Up until I served in the Marine Corps, I had never experienced the desert heat. I had lived up and down the East Coast when I was a child, but nothing had prepared me for Iraq. When we arrived in February, it was a tolerable eighty degrees. But as the months wore on, the temperature began to increase, hitting highs of 120 degrees. At times, it was so hot that when we did vehicle checkpoints on some of the main service roads, my boots would actually begin to melt into the road. In fact, the insurgents were apparently using this to their advantage when placing IEDs. Word had it that during the heat of the day, they would insert metal underneath the asphalt when it had softened up enough due to the heat. Once it cooled down at night, they would peel it back and place an IED underneath it.

Some days were hotter than others, but there was one day in particular that had to have been the hottest of them all. On June 24, Blue Platoon had gone out for another daily route patrol. They were conducting typical counter IED and mortar patrols that day and were coming to the end of their shift. Our platoon was up next, and we were going to continue where they left off. As luck would have it, and with a little less than an hour before changeover, shit hit the fan. Blue Platoon got word over the company net that an Army convoy was taking fire from a truck stop. They made their way to the location but found nothing there. Suspicious, Rowell decided to double back and have the platoon scout the other side of the highway. Out of nowhere, an RPG was fired at Sergeant Hendrickson’s vehicle but, luckily, fell about a hundred meters short and exploded in the sand. Small-arms fire then erupted from the station, but the enemy was hard to see since they were hiding in and around the building. Rowell had the platoon maneuver into a better position to engage the enemy. As they began to counterattack, the enemy, realizing they were outmatched, took off running toward Fallujah.

Realizing what they were trying to do, Hendrickson positioned his vehicle in such a way as to flank them. As he was engaging them, he noticed another insurgent firing at them as he was fleeing between two trucks. As his pintle-mount M247 machine gun was broken, Hendrickson pulled out his M16 and began taking shots at the fleeing insurgent. However, as he was engaging him, the insurgent, who was firing wildly into the air, had a lucky shot that hit Hendrickson. Not realizing he was hit, Hendrickson continued to fire until the insurgent fell to the ground. In the process of reloading, Hendrickson finally realized he was hit. His sleeve was soaked in blood, and he was losing feeling in his arm. Yet, it didn’t stop him from continuing on with the mission. For another half hour, they continued to engage the enemy and avoid the mortars that began to pepper their position.

While this was all going down, our platoon began to prep the vehicles for our daily shift. Once we heard the familiar sound of the 25 mm cannon going off in the distance, we knew something was going down. Since the city of Fallujah was only about a kilometer away from our base, it wasn't too hard to hear the battle going on. Once we got word from the command center that Blue Platoon had been engaged, a few of us decided to climb up and sit on the base perimeter wall to see if we could watch the action taking place. A few minutes later, Sergeant Learn came running over and told us to get our shit together. We were going out as soon as possible to relieve Blue Platoon. Blood pumping and adrenaline flowing, we all grabbed our stuff, threw on our gear, and headed over to First Lieutenant Snipes's position. He gave us a quick situation report, informed us as to what Blue Platoon was encountering, and had us mount up so we could join the firefight and give Blue Platoon some relief.

The drive over to Blue Platoon's position was only about ten minutes, but by the time we reached them, they had pushed the insurgents out of the truck stop and back into the sand dunes that lay just behind the buildings. The sand dunes were the only thing left between the truck stop and Fallujah. The insurgents were trying to goad Blue Platoon into the city, where they would have the upper hand. Wisely, Rowell had his platoon set up a position within the truck stop while they continued to engage the enemy from afar.

Snipes pulled his vehicle up alongside Rowell's, and Rowell filled him in on the situation. Once the debrief was over, Rowell called his scouts in and had his platoon pull out of their positions and head back to Camp Fallujah so Hendrickson could be taken care of. Snipes called me over, and he informed Sergeant Jones and me as to the situation and what his plans were. Following in the footsteps of Rowell, Snipes insisted that we not go past the truck stop. He wanted nothing to do with entering the city and getting our vehicles stuck. So he deployed our vehicles in strategic positions where the vehicles had maximum protection but also maximum visibility of the engagement zone. He then had the scouts deploy to provide security for the vehicles as they began to blast away at the enemy positions.

Our vehicle and Sergeant Learn's vehicle set up positions on the far left side of the station while Snipes and Krall were located on the right side. I had my scouts deploy to defensive positions while I surveyed the scene. I saw several weapons that must have been abandoned by the insurgents as they fled. On the other side of the station, Sergeant Jones and his team found some of the dead bodies that had been left behind when Blue Platoon engaged the insurgents within the station.

I continued to do a quick sweep of the area and then set in to a position next to Lance Corporal Raymer. He gave me a quick smirk and then continued to watch the destruction in the distance. The insurgents had pushed even farther back into the sand dunes. There were a couple of buildings that were separated from the city, located within the dunes. The LAVs were concentrating their fire on those buildings. From a distance, I could see insurgents with RPGs and small arms running from building to building trying to take shots at us. It was pointless because they were a good two kilometers away, but every now and then I would hear a stray shot whiz by my head or see an RPG explode well short of our position.

Seeing the insurgents run back and forth while the 25 mm cannons laid into them was amusing. It was like watching a game of duck hunt. The gunners would lay a few rounds in front of one of the enemy positions, and the insurgents would take off to another position, only to double back when the gunners fired at the new position.

After a period of time, Corporal Klinger noticed some insurgents had gotten closer to our position and were hiding behind some sand dunes. While Klinger began to focus his rounds on this new location, Snipes had Sergeant Jones and a couple of scouts find out what was behind the dunes.

Suddenly, the insurgents began to fire off mortars at our position. Fortunately, they couldn't hit the broad side of a barn, but they were still getting close. I could hear some of them fly overhead. It sounded as if someone had thrown a Nerf football with the little whistle in it. All I heard was a whistle, and then somewhere close by, I would hear a thunderous boom. Staff Sergeant Phelps called over to us to get back inside the vehicles. In the meantime, Sergeant Jones and his crew were still downrange when the mortars started landing around them. They hastily made their way back to the vehicles and informed Snipes as to what they had seen. Behind the dunes, they had found several weapons as well as a few injured insurgents. Snipes had the scouts get inside the vehicle but had Doc Barajas stay put.

“Doc,” Snipes said, “do you think you can patch up one of the wounded insurgents so we can bring him back for interrogation?”

“Not sure, sir,” Doc said in his lazy California accent. “I can give it a shot but I can’t guarantee anything.  They’re pretty fucked up and might not make it back before bleeding out.”

“All right. Give it your best shot but don’t go out of your way. I don’t need you getting hurt helping one of them,” Snipes said before turning to Nava.

“Nava, escort Doc to where the wounded insurgents are.  While you’re out there, grab all the abandoned weapons and blow ‘em up with some C4. I don’t need their buddies getting their hands on extra rifles.”

“No problem, sir,” Nava said with a grin creeping across his face.  He loved when he got a chance to blow stuff up.

After receiving their instructions, they jumped out of the back of the vehicle and headed over to the weapon cache. Nava had Barajas assist him in digging a hole so they could throw all the weapons in for demolition. Just as they began to break ground, a mortar struck about twenty yards away. Barajas and Nava were knocked off their feet. Nava slowly stood back up and checked to make sure he was still intact. When he realized he was fine, he asked Doc if he was OK. Doc got up and confirmed he was fine, but Nava knew otherwise. Blood was slowly creeping down Barajas's face. A piece of fragmentation must have caught him on the cheek. As it was so small, he must not have noticed it right away. When Nava told him about the small wound, Barajas didn't believe him. It wasn't until he put his hand to his face and wiped away some blood that he knew Nava wasn't kidding. Nava took some of Barajas's medical equipment and gave him a quick field bandage to stop the flow of blood. Once he was patched up, they finished off digging the pit and then blew up the cache. Mortars were still coming in, so they ran back to the vehicle and sat inside.

Back in my vehicle, the heat was getting to be unbearable. As we had battened down all the hatches to the vehicle, the heat inside the vehicle began to increase. It probably didn't help that the vehicle was pure steel and it was 120 degrees that day. It was as if we were getting fried alive. Add to it that our gunners were still engaging the enemy and that the 25 mm cannon emitted its own heat, and you can see why we were so uncomfortable. My scouts and I had cracked open our vests, and we were pouring what little water we had down one another's backs. One of the scouts in our platoon had busted out a digital thermometer, and it read 140 degrees inside the vehicle. I honestly didn't know how long we were going to last being holed up like that. I think I would have rather dodged mortar rounds than get fried alive inside the vehicle.

Fortunately, Snipes had begun to call in air support. He relayed the coordinates of the buildings where the insurgents were hiding to command, and they deployed a few jets with five-hundred-pound bombs. In the distance and above all the other noise, I could hear the jets fly in. Shortly after I heard them fly by, I heard a loud explosion. Sergeant Honigsberg, our gunner, gave a little chuckle. Even though the first bomb had missed, it decimated the area. The jets flew back for another go-around. Snipes relayed adjusted coordinates to the pilots and the second time around, the buildings were completely demolished. Once the air cleared, we waited around to see if more insurgents appeared. When it looked as if there was nothing left to battle, we slowly departed the area and headed back to the base.

Just as in previous firefights, when we got back, Snipes debriefed us and congratulated us for a job well done, and then we made our way back to the hooch. Everyone gave Barajas a little hell for the scratch he got on his face, but it was all in good fun. And, most importantly, we were glad he was alive. The last thing you want to see is one of your own men go down. Our company had enough injuries up until this point, and we didn't need any more.