Under The Gun
Infantryman, Medic, Tattoo Artist: My Year in Iraq
by
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" ... I would definitely agree with "raw" as descriptive for it. Refreshingly honest. Scary is also appropriate...my guys in the Navy were bad, but this is on another level." - Howie A., Lawyer
Today I got firsthand knowledge of what an IED could do to the human body. Our patrol started sometime around 0400. We headed south on Route C1 to the area where we had come under fire a few nights before. Our orders were to set up a Roach Motel in the area, questioning anyone breaking curfew. While moving down the road our lead vehicle noticed a recent blast hole in the route. The gunner also said that he saw what he thought were a couple of bodies on the side of the road. We did not stop. Big Red decided we would check the area after we were done with our Roach Motel.
Roach Motels were simple operations. The local farmers were out early on their way to the market. And what was Joe going to say to any of those guys just going out to do their jobs? The market was their livelihood. At daybreak, we loaded up and headed back north. A call from the lead vehicle said that there were two bodies at the blast site reported earlier. We immediately set up a perimeter and checked the area. I saw men but the reality was this: one and a half human bodies were on the side of the road. We suspected that they had been in the process of setting up an IED when it had accidentally detonated and killed them. I thanked God it happened to them and not us.
Both of the men had been dead for a few hours and rigor had already set in on their bodies. The closest man to the road had apparently been the man farthest from the blast, maybe standing behind the guy setting the bomb. Not only did the concussion slam his body but he was rippled with shrapnel holes. He might have lived for a little while after the blast because of the way he was clenching his hands, but there was no doubt that he hurt like hell on his way out of this world.
His face and legs were torn apart. One knee was completely blown out and bone marrow dripped from the wound. The man’s face was like that out of a Rob Zombie horror flick. It was burned from the blast, but the most haunting part of his face was his eyes. All we could see were his sockets, caked with dirt and filled with blood. There were no eyeballs. Panic and fear had signed their names on his soul before he died. His mouth was in the death scream position – pain was his epitaph.
The other man appeared to have had a much quicker but uglier death. He was definitely the one closest to the blast. Either the blast itself or some kind of shrapnel had taken his head off completely. There was no evidence left of the type of ordinance the guys had used, so we couldn’t tell what exactly had, in fact, decapitated him. All we knew was that the only thing left above his neck was the top of his scalp connected to his upper torso by a thin piece of skin. Both of his arms had been severed and were contorted in some vaudeville-type position as was one of his legs at the knee. He was a lump of mangled flesh. When we stood where his head was supposed to be we could look down at his body and see clearly into the cavity at his heart and lungs. Half of his nose and mustache that were ripped off in the blast were a few feet away as was some of his brain. The rest of his him was just a lump.
Both men had lived violently and had died even more violently, although I believe the decapitated one never knew what hit him. They were the epitome of the devil’s rejects. “So much for seeing heaven,” I thought as I looked over them. After securing the area and calling the ING, IP, and EOD we maintained distance to await their arrival. Traffic started coming our way from the north and south. When IP and ING did arrive, they each checked the bodies. EOD arrived last and did their business in establishing that there were no other bombs placed in the area.
When EOD had finished their bit, a few of us returned to the site to search the bodies for any evidence, identification, and/or weapons that had not been destroyed. We found money, wires, ink, and a pistol with a full magazine. There appeared to have been at least one other person involved because we found an AK magazine on the first man and a blood pool on a drive way 20 feet down the road but no AK-47. We assumed the third guy must have picked it up after the explosion and headed out as quickly as possible – wounded but alive to fight another day.
An ING searched the bodies last, and when he was through, he gathered up all the evidence that we had already photographed and logged and took it with him. I assisted the local ambulance driver in lo
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About the Book
Eighteen months away from Tennessee - four months in the hill country of Texas, a month in Death Valley, California, and another month in the heat of southern Mississippi - all before a year long tour-of-duty in the deserts of Iraq. First hand account of day to day patrols, down time, relationships, and tattooing with Tennessee's 278th Regimental Combat Team through the eyes of a medic who also served as an infantryman with a Bradley team, a military training advisor to the Iraqi Army, and tattoo artist for the men and women of the 278th.
About the Author
Malcolm Rios served with the 278th Regimental Combat Unit for two years, one year of which was served in Iraq. He has priviously served in the United States Navy. With over 10 years of combined military service, Rios is able to articulate the ups and downs of the common "Joe" in a combat environment, all the while, providing the reader with an idea of what the situation on the ground in Iraq was really like for some of those serving in National Guard units.
Rios received his undergraduate degree from Tennessee Technological University and his post-grad degree from the Assemblies of God Theological Seminary.