Mass Casualties: A Young Medic's True Story of Death, Deception, and Dishonor in Iraq (12 page)

“Grab his legs; hold him down so that he doesn't fall off of the bed.”

The patient moans from beneath the blanket. His face is covered but we all hear it.

The doctor turns toward the anesthesiologist. “What the hell did you give him? He's still awake — get him sedated.”

Hudge grabs the patient's leg as best she can while still staying sterile.

The anesthesiologist pushes a few buttons and the patient stops shaking. The room is silent for a second. The doctor asks for a scalpel; Hudge hands him one.

Again, the patient starts convulsing. Hudge grabs the patient by the legs.

“I thought I told you to hold him down,” the doctor screams.

The doctor is yelling at the anesthesiologist: “I told you to sedate him. Shoot him full of something.” He tells Hudge to grab the legs tighter. The patient is shaking so badly he might fall. Hudge leans on the legs with all of her weight and grips them tight. The doctor tells her to move her grip up further on the patient to hold his waist down.

“AAARRRRGGGGHH,” the patient yells as he sits up in the bed and grabs Hudge by the waist. Hudge screams. She jumps back and hits the instrument table. I can tell she is scared. Her chest is heaving. She's looks around at everyone and no one is doing anything. She looks at the patient uncovered on the table, it's Crade, who is laughing an evil Satanic laugh.

Hudge rips off her mask and gown and throws it to the ground.

“Oh. My. God. You assholes!”

WEEK 4, DAY 5, IRAQ

0730 HOURS, OR

Captain Cardine is the hospital commander. She's stout with a dark skin tone and perfectly white teeth. When she smiles it can be seen for miles. I have no idea why I actually have to go to her office — Gagney wouldn't tell me. Like most people probably would, I immediately assume I'm in some type of trouble. When I walk in the door, I know it's good news, though, or at least not bad news. Captain Cardine tells me that she heard I was on guard duty the day of the recent mortar attack and I'm qualified for a Combat Action Badge (CAB) for being in a combat situation. All I have to do is fill out some paperwork, tell the story of what happened, and verify it with the other two soldiers, Elwood and Boredo. I remember the vow I made in the bunker.

“Ma'am. With all due respect, I would not like any awards.”

Captain Cardine looks at me a little confused.

“What do you mean, you wouldn't like an award? You're going to be one of the first in the unit to be awarded the CAB.”

“I understand Ma'am, it's just that … all I did was run to a bunker. I was following orders.”

Captain Cardine stares at me.

“Soldier, I'm not sure if we're on the same page here. This isn't a big deal, just fill out the paperwork so that we can give you the award.”

I look at Captain Cardine, and it is clear that we're not on the same page. I try to explain my feelings to her again, but she doesn't … she can't understand why anyone wouldn't want an award. Captain Cardine slides the paper toward me.

“Soldier, I don't think you understand. I want you to fill out this paperwork. I want you to get that award. It not only looks good on you to get the award, but it looks good on us as a unit to give the award. Besides, Elwood and Boredo already filled out their paperwork. They came to me the next morning. They were excited and they can't get the awards if you don't fill out the paperwork. To get the award you need at least two witnesses not including yourself. They need you to verify their stories. I don't know what the big deal is, soldier, just fill out the paperwork.”

I leave her office having signed the paperwork and written my story. I find Reto and tell him I just sold my soul.

WEEK 4, DAY 6, IRAQ

0440 HOURS, MY ROOM

I don't know if it's because of the last mortar attack and that being fearful for my death has given me new energy, but I wake up very early today. It's so early, it's still dark outside. It's that type of dark where the moon is gone from the sky and the sun isn't visible yet, but you can tell it will be shortly. When I usually wake up, I take a right down the road toward the dining facility, gym, and the Hajji stores. Today I decide to take a left. There are empty buildings, a fence, a dry cleaners, sleeping barracks for another unit, and sand everywhere. I keep walking, and down the road I see a red pickup truck idling at a stop sign. There's someone sitting inside the truck. He works for KBR, civilian contractors the Army hired to do odds jobs on base. There was no reason for anyone to be out — unless you're going for a morning walk. The chow hall doesn't open for breakfast for another hour, the Hajji stores also don't open for a few hours, and shift change isn't until 0700.

I am in the shadows of the street as I walk. There are no streetlights near me, but there is one directly above the pickup truck. My suspicion of all things odd, or I suppose voyeurism, gets a hold of me, and I duck behind a tree to see what's going on. The windows are dark and the truck is tall. The man is looking off into space. The truck just idles at the stop sign. The man in the truck and I are the only ones awake on the entire base, I bet. He's staring straight ahead, enjoying the silence. I notice that the light from the street lamp casts a small shadow into the truck, and the shadow inside the truck is bobbing: up, down, up, down, up, down. I see a head at the man's waist. It appears for a second and goes back down.

A damn cat's rustling the garbage. I turn around — the noise came from behind me. Then I look back. Captain Tarr's getting out of the truck. She looks both ways across the road to make sure no one sees her. She starts walking briskly back toward the sleeping area; I know she doesn't see me. The truck speeds off and I continue to stand there.

If this is what has gotten her to lighten her mood and stop yelling at everyone, then I don't care if she's breaking the rules. I tell myself I should run after the truck and tell the guy to keep up the good work.

I walk to the area where the old dining facility used to be. It's still dark, and when I get to the building I see that there are bright green lights surrounding it. Glow sticks. Reto and I had seen the same kind two nights before. We thought it was strange but we didn't say anything at the time. Now that I think about it, the night after we saw those lights, the area near the building got hit bad with mortars. Maybe our base has been infiltrated and there are spies placing the glow sticks around so the enemy combatants know where to aim. Nah, never mind. If that were the case someone else would have noticed by now. Still, I'm gonna tell Gagney — just in case.

0700 HOURS, OR

“Anthony,” Gagney is telling me, “Captain Cardine wants you to go to her office again. You better not be in fucking trouble. If you make me look bad, so help me God….” Gagney trails off.

“Before I go I wanted to tell you that I saw these glow sticks around the old dining facility, and Reto and I had seen them two nights before and then the building in the area got hit with mortars and….”

Gagney is walking away; he's not listening. He never listens, but there's nothing I can do about it, and besides, I'm sure I'm just being paranoid about the green glow sticks. I turn around and head toward Captain Cardine's office. Again, I assume that I'm in trouble, but the fear abates when I see her and she's smiling. She tells me that the CABs for the other two soldiers have been approved. Mine, however, has been denied.

“Michael …” Captain Cardine says, using my first name as if we're now pals. “When Elwood and Boredo wrote their stories, only Elwood said you were there. Boredo never mentioned you in his story.” Just like Boredo, I think to myself. “Since Boredo didn't mention you, you won't be getting the award.”

My mind spins. Boredo wants only him and Elwood to get the awards. No matter what, I need to make sure I get this award, if only to rub it in Boredo's face. I've already sold my soul by signing the paperwork; now, it's as if I'm not getting paid. I know this is childish and pointless, but I'm in Iraq, what else is there to do?

“Well, I was there, ma'am. Tell me what I need to do so that I can get that award.”

“I didn't think you wanted it.”

“I just want to help my unit look good. I mean the more awards we hand out, the better you and everyone else looks, right?”

Captain Cardine smiles.

“That's right, soldier, glad to see you're aboard. Find Boredo, tell him to include you in his story.”

After leaving Cardine, I find Boredo. I tell him I'll recant my story unless he includes me in his. He looks at me and frowns as if I have just told him I am the devil and I want his firstborn son, but he's not stupid. He grabs his coat and storms off toward Captain Cardine's office.

104 HOURS, HOSPITAL

He looks bad. An Iraqi patient. Machines to his left are breathing for him, raising his chest up and down. To his right is a pole with different liquids being fed into his veins. On his leg is a bag attached to a catheter in his penis; all of the liquids being fed into his veins come right out into the bag. He's brain dead and now merely serves as a vessel for the liquid to go from one container to the next. The doctors shine light into his eyes, and his pupils give no reaction. They hit him in the face with their hands and on the knees with their reflex hammers — no reaction, no nervous system, nothing.

We are a small hospital with limited resources. We get several new patients every day and we can't afford to keep them here that long. Often we have to ship the American patients to Germany or Texas, and we send the Iraqis to local Iraqi hospitals. The severely injured go to American hospitals either in different parts of Iraq, Germany, or back in the States. We only do this for Iraqis that have been hurt by us.

Everyone is gathered around the Iraqi. I know what they are all thinking and what decision is being debated.

When is a person really dead? When the heart is no longer beating? Or how about when the brain stops? This man is lying in a hospital bed, machines breathe for him, his right arm has a tube in it sending liquid into him, and through his penile shaft there is another tube draining the same fluid right back out. As long as the body is being fed oxygen, the heart will continue to beat and give the impression that the body is alive. The brain, however, is gone; there's no coming back.

We didn't injure him and we don't have the supplies, equipment, or the interest to send him to one of our stateside hospitals where he'll just exist for a few more moments, eventually die, and cost the taxpayers a million dollars in the process. The Iraqi hospitals don't have the equipment or supplies to take care of him. One of the doctors makes a decision and talks to a member of the Iraqi's family. He walks over to the machine and pulls the plug. The family member weeps; a small crowd gathers around; the chaplain is called. Some of the other patients that are close by bow their heads in solace. The patient's chest goes up one last time and then goes back down for its final breath; the man is officially dead, in mind, spirit, and now body.

I watch for a moment then turn and head back to the OR.

WEEK 4, DAY 7, IRAQ