thedrifter
08-05-06, 01:45 PM
08-02-2006
These Bastards Are Pretty Ruthless
By Bob Merriman
Casey, my youngest son, called from Mosul, Iraq around 9 a.m. Friday, July 28. He said he did not have a lot of time to talk, since he would be going out on patrol, his fifth since arriving in Iraq.
Casey’s first patrol was four days earlier. His platoon conducted an IED sweep and reconnaissance. Nothing happened on the way out, but on the return route a bastard terrorist initiated an IED. Casey was in the Stryker hatch, with his team’s SAW.
“All I got was gravel and sand,” he said of the blast. My thought was: All you got was gravel and sand?
The day before Casey’s phone call, I sent an e-mail, including things I forgot to tell him when he was home on leave before deployment. The e-mail was my second of things I forgot to mention. In the July 27 email I told Casey, “The first time in a fire fight, your first thought likely will be ‘Holy ****!’ or something similar. Then, you will figure out where the fire is coming from and you will return fire or maneuver to a position to return fire. If the fire is so heavy you cannot move, you will hope (and maybe pray at least a little) that another part of your squad or of your platoon is in position to lay down fire, and you can then move to a position and return fire, or get out of Dodge, if necessary.” Casey had not read the email, but his response was normal when coming under fire for the first time.
When the IED blew, “There was an adrenalin rush, and then I looked for somebody to shoot at, but there wasn’t anybody,” Casey said.
The platoon dismounted and conducted a house-to-house search but didn't find anything. During the dismount, the platoon took sniper fire. No one was hit.
“Don’t tell Mom about the IED,” Casey said. I said I wouldn’t. He said, “Tell her Mosul is nice and quiet.” We both laughed.
Then I said, “Casey, no bull**** now. How are you?”
“I’m fine,” he said. His voice sounded OK; tired, but OK.
On Monday, July 31, Casey sent this email:
"Hey, Dad. I went out on patrol and got hit by another IED. This one was a 105 round in a pile of trash but it blew about 10 meters behind my truck so none of us took shrapnel. About an hour later in the same mission we were driving down Route Santa Fe and passed a car with a body behind it so we pulled off and cordoned the area and observed the body. The car was sitting very low and we thought it might be packed with explosives so we called for EOD but they couldn’t make it so our crazy Iraqi counterparts just walked up to the car and opened the trunk and it was clear. We later found out the man was a reporter and was executed by insurgents with a gunshot to the throat so he would suffer more. These bastards are pretty ruthless. We get mortared just about every night, but it never gets close our company area and it’s usually just 2 or 3 rounds. Anyway I’ve gotta go but send me Mom’s phone # so I can call her. I love ya and I’ll talk to ya soon."
These bastards are pretty ruthless.
I’ve heard these bastards called insurgents, foreign fighters, guerrillas, and so on and so on.
I don’t care what they are, except this: These bastards are a threat to Casey, who is on his first tour in Iraq; these bastards were a threat to my oldest son, Michael, in 2003; these bastards are a threat to my daughter, Kathleen, who deployed last week to another area of the Middle East.
And, these bastards are a threat to every man, woman and child I know.
I would like to meet these bastards face to face. But they don’t fight that way.
On the last day of Casey’s leave in May, my wife said, “Casey, when you knock down a door, you kill everybody on the other side.”
Casey made a small laugh. “Mom,” he said, “we can’t just do it that way.”
“Yes, you can,” my wife said. “You kill everybody on the other side.”
Oftentimes, mothers have a great sense of necessity.
Bob Merriman is a Vietnam veteran and Feedback editor for DefenseWatch/Soldiers for the truth. He can be reached at sgt_bob_66@yahoo.com. Send Feedback comments to dwfeedback@yahoo.com.
Ellie
These Bastards Are Pretty Ruthless
By Bob Merriman
Casey, my youngest son, called from Mosul, Iraq around 9 a.m. Friday, July 28. He said he did not have a lot of time to talk, since he would be going out on patrol, his fifth since arriving in Iraq.
Casey’s first patrol was four days earlier. His platoon conducted an IED sweep and reconnaissance. Nothing happened on the way out, but on the return route a bastard terrorist initiated an IED. Casey was in the Stryker hatch, with his team’s SAW.
“All I got was gravel and sand,” he said of the blast. My thought was: All you got was gravel and sand?
The day before Casey’s phone call, I sent an e-mail, including things I forgot to tell him when he was home on leave before deployment. The e-mail was my second of things I forgot to mention. In the July 27 email I told Casey, “The first time in a fire fight, your first thought likely will be ‘Holy ****!’ or something similar. Then, you will figure out where the fire is coming from and you will return fire or maneuver to a position to return fire. If the fire is so heavy you cannot move, you will hope (and maybe pray at least a little) that another part of your squad or of your platoon is in position to lay down fire, and you can then move to a position and return fire, or get out of Dodge, if necessary.” Casey had not read the email, but his response was normal when coming under fire for the first time.
When the IED blew, “There was an adrenalin rush, and then I looked for somebody to shoot at, but there wasn’t anybody,” Casey said.
The platoon dismounted and conducted a house-to-house search but didn't find anything. During the dismount, the platoon took sniper fire. No one was hit.
“Don’t tell Mom about the IED,” Casey said. I said I wouldn’t. He said, “Tell her Mosul is nice and quiet.” We both laughed.
Then I said, “Casey, no bull**** now. How are you?”
“I’m fine,” he said. His voice sounded OK; tired, but OK.
On Monday, July 31, Casey sent this email:
"Hey, Dad. I went out on patrol and got hit by another IED. This one was a 105 round in a pile of trash but it blew about 10 meters behind my truck so none of us took shrapnel. About an hour later in the same mission we were driving down Route Santa Fe and passed a car with a body behind it so we pulled off and cordoned the area and observed the body. The car was sitting very low and we thought it might be packed with explosives so we called for EOD but they couldn’t make it so our crazy Iraqi counterparts just walked up to the car and opened the trunk and it was clear. We later found out the man was a reporter and was executed by insurgents with a gunshot to the throat so he would suffer more. These bastards are pretty ruthless. We get mortared just about every night, but it never gets close our company area and it’s usually just 2 or 3 rounds. Anyway I’ve gotta go but send me Mom’s phone # so I can call her. I love ya and I’ll talk to ya soon."
These bastards are pretty ruthless.
I’ve heard these bastards called insurgents, foreign fighters, guerrillas, and so on and so on.
I don’t care what they are, except this: These bastards are a threat to Casey, who is on his first tour in Iraq; these bastards were a threat to my oldest son, Michael, in 2003; these bastards are a threat to my daughter, Kathleen, who deployed last week to another area of the Middle East.
And, these bastards are a threat to every man, woman and child I know.
I would like to meet these bastards face to face. But they don’t fight that way.
On the last day of Casey’s leave in May, my wife said, “Casey, when you knock down a door, you kill everybody on the other side.”
Casey made a small laugh. “Mom,” he said, “we can’t just do it that way.”
“Yes, you can,” my wife said. “You kill everybody on the other side.”
Oftentimes, mothers have a great sense of necessity.
Bob Merriman is a Vietnam veteran and Feedback editor for DefenseWatch/Soldiers for the truth. He can be reached at sgt_bob_66@yahoo.com. Send Feedback comments to dwfeedback@yahoo.com.
Ellie