously bruised his lower back when the vehicle flipped over. It probably didn’t help too much that everyone was trying to pull him out of the turret in tight quarters. They had laid a blanket over him to keep him warm.
Lieutenant Snipes came over and inspected all the gear we found. All he could do was laugh; there was nothing else he could do because there was no point in being angry. He informed us that a tank recovery vehicle was on its way to try to pull the vehicle out.
When Lieutenant Snipes passed word over the company radio frequency that one of the vehicles had flipped, Captain Shepard reiterated the need for safety and awareness on the terrain we were traveling. However, it didn’t seem as if it mattered much because about three hours after we flipped our vehicle, Blue Platoon lost one of their vehicles too. Lance Corporal Daugherty misjudged a turn and drove straight off of it into the canal. Unfortunately for them, the canal was a lot bigger than ours and much deeper. The vehicle sank to the bottom of the canal and almost killed the whole crew. Daughtery was stuck inside his compartment but was fortunate enough to escape at the last minute. All their gear was submerged in the canal, but fortunately, Corporals Amstutz and Afraidofbear were able to recover most of the gear other than Lieutenant Rowell’s pistol and a sleeping bag.
The area where our vehicle had flipped was right in front of a few small houses. When sunrise came, a few of the local villagers came out to see what happened. The family whose house we were in front of was a bit amused by the situation but helpful. They brought out shovels to help in creating a ramp in the side of the road to pull the vehicle up on. In return, we gave the children some of the snacks we had from our MREs and watched in delight as they devoured them.
A few of the other villagers were a bit more cautious of us and stood around in the distance staring. Some were even a bit suspicious looking, which made me nervous. We were helpless in our current situation, and if the enemy were to engage us, we would have been slaughtered.
Eventually, the tank recovery vehicle showed up with a few more personnel to provide security and to assist in removing our vehicle from the canal. It was a huge monstrosity with a tow hook on the back. The recovery crew began to operate the tow cable by releasing enough cable to reach our vehicle. They attached the cable to the left side of the vehicle and pulled the cable taut. Once they felt that they were ready to begin pulling, everyone stood far away just in case the cable snapped. The recovery vehicle started to pull. The tank tracks tore into the ground, and we watched as the LAV moved forward. However, the recovery vehicle was pulling as hard as it could with no luck.
We figured that the side of the canal road was too steep and that we needed to make it into more of a slope. So a few of us went to digging a better ramp than the one we had made. Even some of the Iraqi men sitting around wanted to help us out and grabbed a few shovels and jumped in. When we finished, the recovery crew reattached the cables to the vehicle and gave it another try. The vehicle revved its engines again and pulled with all its might, but to no avail. The vehicle made some progress, but it was dragging on the bottom of the canal, which created more resistance and added weight.
We thought we might have to either blow up the vehicle to prohibit the enemy from using it or possibly get it airlifted out, but either option would have kept us exposed for an even longer period of time. Fortunately, someone came up with the idea of reattaching the cables to different points on the vehicle where it would give the recovery vehicle more leverage and stop the LAV from dragging on the bottom of the canal. We crossed our fingers and gave it one more try.
The driver of the recovery vehicle gunned the engine, and the tank tracks once again bit into the dirt. At first, there was no movement and hopes started to drop, but then there was a little bit of progress. It gained some momentum, and the recovery vehicle started moving forward. A few seconds later, our vehicle was back up on the road with water rushing out of the doors and mud smeared everywhere. It was a sight for sore eyes.
The Iraqis started cheering and slapping one another on the back, believing that they had played a key role in its recovery. We thanked them all for helping us and gave a few more MREs to the children. Some of the children began to enter the canal water to grab the floating debris or food that was floating about. Grove began to reassess the damage and see if there was any more gear lying inside the vehicle that was recoverable. I had the rest of my scouts gather up the equipment and load it onto the other vehicles. We loaded Staff Sergeant Phelps into the back of one of the other vehicles so he could rest his back.
The recovery vehicle attached our LAV to its tow hook, and we all piled into the remaining three LAVs. We drove back to base to start the long process of cleaning all of our gear and fixing the vehicle. When we arrived on the base, Blue Platoon’s LAV, which had also fallen in, was sitting in the maintenance bay area while its crew was cleaning and organizing the gear they had recovered.
Staff Sergeant Phelps was brought over to the medical building to be checked on. I began to help my crew offload all the wet and dirty gear. I started to pick up a heavy object when I felt a sharp pain travel down my arm. My wrist was throbbing. I had not noticed the pain until we got back to base. I showed it to Doc Barajas, and he brought me over to have it looked at in the medical building. The other corpsmen thought it might have been broken, so I was taken over to Camp Fallujah, where they had doctors examine it and took X-rays. They determined that it wasn’t broken. But I might have damaged the muscle a bit around my wrist, so they gave me a splint and told me to lay off of it for a week. That never happened, but I did use the splint.
It took a while to get all the necessary parts to fix our vehicle. Our crew worked as a team to ensure that the vehicle would be up and running as soon as possible. We scrubbed the rust from the gear, cleaned the inside, wiped off all the mud, and helped fix all the broken parts. We continued to work on the vehicle for about a week, with the crewmen doing most of the work. Eventually, a new LAV was brought to our base and became Captain Shepard’s vehicle. We were able to take the captain’s old vehicle and transfer all of our gear over to it. With the vehicle came the driver, Lance Corporal Pete Rankin. Unfortunately, the rule with the vehicles was that the driver went wherever the vehicle went. So Grove had to go over to Headquarters Platoon until his old vehicle was fixed. In the meantime, he would also act as the driver for the captain's vehicle. We missed Grove and the humor he brought to the platoon, but he was right next door at all times, so he would visit a lot.
In between the time we were working on repairs and acquiring a new vehicle, my scouts and I still went out on patrols from time to time. Eventually, while still waiting for ours to get repaired, we were allowed to take a LAV-L on patrols. Sometimes, if we weren’t able to use the “L,” I would ride with Sergeant Jones’s team and would scatter my scouts among the other vehicles. And then there were times when we didn’t even go out with the rest of the platoon, which caused us to miss a few cool missions.
No one was seriously injured, that was the most important thing, A few cuts and bruises, but nothing we couldn’t handle. I was extremely fortunate that day, and it reinforced my superstitious habits of rubbing Buddha and talking to the stars. Too bad it didn’t always work.
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