Just a typical night on duty in Baghdad, Iraq.
Sucking Chest Wounds, Suck

I found myself standing in the frosty cold, pacing the length of an olive drab, canvas tent. The nights have just begun to get colder and I hadn't thought to bring warmer clothing, "snivel gear". Pacing to and fro in the cold, my shoulders and neck beginning to feel stiff, I will my mind to be blank.
I am here to guard the Washington Redskins Cheerleaders. Cheerleaders. I'm here
to guard
Cheerleaders.
In a combat zone, as a Military Police Soldier, in the United States Army, and my mission is to guard Cheerleaders.

I pace my self-appointed loop, periodically peeking inside the tent-flap, making sure no errant soldiers have wandered inside. There are a handful of MPs from the unit here, each of us guarding a different area. Slowly, soldiers and civilians begin arriving for the outdoor show, and fill the bleachers and open areas. A few MPs stand between the crowd and the stage.

The cheerleaders arrive, looking and acting exactly how you would expect cheerleaders to look and act. I become increasingly angry, increasingly wrapped up in my thoughts.
The cheerleaders begin to perform. In between the provocative dance routines, the cheerleaders give personal, patriotic, stirring and completely contrived speeches to the crowd.

The MC who accompanies the cheerleaders is openly homosexual, and jokingly flirts with the male soldiers in the crowd. He gives short, impromptu stand-up routines which are absolutely hilarious, but I find myself annoyed with when I realize that if the soldiers in the crowd made the same jokes, they would probably find themselves facing an Equal Opportunity investigation, or worse.

In all fairness, I do not want to be entertained.

After the show, the cheerleaders conduct a meet & greet, and sign autographs. I've been on duty for well over 15 hours, and I park myself in a folding chair near the end of the autograph table.
I lean back and watch the cheerleaders interact with the soldiers they have come to Iraq to entertain. Most of the chit chat is heavy in sexual overtones, and if it weren't for the amount of money they make, I would have felt bad for the cheerleaders. I couldn't help but feel that they were selling their dignity.

Finally, all the soldiers have been through and gotten their autographs, and I stand outside the tent flap, ensuring no one enters while the cheerleaders change out of their stage outfits and into warmer garb.

I chat with SPC Street; she and I agree that guarding cheerleaders is a shit detail, and joke about bringing Chip'n'Dale dancers on a USO tour, in the spirit of fairness.
I don't mention that it's not so much guarding female cheerleaders that’s eating at me, it's the entirety of my day.

I look at a wall only 100 meters away, and know that only an hour ago, on the other side of that wall, I watched someone bleed to death.

Earlier in the evening, I’d been typing traffic tickets into COPS, when everyone started commenting on the sounds of a firefight over on the South wall of Victory. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence, but at one point it sounded extremely close, as in, the fight was INSIDE the wall. At about the same time Antonetti and Climer came ducking inside saying they'd heard rounds ricocheting over their heads while they were standing outside the PMO (fancy term for police station.)

The RTO (Radio/Telephone Operator) starts calling me on the radio. I had my radio off, but was just down the hall from him, so I hollered "What!" down the hall. I never get a response, but a second later here he comes running down the hall telling me I needed to get over to the Victory Gym, because someone was hit by one of the stray rounds. I'd just gotten my dinner, so I jokingly tell SPC Orr to enjoy my chow, and haul ass out to the parking lot, calling another MP on the radio to see if he was close enough to respond and render medical aid.

He was not, but SPC Davis overheard me make the call, and she whipped around in the parking lot and pulled out just in front of me. I rode her bumper the whole way in, since she had working lights and siren, and I didn't (my shit was always broke, the whole fucking year.)
I throw my rig in park and kill the engine.

Several people were yelling for medics. The mortar bunkers are crammed full with people, and I realize that there is still a risk of more stray rounds. To emphasize the point, the occasional crack and pop of rounds overhead can be heard. In hindsight, I should have been terrified.
There was a large puddle of blood on the ground, and as I rounded the barrier, there was an even larger puddle. My eyes for moment are glued to the blood, and I follow the trail of blood, streaked, all the way to the victim. Several people are crowded around the prone, shirtless soldier, working furiously, attempting to save a life that was obviously not going to be saved.

We radio and tell the desk that medical needs to hurry up. Their facility is only 5 minutes away. They still aren't there.

Three-quarters of this guy’s blood is on the ground, not doing him much good. A fist-sized hole has been punched through this guy’s chest. And medical is taking their sweet f**king time getting there.

There's really nothing I can do. The only thing left is to control the crowd, and try to clear as many people from the scene as I can. Davis identifies the Sergeant of the Guard and begins interviewing him, while I do my best to disperse anyone who doesn't need to be there- which is anyone who isn’t actively trying to plug the hole in the poor bastard lying on the ground.
Several soldiers ask me if the gym is going to be reopened; incredulous, I tell them I doubt it, at least not for a couple of hours.

30 minutes go by, and finally, medical arrives and the soldier is loaded onto a gurney for transport. Feeling like I can finally take a few deep breaths (crisis is over, right?) someone asks if I am an MP. “Do I look like an MP?”

"Oh good, I can give this to you, then."
I stick out my hand, and he drops a warm, bloody rifle round into my hand.

Competing thoughts, "Shit, I should be wearing gloves, it's bloody." "Shit, this is evidence" "Holy f**k that is a big a** f**king round".
Flesh clings to a grove down the side of the round.

I look around, and spot a discarded bandage wrapper, and drop the round in it. I look at my hand, now stained with the victim's blood.

"I should feel more than this. This should bother me. Why doesn't this bother me. What do I do now? Check on SPC Davis. I should check on Davis."
She is finishing up her interview with the Sergeant of the Guard.

Representatives from KBR, who run the gym, arrive. They instruct the HAZMAT team to clean the area, and tell us to tear down our crime scene tape. They are going to reopen the gym.
Inside my head, I am screaming. I want to shake these people, grab their collars and shake them, beat my fists on their chests, yell. "What the hell is wrong with you? Don't you realize someone just died! And you're reopening the g-ddamned GYM!"

It seems so cold, so callous. Someone's life just ended, and we just wash off the blood and pretend nothing happened. Hop back on your treadmills folks, shows over.
Some child will never see his father again, but g-d f**king forbid we shut down the gym for a night.

Our Patrol Supervisor tells us to get going, because we have to go guard the Cheerleaders.


In Memory of SFC John J. Tobiason
KIA 28 November, 2007
Baghdad, Iraq

That's horrible. War sucks.

I clicked on your blog one day thinking I'd get to see pictures of Danke and that story was on the front page. I remember thinking about it all day and wondering what my younger brother is experiencing in Afghanistan.

I could never do what you guys do. I don't have the gumption. Anyway thanks for your service.... even though I live in a different country...

I served alongside Canadian soldiers, as well.
They served every bit as much with honor and distinction as any American soldier.

Don't forget to be proud of your own military.

Oh yes! Always.

I just can't read/listen to any news stories (because up here, the media announces that soldiers were killed BEFORE the families are notified....) anyway... they are doing great work and helping the Afghan nation try to rebuild itself in spite of all the evil that goes on in their midst and at great personal risk. I'm proud that my nation and many others are giving selflessly to help these people.

The coalition of the willing.

It ain't a catch phrase.