The events of this story transpired on November 29, 2004 in the Northern Babil Province of Central Iraq. Half way through my platoon’s death deifying deployment, the outlook has become utterly sobering. An everyday occurrence in a war torn country is about to be played out upon us once again. These events seem unavoidable to all who patrol these areas. These all too common events occur in a split second and have no mercy upon its victims. Such an event forever torments and scars the conscious and unconscious minds of those that are fortunate enough to survive such a violent and deadly occurrence.

At approximately twenty hundred hours military time, four Light Armored Vehicles from Alpha and Charlie section of the Twenty Fourth Marine Expeditionary Unit are preparing for a nighttime combat patrol in the area known as the “Triangle of Death.” The lingering darkness of the moonless night robs us of any usable ambient light. The bitterness of the cold desert air pierces through my protective gear and finds its way into the inner depth ness of my body. The notorious stench of this country permeates into my nostrils. I nervously light a smoke and exhale heavily as we are briefed about the mission at hand. Our mission is to locate and close with the enemy by fire and maneuver resulting in the capture or death of insurgent fighters causing violence and unrest in the area.



While standing there my mind wanders to that of so many missed memories of being safe back in the United States. What I would only give to be back home this very moment I think to myself. “I hate this fuckin, miserable country” I blurt out loud. My anger, frustration, and misery became verbalized to all. Misery is the status quo for Infantry Marines. It becomes impossible to not hate life when constantly surrounded by the death and maiming that the violence of war creates. Standing there I wonder to myself if I will make it home alive or just be another statistic of war.

We mount up into our vehicles and complete our final checks before heading out into the darkness of uncertainty that surrounds us all. As usual, my crew and I known as "Blue Two" will be leading the patrol as the first vehicle. Out here it has become a nerve racking job that is envied by no one. I climb into the turret of my twenty eight thousand pound mass of cold hardened steel and place my Kevlar helmet upon my head. I take a long slow drag off of my cigarette and flick it to the ground watching the ambers erupt into an explosive design. Radio silence is suddenly broken. “Short count in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.” The starting of four different diesel engines breaks the silence of night. I radio in across the net with a cynical sense of uncertainty in my speech, “Blue Two is set.”

I snap my Night Vision Goggles on atop my helmet and give the order to my driver to take off. My world becomes submersed in a green haze while looking through the enhanced picture of my goggles. We turn on to a canal road and drive past a bridge that had been blown up by insurgent’s only days before. I recite to myself my favorite Bible verse. “Yea thou I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...” and smirk at the seemingly ironic similarities surrounding me as we enter into what I considered the pits of hell. It had become a town with so much daily bloodshed dripping freshly from upon its hands. I had become deathly afraid of this town. I keenly scanned my surroundings looking for anything suspicious or out of the norm.

In a single second my life’s pulse lingered in that very moment. It was all happening so quickly yet ironically so void of any definitiveness of time. No amount of words can accurately explain the events happening. The agonizing severity of pain intensely immersed my body to the point of paralysis. The taste of warm blood filled my mouth. I felt as though my lower body had been blown off. My vehicle had instantly been blown apart in a powerful and devastating explosion. “Fuck!” I uttered in a gasping voice fighting for life.

“We have to get out of the vehicle!” I said as best I could while just fighting to stay with it. I knew that the explosive ammunition inside the vehicle could start going off at any second, definitely killing us all. Just weeks before that very thing happened to some of our guys after they had gotten hit by a roadside bomb. They found the driver burnt alive with his hand on the hatch trying to get out of his vehicle. I did not want that to be our fate. We were Marines, we were not about to go down without a fight. It had become the fight for our lives.

Confusion and chaos are never far away in combat. But now it surrounded us for it had just become our reality. A complete feeling of hopelessness had overcome me, my legs would not move and I had no strength to get out. My gunner Tim pulled me out of my turret like an apparent angel sent from God in the middle of this horrendous event. I crawled on my stomach to the front of the vehicle to see if my driver was still alive, I could not tell. Heavy machinegun fire erupted and tore the horizon violently apart. I crawled as best I could to the side of the vehicle and fell six feet to the dirt laden ground just trying to escape the barrage of fire being laid down.

Tim crawled up to me as fast he could. He jumped on top of me to protect me of anymore violent wounds; unbeknownst to me he had been wounded too. He saw the agonizing look of hell in my eyes. “Corpsman! We need a fucking Corpsman, Bajema’s fucked up bad!” he yelled in a shrieking voice. Those are the words I never wanted to hear, especially in reference to myself. I knew things were bad, but I felt better knowing I was not alone in that moment. No one wants to die alone.



The pain was horrendous and unforgettably intense, more than I could have possibly ever imagined. I could feel the warmth of my blood squirting rapidly out of my legs with the passing of every second. The pain consumed me so intensely that I just slithered on the ground like a snake condemned to a life of everlasting hellish torment. I did not dare look down at my lower body to see what might be left of it. I had become deathly terrified of what I would see. It felt like my legs dangled there just held on by a thread of skin. I knew I was already in shock and losing it. I had to hang in there if I wanted to make it and me seeing that devastating destruction would not help anyone.

I could hear the yelling and dismounting of Marines rushing out of their vehicles towards the enemy positions. They began firing heavily into the palm groves trying to kill those fuckers that just blew my crew up. Whap! Doc slammed the shot of morphine into my ass. It did nothing for the intense pain. The tearing of medical bandages ensued while Doc tried to stop my rapid bleeding before I completely bled out. I pray out loud uttering the words as best I could “God help me, please Lord God save me, just let me live Lord, show mercy upon me Lord God.”

My fears are suddenly justified. “Sir, we got an Urgent Casualty!” Doc yells. “He’s got to go right fucking now sir!” I begin to wonder why nobody is telling me what had been really going on. Everyone is just telling me to “Hang in there man” and assuring me that “It’ll be alright Justin, it’ll be alright!” Those are the same kind of words that are told to guys in the same breath as in their last. It was not making me feel any better about my current condition. I just wanted to get the hell out of there, and quickly.

It seemed like time permanently stood still. All I could think about was the pain. I hear someone saying something about Doc’s medical bag being all used up with nothing left to use on us wounded. I continue to slither around on the ground in my tormenting hell of agonizing intense pain. I just wanted it to end right now and I did not even care if I lived anymore, anything to make it stop hurting. “I just want it to end” I cry out! My mind became consumed by the agonizing pain I felt. I could not handle it any more. It was just so violently intense, please make it stop.



I hear the voice of what seems to be my savior. “Standby!” Doc says with authority. “One, two, three and roll!” The voice commands. I am put on a stretcher and tied down securely to it. I hear the roaring sound of approaching of Humvee’s speeding to our position. “Load him in the back and let’s go, we can’t get a bird in here!” a voice yells out as I daze in and out of conscious reality. I would become one of the fortunate ones after all. I would be another statistic of war though, but I would live.

Days later in Bethesda National Naval Hospital, I fight boredom and loneliness, anger and rage. After eight surgeries and six more weeks of hospitalization, I find out that I will be lucky enough to keep my life and legs, something that was not a guarantee even in one of the best military hospitals in the world thousands of miles away from the fighting.


Please help us continue bringing you unfiltered stories straight from Iraq and Afghanistan. Click here to donate.

To arrange an interview with this veteran, contact media[at]iava.org.