Fog of War

I was stationed in an outpost close to a small town approximately 200 miles west of Baghdad. I still remember those dangerous times when I drove down tight alleyways meandering through the town that led to schools, mosques, a small hospital and public buildings from which insurgents used to shoot at us. Some of us felt like sitting ducks, especially at night.

The small outpost I was stationed in was so close to town that we could hear the daily prayers from the mosque -- five times! Interpreters assigned to the outpost used to tell us the muezzin’s sometimes negative discourse against us.

Some of these clerics were not on our side. When election time came, these clerics and foreign insurgents in town tried to scare off the people from voting. Marines from our outpost drove townspeople in our 7-ton truck to the ballot places. I was amazed that so many people wanted to vote. They knew, by voting in elections, they might be shot at.

This was about the only contacts we had with the town. Our main goal was to stop the import of weapons and insurgents crossing the border. The company commander would also send Marines to town with meds and other things needed by the hospitals.

My assignments included driving a 7-ton truck. On one of our patrols, our convoy stopped to check on trash piles on both sides of the road, as sometimes insurgents would place makeshift bombs in them. Shots were fired from a nearby building. One of our trucks caught fire. It’s always a little scary, something one never gets used to.

We could never let our guard down. We had to stay focused at all times. On another of our patrols, while driving through the town’s market, one of our vehicles was hit by an Improvised Explosive Device (IED). We had to push through. Another IED blew up next to us. We realized then that a pickup was shadowing us. People started to shoot from every direction. For a second it was like chaos, like going in slow motion but it’s not. Training sets in as I get a big shot of adrenaline. Enemies are suppressed, and we rescued the wounded. That week was pretty tough for the company: we lost seven good marines and a great man from “Recon. Patrol.”

Fifteen of us were lucky enough to be quartered in a stone building. I was a reserve Marine attached to an Infantry unit. That was much better than other quarters, because winter at our location in Iraq was cold, really cold. And rainy as well. At about that time, the base generator broke and was not fixed for more than a month. Due to an electricity shortage, we were out of heat, phones and no Internet to get in touch with families back home.

We missed our families. The hardest part of the service in Iraq was receiving bad news from home. My parents were always very supportive of me all along. They were worried about me during the time the generator breakdown, when they were told that somebody was killed and they thought it was me. They were relieved when they learned after two weeks that I was alive.

Now, back in Irving, I see people differently. I believe that after you do something like that it changes you forever. Whether it is good or bad, you have to make the best of it. You must always live life to the fullest, because life itself is short.

— Bret Sanchez is a student in Dr. Gabriel Bach’s government class.