Andy Anderson
Kelly Wisdom
Eng111-10D
February 10, 2011
Cooks in Combat
“I’ve gotta bad feeling about this.” said my platoon Staff Sargent Mark Pegher as we listened to the convoy commander review the route plan via dirt map. We had been in Balad, Iraq for about two months moving supply patrols from our logistical storage area to an observation base a few miles away. It was a trip we had made a dozen times by then. Yet, that comment foreshadowed a very unusual day for the cooks of HHC 1-77 Armor Battalion.
The planned route was going to be MSR Tampa. This was an eight mile military supply route, which had been our primary travel road on previous missions. It was well known by us, as well as by insurgents. The explosive ordinance disposal team had patrolled the road most of the night and had cleared it before our departure time. We had only been in country for a few weeks; the armor for our vehicles had not yet been mounted, making the threat of an attack slightly more alarming. But, even with the mention of Sergeant Pegher’s little premonition, it did little to discourage myself and Spc. Todd Nelson from arguing over who would be the driver in our five ton supply truck during this mission. There were a lot of important things that went into planning a mission like this. For non-combat types, deciding who would be in the driver and passenger seat could be priority decision. It was always a well fought debate. It had its pros and cons. Being a driver meant having to be prepared for evasive driving, which could include the toilsome task of driving fifty mph through a pedestrian filled market. However, on a good day it just meant driving. The passenger had his own responsibilities. That person, being me in this case, was to be alert of any suspicious activity, offer suppressing fire when necessary, and/or dismount the vehicle to engage the enemy. Our rules of engagement were not necessarily simple, but they had been drilled into our heads for the past several months; they were easy to remember.
After it was decided who was going to be the driver (Todd won the election) we prepared for our departure. Dressed in about fifty pounds of equipment including flack vests and Kevlar helmets, and carrying rifles with seven ammunition magazines loaded with 40 rounds each, we climbed into our poorly secured truck. We pulled in line with the fifteen other vehicles, putting us number seven in the row. Sergeant Pegher was in vehicle number five of the convoy. Then we sat at the gate, loaded with precious cargo of food rations, clean laundry, and basic toiletries, waiting to roll out. Upon leaving the gate, Todd was trying to keep up with ever changing rates of speed the convoy would travel and dodging pot holes large enough to hide a Volkswagen in. Meanwhile, my attention was plastered fully to the activity going on outside my passenger window. Trying to identify anything that looked out of the ordinary or potentially dangerous is not always that easy. Being in a foreign country makes everything out of the ordinary and being in a combat zone can make everything potentially dangerous. Only it was the usual scene of sand, trees, bombed out buildings, and the occasional goat herder. “OH SHIT!” Todd exclaimed suddenly. The startle in his voice broke my hardened focus on the window view and I turned to see what had happened. A few hundred yards in front of us, a giant cloud of black smoke had engulfed at least two trucks and blocked the view of everything in front of that. At first I didn’t know what I was looking at. I gazed at it in awe for a few seconds until I felt the rumble and heard the boom. An improvised explosive device had detonated, hitting one of our trucks.
“Who got hit?” I yelled.
“I don’t know,” Todd responded, “Sergeant Pegher?’
“Well, here we go!” I said, taking my position back at the window. The rules of engagement were clear. In the case of enemy contact, we pull the trucks into “covered wagon” circle and provide surpressing fire at any target that looks “suspicious”. So, I took aim on the only target I had through my little window—TREES!
Now keep in mind that we were carrying fifty pounds of additional weight on our bodies. It had been a frequent topic of conversation amongst non-infantry types during the long, hot weeks of field training in Kuwaiti desert, how would someone be able to maneuver during a combat situation with all the gear strapped to them? The answer to that question comes quickly. When your adrenaline starts pumping and your mind is considering everything, everyone that might be trying to kill you, all that weight is no longer an issue.
I fired my first forty round magazine very quickly and with little trouble. My second magazine didn’t play as fair and jammed my weapon. I tried to clear the jam and continue firing. After a few attempts, with shaky hands, I was successful but only temporarily. My weapon jammed again and I was unable to clear it. Meanwhile, Todd, who until a few moments ago had been African American with the complexion to match, was now pale and trying to turn the truck into the circle. Due to the small, narrow road and little desire to leave the black top for fear of secondary explosives, he was having much difficulty.
“My weapon’s jacked up, I need to use yours,” I told him, as I grabbed his rifle. I don’t think he even noticed I was speaking because at the same time a soldier from another vehicle ran up to his window yelling for him to pull up past the truck that had been hit. By now that truck was cleared of occupants, engulfed in flames, and smelled of a BBQ; it too had been loaded with food rations. While I was still discharging Todd’s weapon at the trees, Todd managed to get the truck back in line with the rest of the convoy. Having to stop briefly next to the burning truck and feeling the heat blast from the flames got me to the realization that we were rolling again. When back in order of the trucks my firing ceased; we continued at a very increased speed and with extremely high tensions throughout the rest of the patrol. Finally, we reached the base. We were very relieved for the whole situation to be over. The whole incident had occurred in only a matter of minutes, but it felt as if the whole day had passed. We learned the two occupants of the truck that had been hit did not suffer any life threating injuries. It had been a turbulent day that had given us the opportunity to prove our ability to function in combat.