thedrifter
04-16-03, 07:18 AM
Article ran : 04/16/2003
Marine takes life one day at a time during his recovery
By ERIC STEINKOPFF
DAILY NEWS STAFF
It was nearly noon on March 23 when the column of assault amphibian vehicles brought Charlie Company north through Iraq. Morale was high for the Camp Lejeune Marines packed inside.
“We were pumped up to go in there and were getting ready to do our part,” said Cpl. Randy Glass, 20, 3rd infantry squad leader from Bethlehem, Pa. assigned to 1st Battalion, 2nd Marine Regiment.
Each vehicle normally carries about 20. The AAV Glass traveled in started with a 13-member squad and two three-man machine gun teams. But when one of the other AAVs broke down they had to share the ride.
“There were close to 25 or 26 people in our vehicle; God knows how we fit,” he said. “There were people standing up sitting on top and inside.”
They headed toward their objectives, a couple of innocent-looking bridges across the Euphrates River just outside of a town many had never heard of before — An Nasiriyah.
Suddenly they heard the pings and dings of lead against sides of the AAV and the occasional “tzstu” of a round going overhead. Glass wasn’t concerned until they ended up in a cross fire.
“We were pushing to the southern bridge and meeting heavy resistance,” Glass said. “They had an ambush site set up and we went right between them.”
Glass was in his squad leader position next to the back hatch on the left side still wearing the protective MOPP suit in case of an expected chemical attack.
Others were standing through the hatches on the top and shooting at the enemy on both sides until a rocket propelled grenade struck the vehicle. It hit just under Glass’s position.
“There was nothing but a white flash and the ‘trac was filled with black smoke,” Glass said. “… All I saw below my knee was a smoldering bloody mess. At first I thought that I lost my left leg.”
The AAV was still moving, but the packs hanging on the outside had caught fire as Glass fought through the numbing fog of shock from the blast and the injury to save himself.
“The first thing that I thought of was to put a tourniquet on my leg or I wouldn’t be around very long,” said Glass, now a patient at the naval hospital in Bethesda, Md.
One of his Marines gave up his belt and they twisted it around his leg.
The entire vehicle caught on fire and finally came to a stop as several of the injured people inside responded to a clear order.
“Get the (expletive) out of here,” someone yelled as everyone piled out on the ground.
They moved Glass away from the vehicle and circled around him low on the ground shooting back at the enemy.
“We were taking a lot of fire and they were zipping over my head,” he said. “Some mortars were landing nearby and I remember a couple of (the guys) saying things like ‘You’ll be OK’ and ‘We’ll get you out of here’.”
Third squad quickly popped several red smoke grenades, the international sign for an emergency and this unit’s signal to evacuate their wounded.
“I was screaming from the pain and it seemed like forever, but it was probably only about 10 minutes,” he said. “They were doing ‘buddy aid’ up to that point, until another trac came up with corpsmen inside. They shot me with morphine and that didn’t even take the edge off the pain.”
The area was so hot that they couldn’t bring in a helicopter to move Glass and the other wounded Marines. They prepared to head to their casualty collection point to the south, back through the ambush.
But the AAV wouldn’t start. The firing was intense.
“We were taking fire like crazy and we could hear nearby mortar rounds,” Glass said. “They were walking the rounds right up to us and we screamed ‘Get us out of here’.”
The AAV finally began to move, but soon stalled out again. Glass and his buddy Cpl. Mike Meade exchanged knowing glances and quietly promised if the AAV stalled again they would bail out.
“Sure enough, it stalled out two minutes later,” Glass said. “I threw myself out of the ‘trac and started crawling for cover, but I wasn’t moving very well,”
Fortunately for Glass another Marine helped him along as bullets peppered the dirt 15 feet away.
“We dove into the mud ditches from the tire prints that hardened and we just kissed the ground,” Glass said.
Although the armored vehicle was a magnet for every enemy weapon around, something told Glass to climb back in and they managed to coax it back to their battalion aid station where he was given a second shot of morphine.
They were treated and flown to a nearby airfield in southern Iraq, then some undisclosed camp in Kuwait, followed by Kuwait City; Ramstein, Germany and then to the National Naval Medical Center at Bethesda.
He found out that he shattered his tibia and fibia, broke his ankle and lost “a bunch” of skin off the back of his calf. Last weekend he was recovering from his seventh surgery in three weeks and he has a “big halo-looking thing” around his foot with a web of wires going into the leg to keep everything stabilized. Others were not so lucky. As many as a dozen Marines were killed that day.
Now, Glass is taking his recovery a day at a time.
“My whole family has been here to see me,” Glass said. “They’ve been real supportive and there’s always one of them here all the time.”
But he doesn’t keep track of CNN, MSNBC or Fox News, because it reminds him of where he’s been and some of the friends he’s lost.
“I lost a lot of my friends there,” he said quietly. “I saw that they were confirmed killed in Newsweek.”
Contact Eric Steinkopff at esteinkopff@jdnews.com or 353-1171, Ext. 236.
Sempers,
Roger
Marine takes life one day at a time during his recovery
By ERIC STEINKOPFF
DAILY NEWS STAFF
It was nearly noon on March 23 when the column of assault amphibian vehicles brought Charlie Company north through Iraq. Morale was high for the Camp Lejeune Marines packed inside.
“We were pumped up to go in there and were getting ready to do our part,” said Cpl. Randy Glass, 20, 3rd infantry squad leader from Bethlehem, Pa. assigned to 1st Battalion, 2nd Marine Regiment.
Each vehicle normally carries about 20. The AAV Glass traveled in started with a 13-member squad and two three-man machine gun teams. But when one of the other AAVs broke down they had to share the ride.
“There were close to 25 or 26 people in our vehicle; God knows how we fit,” he said. “There were people standing up sitting on top and inside.”
They headed toward their objectives, a couple of innocent-looking bridges across the Euphrates River just outside of a town many had never heard of before — An Nasiriyah.
Suddenly they heard the pings and dings of lead against sides of the AAV and the occasional “tzstu” of a round going overhead. Glass wasn’t concerned until they ended up in a cross fire.
“We were pushing to the southern bridge and meeting heavy resistance,” Glass said. “They had an ambush site set up and we went right between them.”
Glass was in his squad leader position next to the back hatch on the left side still wearing the protective MOPP suit in case of an expected chemical attack.
Others were standing through the hatches on the top and shooting at the enemy on both sides until a rocket propelled grenade struck the vehicle. It hit just under Glass’s position.
“There was nothing but a white flash and the ‘trac was filled with black smoke,” Glass said. “… All I saw below my knee was a smoldering bloody mess. At first I thought that I lost my left leg.”
The AAV was still moving, but the packs hanging on the outside had caught fire as Glass fought through the numbing fog of shock from the blast and the injury to save himself.
“The first thing that I thought of was to put a tourniquet on my leg or I wouldn’t be around very long,” said Glass, now a patient at the naval hospital in Bethesda, Md.
One of his Marines gave up his belt and they twisted it around his leg.
The entire vehicle caught on fire and finally came to a stop as several of the injured people inside responded to a clear order.
“Get the (expletive) out of here,” someone yelled as everyone piled out on the ground.
They moved Glass away from the vehicle and circled around him low on the ground shooting back at the enemy.
“We were taking a lot of fire and they were zipping over my head,” he said. “Some mortars were landing nearby and I remember a couple of (the guys) saying things like ‘You’ll be OK’ and ‘We’ll get you out of here’.”
Third squad quickly popped several red smoke grenades, the international sign for an emergency and this unit’s signal to evacuate their wounded.
“I was screaming from the pain and it seemed like forever, but it was probably only about 10 minutes,” he said. “They were doing ‘buddy aid’ up to that point, until another trac came up with corpsmen inside. They shot me with morphine and that didn’t even take the edge off the pain.”
The area was so hot that they couldn’t bring in a helicopter to move Glass and the other wounded Marines. They prepared to head to their casualty collection point to the south, back through the ambush.
But the AAV wouldn’t start. The firing was intense.
“We were taking fire like crazy and we could hear nearby mortar rounds,” Glass said. “They were walking the rounds right up to us and we screamed ‘Get us out of here’.”
The AAV finally began to move, but soon stalled out again. Glass and his buddy Cpl. Mike Meade exchanged knowing glances and quietly promised if the AAV stalled again they would bail out.
“Sure enough, it stalled out two minutes later,” Glass said. “I threw myself out of the ‘trac and started crawling for cover, but I wasn’t moving very well,”
Fortunately for Glass another Marine helped him along as bullets peppered the dirt 15 feet away.
“We dove into the mud ditches from the tire prints that hardened and we just kissed the ground,” Glass said.
Although the armored vehicle was a magnet for every enemy weapon around, something told Glass to climb back in and they managed to coax it back to their battalion aid station where he was given a second shot of morphine.
They were treated and flown to a nearby airfield in southern Iraq, then some undisclosed camp in Kuwait, followed by Kuwait City; Ramstein, Germany and then to the National Naval Medical Center at Bethesda.
He found out that he shattered his tibia and fibia, broke his ankle and lost “a bunch” of skin off the back of his calf. Last weekend he was recovering from his seventh surgery in three weeks and he has a “big halo-looking thing” around his foot with a web of wires going into the leg to keep everything stabilized. Others were not so lucky. As many as a dozen Marines were killed that day.
Now, Glass is taking his recovery a day at a time.
“My whole family has been here to see me,” Glass said. “They’ve been real supportive and there’s always one of them here all the time.”
But he doesn’t keep track of CNN, MSNBC or Fox News, because it reminds him of where he’s been and some of the friends he’s lost.
“I lost a lot of my friends there,” he said quietly. “I saw that they were confirmed killed in Newsweek.”
Contact Eric Steinkopff at esteinkopff@jdnews.com or 353-1171, Ext. 236.
Sempers,
Roger