COMBAT MEDIC: A Soldier's Story of the Iraq War and PTSD by S M Boney IV

Author:S M Boney IV [Boney IV, S M]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: S.M. Boney IV
Published: 2016-05-16T04:00:00+00:00

I was chatting with Saul in the back of our ambulance in the middle of the afternoon when we heard shouting over at the aid station. I looked around the back doors to see soldiers running around; Sergeant Bricks was shouting orders. Saul and I grabbed our rifles and sprinted over to see what the commotion was.

I ran up to Sergeant Brown when I got to the tent, “What’s up Sarge?”

“We have incoming, three guys seriously wounded.”

“What should I do?” I anxiously asked.

“Help out where you can.”

We stood around the radio quietly listening to the chatter. After a couple minutes we heard the driver say he was rolling through the front gate. I looked over to see a huge cloud of dust rapidly shooting through the air behind the wall. It swerved through the base as it made its way towards us.

A swarm of people with cameras was standing by the unloading area; I figured they were reporters but I didn’t have a clue why they were waiting. That’s when Sergeant Bricks called me and a couple other guys over to him.

“I want y’all to go over there and hold those reporters off; we’ve got patients to take care of. I don’t want them vultures getting in the way taking pictures. Do whatever you need to without hurting them, understood?”

“Hooah Sergeant!”

We all ran over and stood in a line in front of them. They eagerly fiddled with their cameras, taking practice shots at us while they waited. As soon as the Bradley came bolting around the corner towards us they started taking pictures. I was curious as to why it was a Bradley and not one of our medical vehicles they were taking pictures of. Bradleys were primarily used as armored heavy assault vehicles like tanks. They were used to transport infantry units into battle, not out.

“Hold hands!” I heard Sergeant Bricks yell, “Don’t let anyone fucking through!”

The Bradley came to a screeching halt behind us, covering everyone in a cloud of dust. The reporters rushed us. We held each other’s hands as tight as we could against the onslaught; I looked to see someone open the back hatch and lift out the first casualty. The reporters came at us hard, pushing and shoving, flashing their cameras non-stop.

We were screaming at them, “Get the fuck back! Fucking move!” It wasn’t working. I could barely hold on to the people next to me.

Through all the chaos, a reporter broke through and rushed to the back of the Bradley, rapidly flashing pictures. One of the sergeants stood tall then tackled him hard to the ground; his camera flew up and landed in the sand. We moved back as Sergeant Bricks helped push him back outside the line.

The first casualty was covered in dark red blood; his arms fell limp off the side of the litter as the medics ran him into the operating room where the docs were waiting. The reporters kept shouting at us, “You can’t do this. We have rights!” while they took what seemed like hundreds of pictures.

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