The IED, counter-mortar, and counter-rocket patrols were almost always the same, but sometimes something unexpected would happen. Most of the time, the unexpected was never wanted because it usually meant casualties.

On one such patrol, our platoon was conducting IED patrols about midway between Camp Baharia and Abu Ghraib. Sometimes we would do the sweep on the main road, but on occasion we would conduct them on the ASRs (alternate service route). I always felt safer doing them on the ASRs because I felt as if the insurgents didn’t think we would travel them very often. Never, ever underestimate the enemy.

I was standing in my usual position in the scout compartment, and Lance Corporal Redd was doing the same. We were driving on an ASR in a column formation with about fifty meters between each vehicle. To the right of us were farms with fresh vegetation, irrigation ditches, and water reservoirs scattered about the land. In the far distance were a few houses that most likely belonged to the farmers, with a long dirt road coming up to them from the main service road.

I was scanning the area surrounding our vehicle when Sergeant Honigsberg passed over the internal radio that he had noticed a suspicious car parked on the side of the main road about five hundred meters ahead of us. He said he noticed three men in the vehicle who were watching us as we drove along the route. We kept a closer eye on the vehicle as we continued forward along the ASR.

BOOOOOOOOOOM!

My knees buckled from under me as I dropped inside the scout compartment. Smoke enveloped our vehicle, and our vehicle came to an abrupt halt. My ears were ringing uncontrollably, and I could feel a liquid rolling down my ears. I was scanning the inside of the vehicle to make sure everyone was OK and to see if I had lost any limbs. Everything seemed so hazy and distant.

“Scouts out, scouts out!” Staff Sergeant Phelps was yelling.

Everything happened so fast that I was still trying to gather my thoughts when we were ordered to get out and secure the area. With all the training we had received on IEDs, nothing prepared me for my first close-up encounter with one. I was still in a state of shock and checking myself for wounds. Physically I was fine, but everything sounded so distant, and there was an uncontrollable ringing in my ears. I was disoriented and confused for a short time, but then I started to come back to reality. I turned to Redd and saw that he was shaken but all right. Doc was asking if we were both all right and then started yelling to Honigsberg and Staff Sergeant Phelps to ensure they weren’t wounded.

I jumped out of the back door and got my scouts in a small, hasty defense around the vehicle. I looked for the car that had been on the side of the road, but it had vanished. About ten feet behind us was a giant hole in the dirt road where the IED had been. I looked up at Staff Sergeant Phelps and saw him holding his hand. Some shrapnel or debris must have been kicked up and scratched the backside of his hand. Fortunately, he was fine, and Doc eventually patched him up.

How we managed to go through that blast unscathed is still a mystery. I believe I have a vague idea of what transpired. The three men in the car were probably the triggermen. They were sitting on the side of the road trying to figure out the time interval between each vehicle. After the first two vehicles in our platoon passed the IED, they had a pretty good idea of when to detonate the explosive. When our LAV passed over the location of the IED, they triggered the device, and it exploded as planned. However, we had a couple of things in our favor. The triggermen must have been extremely nervous, and their timing was slightly off, which explained why we passed the IED by five feet before it exploded. Additionally, they must have placed the IED incorrectly. After I looked at the hole where the explosion occurred, it seemed as if they had buried the explosive too deep. Not only that, but it was placed on the side of the road instead of the middle, where it could have done more harm. So the bomb was unable to achieve maximum damage because the dirt road absorbed most of the explosion and kicked up debris and smoke. We learned two lessons: our good fortune was amazing, and even though the enemy may have missed, they were getting better.

Although we had a pretty good idea who the triggermen were, Lieutenant Snipes decided we should cover all possibilities and search the surrounding area. He had the scout teams meet at my vehicle, and then we proceeded to make our way toward the farmhouses. We fanned out across the farmland in a skirmishers formation to cover the most area. The terrain was rough, which made traversing it rather difficult.

The incessant ringing in my ears wouldn’t stop as we made our way toward the houses. Everything sounded as if it were distant and echoing. I brought my hand up to my head to wipe away the clear liquid oozing from my ears. I shook my head in hopes of regaining my normal hearing, but it was all for naught. Great, I thought, I’m never going to hear right again.

Sergeant Jones called me over to tell me what we were going to do. He wanted all of our teams to surround the two houses in a defensive perimeter. He then wanted me to talk with the occupants of both houses to find out if they knew anything of the explosion or had seen anyone in the area.

We reached the houses moments later and had the scouts surround both buildings. Sergeant Jones and I went to the house on the far left and approached what appeared to be the eldest man of the house. He seemed very friendly and said he knew nothing of what happened, but he believed he saw men run off in the distance right after the explosion. His whole family started to gather outside and talk to us. They seemed like a very friendly group and tried to offer any help they could. After determining we couldn’t gather too much more information from him, Sergeant Jones called back to Lieutenant Snipes to inform him what we learned. Lieutenant Snipes sent the information back to company headquarters, and they relayed a message back stating that they were going to send out an actual translator to speak with the residents. I informed the man and his family that they would need to stay put while we waited for the translator. The man was very obliging and tried to accommodate us in any way he could. He offered us food and water, but we respectfully declined.

I decided to walk over to the other home to see if I could gather any additional information from the occupants. According to the man from the first house, the second house was occupied by his distant relatives of some sort. I approached the house with Redd, Zabala, and Doc by my side. I knocked on the door, and a middle-aged man opened the door. I had Redd and Zabala secure our immediate area while I tried to converse with the Iraqi. I told him of our situation and asked if he had seen anybody. He said pretty much the same thing the elderly man did. Since I couldn’t get much more out of him, I informed him that a translator was coming to talk with him soon. He was as courteous as the other man and tried to accommodate us. Again we declined and just stood around waiting.

I tried to make small talk with the man and asked him about his family and what he thought of Americans and other random things. From what I could make out, he told me that the Americans were definitely a help and that the insurgents were very bothersome. He told me that the insurgents were threatening families to cooperate with them and hide explosives and weapons for them. If they didn’t help them, they would kill them and their families. The whole situation sounded so horrid, and I suddenly felt awful for them. Here we were in the United States taking everything for granted, and these people were worrying about how to make a living and stay alive in the process.

He continued to speak to me, but his voice sounded as if it were fading away. I started to get tunnel vision and could feel my legs turning into Jell-O. What must have happened was that after the explosion, adrenaline was pumping through my veins, and once I calmed down, the rush subsided and left me weak and dehydrated.

The man started asking me if I was all right. He indicated that my face was turning pale and offered me some water. I declined it and grabbed for my camelback (water pouch) tube to take a sip of water. I sucked, but nothing came up. I must have drunk it all while we were patrolling and never got to refill it. The man offered the water to me again, and I hesitantly accepted it. He walked inside and came back out with a large metal bowl filled with water and handed it to me.

I grabbed the bowl and looked at it to inspect what I was about to swallow. The bowl was unusually cold, as if it had been taken out of a refrigerator. The water looked relatively clear with the exception of a few bits of something floating around inside. It didn’t matter; I needed the water desperately, or I would pass out. I took a large gulp and started to feel the life flow back through my body. I thanked the man many times and handed the water over to my scouts. Each of them took a long swig of water and passed it on to the next, making sure to thank the man for his generosity. When it was empty, I handed him back the bowl and thanked him immensely. He could see that we were pleased, which put a huge smile on his face.

After we had been waiting about a half hour, the interpreter and his small entourage showed up to question both men. The interpreter came to my area first and questioned the man. He basically got out of him what I had found out. Meanwhile, since the interpreter’s team had taken over our small area, I brought my team over to Sergeant Jones’s position to find out what was going on over there.

As we approached, I could hear Jones saying something to the family, and they in turn were trying as much as possible to say something back in English. When I finally got close enough to see what was going on, I couldn’t help but chuckle. A few of the scouts were providing security around the building. Sergeant Jones and a group of scouts were sitting in the shade with the Iraqi family drinking what looked like Kool-Aid and tea. Son of a gun, I thought. Here I am sweating my ass off and declining nearly every offer of desperately needed water, and the rest of the scouts are having a picnic with a nice Iraqi family. All I could do was shake my head and smile.

Sergeant Jones had the scouts switch out with each other to have a little bit of Kool-Aid and tea while we waited for the interpreter to come over to our position. While we waited, the Iraqi family tried extremely hard to be good hosts by offering food and shelter and trying to make small talk. For a moment, even though everything around us was hell, it felt as if nothing was wrong and we were doing training back in the States. I felt so comfortable for that small amount of time.

In time, the interpreter came over to the house and began the process of interrogating the family. After about twenty minutes of talking to everyone, he gathered the same information that we had already found out. He wrote down everything he had learned in his notepad and told us we could head back to the vehicles.

As we all started to get back into our team and begin our walk back to the vehicles, the families of both houses gathered around and waved good-bye. We thanked them again for their kind hospitality, shook their hands, and went on our way.

I remember crossing back over the farmland and thinking how there was still a little bit of sanity left in this insane world.