Upon our return to Baharia, things seemed to be looking up. In addition to the change of leadership in our platoon, we also had some shifting of vehicle crews. Due to the various events that had occurred in the past and the harsh environmental conditions in the desert taking a toll on our vehicles, our platoon was being broken apart to help shore up the other platoons. After all was said and done, our platoon was down to only three vehicles and three scout teams. Sergeant Learn, his crew, and scout team all moved over to Third Platoon. That left us with Sergeant Krall, Lieutenant May, and Sergeant Madden’s crew.

For the first couple of days after we returned, none of the platoons were doing much more than maintaining the vehicles and our equipment. We’d make a few runs to the PX to restock our snacks and cigarettes, but the rest of the time, we were given free reign to do what we wanted within the camp walls. I spent most of my time either at the internet center sending emails and playing video games or back at the hooch playing cards or doing something else to occupy my time. Once patrols resumed, our platoon was mostly left out of it since we were one vehicle short. We did run odd missions here and there, but nothing of significance. This routine lasted for about three weeks, which brought us to the end of August and into early September.

At this point, excitement was in the air. We had been informed that Alpha Company, our replacements, was on their way from the States. Also, we had been informed that another assault on Fallujah was imminent. Insurgents had regrouped within the city and had resumed their assaults on American forces. This time around there was going to be no holding back; it would be a full-on assault.

It had been about three or four weeks since we had gotten back from Iskandariyah, and the boredom was really starting to set in. I was jealous of the other platoons because they were now doing patrols on a daily basis and were participating in the precursor to the second assault on Fallujah. Nearly every day, sitting inside the hooch on my cot, I could hear the familiar sound of an LAV firing rounds, the artillery units firing rounds from Camp Fallujah next door, or an IED going off in the distance. And, as we had grown accustomed to by this time, mortars and rockets landed in and around our base on a near-daily basis. The only benefit to staying on base the whole time was that I could visit the internet center as much as I wanted. But that’s not why we were there, that wasn’t our mission. And because of that, I grew bored extremely fast, as did the rest of the guys in the platoon.

Word was spreading that the Alpha Company Marines had finally arrived in Kuwait and were readying their vehicles for the road march to our base. One day in early September, Lieutenant May and Sergeant Madden had us all meet out by where our vehicles were staged. Klinger, Sprenger, Honigsberg, Nava, and I were all sitting around bullshitting about some kind of random stuff, so when the word was passed to us that we needed to meet outside, we slowly rose, grabbed our rifles, and made our way to where May and Madden were. We figured it was going to be another speech on being prepared, doing training to stay active, or some other random bit of news that was passed on a daily basis.

As we began walking over to where we were told, I noticed that Lieutenant Snipes was speaking with Lieutenant May. When everyone finally converged on the spot where Lieutenant May wanted us, he began to speak. In short, he informed us that Alpha Company was ready to move north and make their way to Camp Baharia. As had been the case with us, once they arrived at Camp Scania, they would need to be escorted to our location, not so much for protection but to ensure they wouldn't get lost. We found out in the time that we had been at Baharia that quite a few convoys that were trying to get to either Camp Baharia or Fallujah got lost due to misleading highway signs. In one case, a convoy misread a sign and headed directly into the center of the city of Fallujah rather than to Camp Fallujah. So to make sure that didn’t happen again, Alpha Company was requesting that the Outlaws send an escort to lead them back to Camp Baharia.

Lieutenant May and Sergeant Madden broke out a map and laid out the plan of what routes we would be taking, what time we would be leaving, and when we expected to rendezvous with Alpha. It seemed very simple and low risk. We’d done several route patrols along some of the roads, so it was nothing out of the ordinary. The only thing that was lingering in the back of my head was that in two weeks we’d be headed back to Kuwait, and I was concerned that at the last minute, someone else would get hurt, something that I was hoping would not happen to our company again. We had lost enough.

Lieutenant May then informed us why Lieutenant Snipes was in attendance. As we were down one vehicle, Lieutenant Snipes would be taking his crew and vehicle with us to plus up our numbers for the road march down.

After Lieutenant May finished giving his orders, we all headed back to our hooch, and there was excitement in the air. This was like the beginning of the end. We’d pick them up, get Alpha accustomed to the area, and then head home. Everyone quickly packed his gear to get ready for the patrol the next day. Tomorrow could not come soon enough.

I tossed and turned that night because I was so anxious. When morning came, I double checked all my gear, ran to the chow hall to get some grub, and then sat around until we were getting ready to go. Eventually, Sergeant Madden came into the hooch and informed us it was time. We all made our way to our vehicles and began loading our gear. This was going to be easy, so I didn’t pack too much—just enough for a road trip plus some snacks and some music for the long trip.

Lieutenant May and Lieutenant Snipes walked out from the command center and made their way over to the vehicles. Before we got into our vehicles, Lieutenant May mentioned that he wanted to ensure that everyone got back safely, so he advised all the scouts to stand no more than chest level out of the scout hatches and for the vehicle crew to do the same. It was as if he had read my mind. No need to endanger the Marines so close to going home.

Lieutenant May gave the order to mount up and start the vehicles. The engines came to life, Lieutenant May ensured everyone was good to go, and then he gave the order to begin the long road march to Scania.

As we left the gates of Baharia, I made sure Redd and I were no more than chest high. I gave a nod to the gate guard as we passed by, and we were finally on our way to Scania. It was truly the beginning to the end of a long, long journey. With Lieutenant Snipes in the road march, we switched up the order of the vehicles we normally had for patrols. Sergeant Madden decided he wanted to be the lead vehicle heading toward Scania. Typically, the platoon sergeant’s vehicle is the third vehicle, but Madden would have none of that for this trip. So we ended up being the point vehicle, with Sergeant Krall directly behind us, followed by Lieutenant Snipes’s vehicle, and Lieutenant May’s vehicle was rear security.

We made the left-hand turn onto the main route, gave each vehicle about two hundred feet of separation, and began our eight-hour trip to Scania. We could get there faster, but we had to travel in the vicinity of 40 mph unless otherwise told. I clicked on the internal comm in my helmet and called over to Sergeant Madden and Corporal Sprenger, wondering if they were going to throw the music on anytime soon. I needed something to occupy the time.

BBBBBOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM!

A thunderous explosion rocked the vehicle. I looked around, frantically wondering if we had been hit and quickly concluded we hadn’t. In the distance I could see Krall’s vehicle was fine as well, but there was a lot of commotion coming from the back. Sergeant Madden jumped onto the internal radio really quick and told me Krall’s vehicle was hit; the vehicle was fine, but Herman was hit. Madden ordered us to stay in the vehicle. Krall’s vehicle was going to quickly patch up Lance Corporal Herman, and we’d make a beeline for the battalion aid station (BAS) on Camp Fallujah, where he could get immediate attention.

No more than five minutes passed before we were speeding off to Camp Fallujah. They must have known we were coming because they quickly hurried us through the gate. We sped through the base and stopped right in front of the BAS. A few corpsmen were already waiting for us to arrive, so I watched as they quickly took Herman off of the vehicle and into the BAS with Lieutenant May and Lieutenant Snipes right behind him. In the meantime, I could see Shearer and Doc Barajas talking to some of the other corpsman and trying to clean the blood off of Shearer’s vest. It was very apparent Shearer was both shocked and frustrated because he was getting annoyed with all the corpsman bothering him. He wanted them to attend to Herman and not worry about him.

Everything had happened so fast that I realized I hadn’t had time to even think about what had unfolded. Prior to becoming a section leader, I was on the same vehicle as Herman. He was one of my scouts, and a damn good one at that. But he wasn’t a scout by trade. He was the platoon’s mechanic. Herman worked harder than all the other guys in our platoon because he had to do two jobs. When the rest of us were relaxing in the hooch or going to the chow hall, Herman was busting his ass fixing the vehicles. I came to rely on Herman too. He really knew his stuff, and I could always trust that he was watching my back. And the best thing about Herman was that regardless of the amount of crap he had to deal with, he would do what he was told. Sure, he would be pissed, but he would do it to the best of his ability. He was a damn fine Marine in my eyes.

The other thing that kept on going through my head was that had I not been promoted to section leader, it could have been me. All these different scenarios kept going through my head about how it could have or should have been me instead of Herman.

While Lieutenants May and Snipes were still in BAS, we were all trying to figure out exactly what had happened. And when we did figure it out, it was bizarre that Herman even got hit.

Apparently, as we were heading down the road, the triggerman for the IED pulled the trigger but far past the moment when he should have. The IED exploded when the whole platoon had already passed it by about one hundred yards. We figured that a piece of the shrapnel from the explosion must have somehow flown toward Krall’s vehicle and hit Herman in the face. Fortunately for Herman, the piece of shrapnel grazed across his face rather than hit him full on which would have most likely killed him.  It hit him on the side of the face, producing a gory wound that extended from his nose to the right ear.

When our platoon came to a halt after the explosion, Shearer, who had switched out positions with Herman for a portion of the ride, was calling from inside the vehicle to Herman to find out what happened. Herman was motionless.  A few seconds later, Shearer saw blood come down Herman's uniform, and he immediately went into action. He opened the back scout hatch, sat Herman down on the bench inside the vehicle, broke out his first aid kit, and began patching up Herman’s face as best he could. When Shearer ran out of gauze, Corporals Forsyth and Biorn began taking apart their kits and giving Shearer theirs. Doc Barajas showed up and began to apply more direct first aid. And during this whole time, rather than scream in pain, Herman, being the hard-ass he was, was cussing up a storm because he was pissed off that he got hit. It just reinforced my view of his strength of character.

After about twenty minutes or so, Lieutenants May and Snipes emerged from the BAS and made their way back to their vehicles. Lieutenant May threw on his gear and told Madden that we were still moving on toward Scania. Herman was being attended to and was in critical condition, but the corpsmen believed he would live and be all right.

Madden relayed the information to the rest of us as the vehicle was starting up. I was relieved to a point. I was really glad that Herman was not killed, but it was still painful knowing he was wounded. On our way out of the gates of Camp Fallujah, I was hoping for the best for him.

Fortunately, the rest of the trip down to Scania was uneventful. It just hurt knowing that we were one man short.