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| Sean Doyle |
It was an unusually warm day in
central Texas for December, the sun was shining and there wasn't a cloud in the
sky. After a short brief by the post commander on what we should expect from
Fort Hood we were told to meet outside for unit assignments. I was assigned to
the 2nd Brigade Combat Team of the First Cavalry Division. I was
told to report outside for an incoming soldier brief. Little did I know my life
was about to take a drastic turn. Up walked this towering man who demanded
attention and respect without saying a word. He was about six feet tall and
pure muscle, looked like he hadn't skipped a gym day in years. He was the
highest ranking enlisted man in the 2nd Brigade Combat Team and a
tried and true warrior. He would later single handily chase down and capture
the man responsible for blowing up his truck in Iraq. We were asked where we
planned on being in six months. Before we could answer he simply said it
doesn't matter because you will all be in Iraq.
May 30th 2011, I'll never
forget the feeling of walking off the plane into the night with my best
friends. The mixture of the heat and intense wind made it feel like someone was
holding a blow-dryer in my face. As I stepped off onto the Airfield of
Ali-Al-Salem airbase it felt like I was entering a whole different world. I
followed my friends and fellow soldiers in a single file line across the tarmac
to a dusty wooden shack where we were welcomed to Iraq. We stayed isolated on
the base located in the middle of the Iraqi desert as we acclimated to the
climate and prepared for our mission. After several days of checking gear,
packing bags, unpacking bags, checking weapons and training we were ready to
depart. We boarded several C130 planes on the same airfield we landed on, just
a week before and set off for the southern Sal-Ad-Din province to the north of
Baghdad. It was surreal at first being in a place I had been watching on the
news since I was a child. I remember watching the missiles cruise over Baghdad
on T.V. back in 2003 and now here I was in 2011 getting ready to do my part. It
was a simple task on paper, patrol the area, help the people, search for
weapons and stay safe. That was the same mission the unit before us had and
they were attacked one time in a whole year. Some of us were excited, some of
us were bummed out that we wouldn’t see combat. We had no idea what we were in
for just a month later.
The twenty-four window from midday on
the fourth of July to Midday July 5 shift started off like any other quick
reaction force shift. We sat around with the gun trucks on standby and the
whole platoon sitting around playing cards, taking naps or crowded around
laptops watching bootleg Iraqi DVD's. I was sitting outside with 3 of my best
friends enjoying some backwoods cigars on a green standard issue army cot. It
was Tom, Phil and Hager or D-Hags as everyone called him. Tom was the very
definition of the corn- fed country boy born and raised in small town
Minnesota. He was also the gunner for my truck and my roommate. Tom had a habit
of watching all three Lord of the Rings movies back to back when he had a day
off patrol. Phil grew up moving around the Pacific Northwest before finally saying
fuck it and joining to army. Phil was a few years older than us but was like
your weird favorite uncle. D-Hags which is short for Dillion Hager was a tall
lanky clown from the middle of nowhere Wisconsin. D-Hags had a giant flag of
Johnny Cash flipping off the camera at Folsom prison on his wall for the 5
years we served together, It's probably still on his wall in his house today.
Back in Iraq we were sitting around talking about how much fun everyone else
back home was having as we drank our non-alcoholic beer when we heard the
familiar sound we had all grown accustomed to "INCOMING, INCOMING,
INCOMING" over a speaker followed by several explosions. So, we threw the
cigars in the sand ran to the gun trucks as the rest of the platoon followed
suit and prepared to go find the guys that just tried to kill us. As we flew
down tiny canal back roads in our big trucks of war barely staying upright. Bump
after bump we approached a tiny man-made dirt crossing most likely made for a
truck carrying livestock as opposed to a truck full of heavily armed soldiers.
The first vehicle creeped over carefully as we followed closely behind. Then
all of the sudden the back end of the truck gave out and we were trapped,
hanging halfway off the road above a canal. After trying to dig ourselves out
for hours we accepted defeat and called for assistance. The guys that had fired
the rockets were captured by another unit and we sat in the middle of an Iraqi
backroad throughout the night. Eventually we had a maintenance truck pushes us
and we headed back to base. Not even 500 meters down the road and it happens. A
loud boom! Like thunderclap 10 feet away. I had just been hit by my first IED
or improvised explosive device.
I can still smell the homemade
explosive in the air if I think about it.
It was the dirty smell of something made in a dirty hideaway with
whatever they can find to harm people. They had attached two South African
155mm artillery shells, as well as two buckets of homemade explosives. By a
little bit of luck and some stupidity on the enemies they blew up the wrong
side of the canal so we all came out without a scratch. I still remember that
moment, a time in my life when I realized I wasn’t a fragile teenager anymore.
. It was a weird sense of calm everything, but at the same time was the
greatest high I had ever experienced-- one that made me feel truly alive. It
put things into perspective in a sense. After the smoke had settled and my
gunner and I smoked a whole pack of knockoff Iraqi cigarettes we headed back to
base. The platoon sergeant had us call our families and let them know we were OK and what had happened. I don’t even remember what I said to my dad on the
phone that day, I just remember how good it felt to hear his voice. After that
we went back to the routine as if nothing had changed. But something had
changed in us. We were no longer scared boys playing GI Joe, we were soldiers
overseas fighting in a foreign country we would watch on the news as kids.
I returned home 6 months later to a
somewhat familiar home. After a few weeks things went back to normal and it
seemed like nothing had ever changed, but there was an absence. That rush I had
felt back in Iraq, that high I got every time something would explode, or we
would take enemy contact—wasn’t there. I spent most of my time home drinking
and staying distracted because I was empty. Being home was like being on a
different planet for a while. Nothing gave me that sense of power and strength
I had felt back in Iraq. Nothing gave me that sense of purpose until I went to
Afghanistan 2 years later. Even now-- nothing provides that same feeling and
probably never will. Eventually I got used to that empty feeling, but I would
still hop on a plane and do it all over again in a heartbeat if I had the
chance.
****** Sean
Doyle was born and raised in the Bay Area of California. A big fan of
history and video games, even at a young age he knew he wanted to serve
in the US Military. At the age of 19 he left California to become a
member of the US Army where he was based in Texas.
Over the next six years he served two tours in Iraq and Afghanistan,
and also spent time in South Korea. Following this, he left the army to
pursue a lifelong dream of hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, where he
walked over 1,000 miles. He now is tackling his
latest challenge, college in Boston, Massachusetts where he resides
with his girlfriend and their two rabbits. In his spare time Sean can
still be found playing video games, but is also an avid reader, and
enjoys attending local concerts and soccer games.
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