Baghdad Chronicles via Jeremy Norton

Today's post is in tribute to a very special fellow.  You know the type.  They carry heavy loads on their back.  They have to be en guarde with nearly every step they take, due to the extreme possibility of a wrong move costing them limb(s), life, or both.

They're the type who have the courage to sign on the line, agreeing to suffer hardship, and give all they've got, up to and including their lives, to protect you and me.

Knowing there is a high-probability they'll be sent far away, into strange lands with foreign tongues, and spend their days and nights at mortal risk, somehow they find the courage to sign on the line, giving themselves over to the control of our oh-so-incredible, United States government officials.

That being said, here's a tip.

The vast majority of them aren't doing it for the welfare of our illustrious, and pathetic government.

They're doing it for their children, for their parents, for brothers, for sisters, nieces, nephews, neighbors and communities.

The following are excerpts of a journal, written by an active duty soldier during deployment.  He has graciously given me permission to publish them here.

PFC Norton, Jeremy
1^st Platoon, Bandit Troop, 
 1^stSquadron,
 10^th Cavalry Regiment,
 4^th Infantry Division
United States Army

  

May 11, 2006 – Nov. 1, 2006

First Entry

The engine on the M114 HMMWV was humming as I dozed off in the drivers seat.  It was another hot, summer day in southern Baghdad.

We'd been sitting at the patrol base since before sunrise, waiting to pick up our sniper team from their OP, a klick away.  It was past noon.  The highlight of my day had been starting and stopping the HMMWV to keep the battery from dying.

I’d also been trying, unsuccessfully, to get some sleep in, all day.  And, just as I was finally drifting off to a land filled with good food and Dr. Pepper, I was awakened by a short whistle, followed by a BOOM!!

A mortar round had landed in the middle of the patrol base.  I jumped out of the Humvee and ran to the cement bunker behind it.  Just as I got there, another mortar fell on the engine block of the Humvee next to mine.  It didn’t explode, but put a nice sized hole through the motor.

The two soldiers who had been sitting in the Humvee weren’t injured, and were able to jump out and run to the bunker.  A final mortar exploded 50 feet away.  We all waited for a long while to see if more were coming.

Second Entry

I was riding in the back of a Humvee with PVT Conn.  Ortiz was driving.  Allen was gunning, and SGT Lewis was our TC.  We were on our way out, heading toward the bridge of death, to set up a temporary patrol base.

Suddenly, I heard an explosion in the distance and a giant cloud of smoke appeared off to my right.  We were soon notified that a 2^nd Platoon truck had hit an IED.  We headed as fast as possible to their location.

On our way I heard that one of the dismounts on the truck is PVT Nadasi.  Nadasi stood right next to me on the blue line during basic.

As we turned onto the same road in which 2^nd Platoon had encountered the IED, I heard a snapping sound above the Humvee.  I realized what was happening and yelled, “They’re shooting at us!!”

Allen was way ahead of me.  He started unloading with the 240B.  He went through his 200 round ammo can quickly.  I jumped out and laid down suppressive fire while he reloaded.

Somewhere in the chaos, the truck I was riding in died.  We ended up towing it to 2^nd Platoon’s position.  When we got there, I saw the destroyed Humvee, and couldn’t believe that everyone got out alive.  The turret and gunner were thrown 50 feet away.  PVT Nadasi came away with second and third degree burns on his face, and fractured vertebrae.  He would have been dead if it hadn’t been for PFC Bridges, who yanked him out of the burning vehicle, through a slot smaller than Nadasi was.

Third Entry

We’d been out at a temporary patrol base for three days, when finally we were able to pass it off to 2^nd Platoon.  I knew it was only for a couple of days, but I was looking forward to some much needed rest.  We lined up our trucks and rolled out, past the bridge of death.  I was riding in the same vehicle I’d ridden in before, and we were pulling rear security for our convoy. 

We'd made it about 150 meters away when we heard an explosion and saw a cloud of dust, four or five vehicles in front of us.  Our lead Humvee reported receiving small arms’ fire.  Soon we heard M2 .50 cal machine gun shots ripping through the air. 

There were no Iraqis in sight, but everyone unloaded their weapons.  50 cals, 240s, M16s, m4s, shotguns, 9 mils, M14s and m203 grenade launchers all opened up on anything that could be hiding a trigger-man.

Thankfully, everyone was okay after the IED blast.

Fourth Entry

After two days of rest, my platoon headed back out to our temporary base.  We all expected something to happen on our way there, so we cleared our route carefully.  We found one IED and called EOD to come and blow it up.  A few hours later we pulled into the patrol base.

The next morning we woke up early and began clearing to- and-through, Route Ambush.  I volunteered to be one of the four dismounts, walking and searching for wire, or anything that didn’t look right.

We made it all the way to our destination without incident.  We switched out dismounts and I headed to my truck to catch some AC and luke-warm water.  I was riding in the lead truck as we made our way back, still clearing every step of the way.  We made it all the way back to the front of the patrol base.

Everyone thought we were in the clear, when an explosion rocked the vehicle behind me.  I jumped out of the truck and saw the destroyed Humvee flipped completely over. 

We medi-vaced all four soldiers in the Humvee.  Three were sent back to the States.  The other, PVT Palmer, is a buddy of mine from basic.  When the IED blew up, he crawled out, weapon in hand, and began laying down suppressive fire with the rest of us, while the others were pulled from the wreckage.

I remembered seeing SPC Plimmer lying there, unconscious, with blood all over his face.  I thought he was dead.  Then, I heard PVT Martin screaming in pain.  SPC Ganzer, the gunner, whose knee was twice the size of his head, was asking if Plimmer was alright.

That was the first time I really, definitely, wanted to kill someone.

We placed all four of them on litters and carried them to the medivac site. Later that day, we took down the patrol base and headed home to FOB Falcon.

 Fifth Entry

Sweat was burning my eyes by midday, during the hottest month in Iraq.  I was walking on a dirt road, one hundred meters in front of our vehicle, scanning for command wire, det-cord, or anything else that looked wrong.  Thirty meters ahead of me was SSG Bayles, and our Platoon SGT, SFC Casey.  Staggered to my left, on the opposite side of the road, was PVT Conn, and behind us was SGT Lindshied.  There was thick vegetation and deep canals on both sides of the road, along with a few mud huts and run-down houses.

I’d been walking in the 130F degree heat for close to two hours when we finally closed in on the newly erected patrol base.  It was to be our home for the next week.
White Platoon (2^{nd Platoon}) had rolled in ahead of us and set it up.  They had reportedly cleared the road we travelled on, but it was decided it should be re-cleared, just to be on the safe side.
As we reached the point where we felt we were pretty much safe, Conn stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the road.  "WIRE!" he yelled, then pointed, and stepped away. 

On the other side of the road, I did the same thing.  But, as I stepped, BOOM!!

The IED exploded 10 feet away.  The ground shifted under my feet, and knocked me to my knees.  The air filled with dust as the dirt and pebbles began falling.

When my hearing came back, I realized our gun trucks had opened fire.  I heard the cracks of 7.62 AK rounds flying over my head.  I raised my weapon and fired six rounds over the canal to my left, and then started yelling and searching for PVT Conn, who had been standing right next to the IED.  

I called his name four or five times before I stumbled upon his weapon, lying at the side of the road.

Finally I heard him yell, “I’m down here!”

As the dust cleared, I made out the made out the figure of Conn, lying down in the canal.  He’d been peppered in the face by debris, and thrown into the ditch.  Thankfully, other than some temporary hearing loss, he was okay.

 Sixth Entry

I’d dismounted, and was walking in 120 F degree weather.  I had 50 pounds of gear in my hands, and another 40 pounds on my back, along with a mine detector and water.  We’d gone about 2K already, and had hit one of our three objectives.

The heat and weight had begun to take a toll.  My legs were feeling heavy, the sweat was pouring and burning my eyes.  I was second to the last in the formation with our terp (interpreter), a Somali named Santos, who was walking in front of me.  We were crossing an open field, on our way to recon a potential, future patrol base.

A sniper’s bullet zipped through the middle of our formation.  I saw the dirt kick up in front of me, and everyone hit the ground.  We laid down suppressive fire and moved out in threes, to the nearest cover and concealment.  A minute before I could barely keep walking, but suddenly I was sprinting.  I took comfort in the fact that our SAW gunner was unloading while we moved.

Less than 10 minutes later, Green Dragon, our friendly-neighborhood Apache pilots were on the scene.  There were two of them, and they scanned the area for our shooter and attempted to discourage anyone else from taking pot shots at us.

We moved on to our objective to find that the supposedly vacant house we were reconnoitering was actually occupied.  A poor dirt farmer, along with his wife and son, were living there.  They allowed us to rest in their courtyard.

One of the rounds from our suppressive fire had hit one of his sheep.  Santos helped the farmer slaughter the sheep, and later, we were then served Chai tea while we rested.  Afterwards we moved on with no further incidents.

Seventh Entry

September 11^th

While other soldiers at FOB Falcon were enjoying a nice 9/11 luncheon at the dining facility, my platoon was on a recon/civil affairs mission.  A civil affairs captain and his crew were with us.  They’d brought a trailer full of food, and other goodies, for the people of the JAB (Arab Jabor).  Before we began our civil affairs mission, we had three kilometers of dismounted patrol ahead of us.

Our first objective was to recon a previous patrol base, and the area around it.  As we crossed a canal, Lt. Rice (my platoon leader) spotted a wire in the road.  It was blue and white command-wire.  We traced it back 30 meters.  It was buried the whole way.  We called up EOD (Explosive Ordinance Disposal), set our outer cordon, and began the wait.

About 30 minutes later I heard six or seven pops in the distance, followed by BOOM!  BOOM!  BOOM!

Three mortars landed near us.  I suppose the others were duds.  A short time later we received small arms' fire.  It was sporadic.  The shooter probably took off right away.  We lit up the area anyway.

Another 30 minutes had passed when the EOD arrived.  It took them four attempts to blow the IED because of how deeply it had been buried.  When they were leaving, we started our walk back to the trucks.  On arrival, I pulled out an MRE and some cold water from our ice chest.  We sat with the trucks for a couple of hours while we waited for temp to cool off a little. 

A second set of dismounts began passing food out for our civil affairs mission.  I was sitting in the driver’s seat, waiting for them to return when I heard the distinct burst of 7.62 fire breaking out.  Then I heard a mixture of 5.56 and sporadic 7.62 shots.

We rushed the gun trucks to the scene and opened up with everything.  Finally, something came over the radio, and I heard we had two casualties.  The civil affairs captain and our interpreter, Amanda, had both been hit.  The medivac was called, and they were rushed to 10^th CASH, in the Green Zone.

I had no idea how badly they were injured.  I found out later that the Captain was hit in the arm, and our Terp in the calf.  Both were okay, and the captain was actually returned to duty a couple of days later.  We made it back to the FOB with no other incidents.

 Eighth Entry

We were on our way to our 5^th patrol base, moving at a slow crawl behind Iron Claw (Route Clearance Team), and a rotten feeling had been churning in my gut.  The location was the same as the previous patrol base, and we’d travelled to it twice in the last week and a half. 

Iron Claw turned onto Route Ambush and discovered a power line had fallen on the road, rendering it impassable.  We were forced to back track and go a different route.  We drove through fields whenever possible, to avoid IEDs in the roads.

As we closed in on the patrol base, we heard an explosion in front of us.  A Fires Platoon truck had been hit, sending four soldiers to the cash and rendered that route impassable too.  It was about that time that we (at least those in my truck) realized the insurgents were prepared for us.  We made our way down the only possible route left, dismounted and began clearing it.

We discovered a pressure plate directly in front of the gate to the Patrol Base, and a possible secondary at a choke-point 20 meters away.  I brought up the mine detector.  It confirmed the possible secondary was another IED.

As the dismounts got back to the truck, we took small arms' fire.  An Iraqi Army soldier, with us, took a round through his wrist.  We laid down suppressive fire and moved the vehicles back to a less vulnerable position. 

We watched over the IEDs, waiting overnight for the EOD.  The next morning we made it into the Patrol Base.  We took mortar fire twice the first day.  The next day we were informed the Commanding General was coming to see us.

When the General arrived, he chewed out our Troop Commander and Squadron Commander.  He told them that our missions' talk and purpose are "bullsh**.”

An Iraqi Army soldier had taken a bullet.  Four U.S. soldiers had received sever burns and broken bones.  One of those soldiers, SPC Spivey, would be sent home, but later die from his wounds a few months after the unit redeployed.

All that damage was incurred for what the General termed as "bullsh**."

We returned to FOB Falcon the next morning.

Ninth Entry

An eerie feeling came over me as we sat waiting for the Blackhawk to lift off.  It was an almost surreal environment, as if we were just waiting for a director to call “ACTION!”, so that we could all begin playing our parts.

But, this was no movie.  There were no actors.  There was no audience, and the closest thing to a director we had was the LT sitting beside me, monitoring the radio.

He yelled critical information into my ear.

“There are definitely people in the house at our objective!  Tell them!”  He motioned toward the back of the chopper, to the rest of the soldiers with us. 

I turned around, as far as my gear would allow, and repeated the information the LT had given me. 

PV2 Palmer was sitting behind me, facing the opposite direction.  “What?”   I repeat the information for him.  “What?”  he yelled again.

“PEOPLE!  IN HOUSE!  AT OBJECTIVE!” I yelled again, breaking it down for him.

Finally, I got an affirmative response that he’d heard me over the roar of the chopper.  “Okay!”

The bird lifted off, and we were on our way.  The doors were left open to make for a quick exit at the landing zone.  I stared out at the lights of southern Baghdad, anticipating small arms' fire, RPGs, or stinger missiles to hit us, but they never came.

The lights below had become few and far between when I heard the Blackhawk crew chief yell, “ONE MINUTE!”

I repeated it to Palmer, and prepared myself for the landing.  I flipped my night-vision goggles down over my eyes, then grabbed a bag with my left hand, and clutched my rifle with my right.

“THIRTY SECONDS!” 

As the chopper was landing, I was chanting in my head.  “Three steps and drop.  Three steps and drop.  Three steps and drop.”

“GO!  GO!  GO!”

I was the first one out, but my three steps and drop hand turned into one step, then a stumble, followed by a face-plant.

The LT does the same thing, and landed on top of me.  I suddenly remembered that I’d not seen a single flat field in all of Iraq, at least not in our areas of operation.  They’d all been cultivated, and resembled a fluctuating sound wave.

The choppers lifted off, leaving us there in the darkness.  I located SSG Carter, and PFC Watkins.  Together we made our way to our blocking position, on the south side of the target house.  The guy who lived there had been dubbed the “Sergeant Major” of the insurgents in the area.  We had nicknamed him, “Chuck.”

BOOM!

“GO!  GO!  GO!”

A flash and bang went off, as our Iraqi Army counterparts entered the house.  Ten minutes later a green flare went up signaling all was clear for searching.  The raid went smoothly, but unfortunately, “Chuck” wasn’t home.  Our search party talked to his family before moving away from the target house.  There was a suspected weapons cache in the area we had to investigate.  We made the search, but turned up nothing.  When it was completed, we returned to the FOB.

Jeremy Norton's first and second deployments were with the 4th Infantry Division, and the last was with the 1st Cavalry Division.  His job title was Cavalry Scout.

He was deployed three times from 2006 through 2011.

His current position is the Acting Platoon Sergeant for 1st Platoon, Shadow Troop, 171st Cavalry.

Thank you for your service, Mr. Norton.  May God continue to bless and keep you. 

Welcome home!

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