Quote:
|
Originally Posted by wintersforge
Thx for serving and going over there!!!!
|
Quote:
|
Originally Posted by "pest'
Ditto ^^
|
Thanks for that. I appreciate it.
While I'm here, I'll relate something to you guys that I experienced while in Iraq. Over the past couple days, as this new 'Persian Gulf War' unfolds, I've been doing a lot of thinking about my time there. Certain memories have floated to the surface, things I haven't thought about in a long time. Some are pretty gruesome, others creepy. The following anecdote would fall under the category, for me, of 'very sad'.
After the 100 hour Ground War, my unit, Bravo Troop 1/1 Cav, was assigned search and destroy missions. We were to hunt down Iraqi weapons/ammo/equipment and destroy them on site with C-4. About 10 days into this new mission, we ran across a large tomato farm. The CO directed 1st and 3rd platoons to encircle the area. 2nd platoon, my platoon, was ordered to fan out and inspect the field. This took us just over an hour. At the end of our search, we found the home of the farmers. Turns out it's an Egyptian family, that had moved to Iraq 15 yrs prior, to farm tomatoes, and make a good life for themselves. Apparently, there's not much competition for farming in Iraq.
As we walked up on the house, keeping eyes peeled for signs of mines, and maintaining a secure posture, the farmers emerged from their house. An old man, the patriarch, his wife and 3 daughters, one of whom was pregnant. They approached us with some caution. Three guys were ordered to approach and search them. They were clean. The Father of the family spoke some English, difficult to understand at times, but we were able to communicate. We asked him what happened to his house, and why he was still there. After all, we did find the remains of several dug-in T-64 Iragi tanks not far from his farm. He then went on to describe the night that the Iraqi Republican Guard visited his farm. They attempted to conscript his three sons. When they refused, a tank blew a round through his house, destroying most of it. When he screamed and yelled at them, the Iraqi soldiers grabbed his daughters, and held knives at their throats. The sons then gave in and agreed to come along. He told us his daughters had been 'hurt'. When we asked further questions, he would refuse to elaborate. He then went on a 15 min tirade about the evil of Saddam Hussein, the lawlessness of his Army, and the gratitude he felt towards us for coming to help. He then spoke something in Egyptian to his wife and daughters, quite forcefully, and they disappeared into the remains of their home.
Then he turned to us, and invited us into his home, so that we could all sit and speak as people, share a pot of tea, and a tray of food.
My Lt got on the radio, related the converstaion to our CO, and asked permission to accept the Egyptian's invitation. After about 20 minutes of discussion, the posting of 4 soldiers in tactical OPs, and a detailed search of the home and immediate vicinity, we were allowed to accept the invitation.
His home at one time had been a modest 4 bedroom, two bather, with a large open kitchen and spacious living room. This from his description, pointing at rubble here and there. There was only one room left with four standing walls and a roof, and it had been one of the bedrooms. Dirt, dust, and soot was everywhere. There were two couches piled one on top of the other at one end of the room, opposite of the new doorway. A beautiful woven rug, largely intact, covered the floor. A small 'loveseat' was along one wall. That was it. No blankets. No piles of salvaged clothing. Nothing. Except the dented teapot and several small cups the daughters produced, after we all found our seats. They had scavanged those items from other farms, some from miles away. After 20 minutes or so, the wife and daughters appeared with a huge platter, apparently silver, that they had salvaged from their rubble. These innocent people, with practically nothing left of their former lives, and very uncertain future, had prepared for us a huge meal of rice and vegetables, piled high on this platter.
The tea was sweet and mild, homegrown. The meal was delicious. It broke my heart.
During the meal, the Father asked each of us in turn, with complete sincerity, if we would marry his pregnant daughter. He wanted to see her have her child in a safe environment, with no threat of war. Without the constant fear of living under a regime such as Hussein's. When he looked into my eyes, and asked me, I had no idea what to say. I was tongue tied. A simple 'NO' seemed too damn cold for my tastes. And a long, protracted explanation about how it was impossible was out of the question. It would take 2+ hours to get the idea across, considering the language barrier.
So I acted on my first impulse. With my left hand, I grabbed her hand, and with my right, I grasped his. I pulled them together and placed their hand hands together. I put my right hand over my heart, and said, "Family". The Father began to cry.
He quickly composed himself, and the topic of conversation turned to more mundane things. He asked us about our daily lives. Did we go without food and water for long? How did we sleep? Had we killed anybody. After 20 mins or so of this Q & A, the Lt called it quits. Time to move on. We filed out to the front of his home, and called our Bradleys up to pick us up. As we were waiting, the Father went into another tirade, this time about the 'glory of America' and hsi hope for peace.
Our vehicles arrived and the ramps lowered. Our Lt ordered the TC's (Track Commanders) to throw down one case of MRE's each, and a 2 gallon jug of water each. Six vehicles worth. Manyn guys dug into their packs to give up certain items: gloves, hats, scarves. I gave my Army issue wool blanket and Army issue sleeping bag to the pregnant Daughter. She was going to need them a lot more than I would. Especially since I could claim 'Combat Damaged' and request a new ones, or at worst buy new ones.
At times I think about that now 11 yr old. Is he angry? Is he destitute? Is he alive?
I hope so.
A completely true story, as experienced and related by myself.
03-20-2003, 01:29 PM
Linear Mode
