
Everyone comes to a point in their life when they have to grow up. It is at this point that they realize that life is real, life is precious, and life is hard. In the early morning hours of March 13th, 2004, I had to grow up very fast. It was our first week in Tikrit, Iraq. My company, Bravo Company 1st of the 18th Infantry, had just taken over Saddam's palace as our new base of operations. We would be spending the next twelve months in the city patrolling the streets and trying to find insurgents. I was a young Private First Class at the time. I had only been in the army for about a year and a half, but had spent that time with the men of Bravo getting ready for our mission in Iraq.

Our company commander was a man named Captain John Kurth. He was a graduate of West Point, an Airborne Ranger, and a mirror image of a G.I. Joe action figure. He put us through Ranger training, preparing us and getting us ready for the war, and we were going to do everything we could to make him proud. We were a confident group of young men. We had forged the strong bonds with each other that only brothers in arms can make. We loved each other just as if we had all come from the same mother. We knew it would not be an easy year, but we were determined to do what was necessary to bring each other home alive in the end. I knew that death was possible, but as every young man who thinks he is invincible, it never crossed my mind that something could actually happen to me or to one of my brothers in my unit. In our eyes, we were the best. We would show the insurgents of Tikrit what it meant to fight a United States Army Infantryman. We were ready to bring them a fight that they would never forget. We were ready for our mission, but nothing would prepare us for the events that took place on our first weekend in the God forsaken city of Tikrit, Iraq.

Zero hundred hours on the thirteenth of March, I put my Ranger Handbook down, and laid down on my cot, exhausted from a long day out in sector. We had spent the day patrolling the streets, searching for roadside bombs and setting up traffic stops for random searches of cars. I started to take off my boots, when my platoon sergeant, Sergeant First Class Jerry Almario, came in and told me to keep my boots on and stay ready. He and I had become good friends during our training and he had taken me under his wing as his personal machine gunner because of the bond we had made. Wherever he went, I followed. One did not go on a mission without the other. Our mission this night was to be a “Quick Reaction Force” for our sister platoon out in sector. We were going to be on standby all night in case something went wrong with 3rd Platoon's night patrol. We were allowed to go to sleep, but had to stay dressed and ready to go at a moment's notice if the patrol got into trouble. I put my knee pads back on and laid down covering my eyes with a blanket. It seemed like only minutes had passed when my platoon sergeant came running into my room again screaming to wake up; 3rd platoon was under attack. I looked at my watch, it was four a.m. I rolled out of my bed, put on my helmet and vest, and grabbed my machine gun. I was out the door and in the truck within seconds. We hit the road with such speed I barely had time to load my gun. “So what's going on, 3rd can't handle a little gunfire without calling on 2nd for help?” I laughed as I asked my platoon sergeant. He turned around and looked at me with an intensity in his eyes that I had never seen. “Black six is down,” He said. Black six was the code name for Captain Kurth, our leader and one of my platoon sergeant's closest friends. I felt a lump in my throat and began to feel sick to my stomach.

3rd platoon's mission was to drive around all night and enforce the curfew the city had overnight. No one was allowed outdoors besides U.S. forces between the hours of 11 p.m. and 6 a.m. At approximately 3:45 a.m. the patrol was hit by a roadside bomb. The bomb ripped into the second truck of the convoy. The trucks we used back then for patrol had no doors and no roofs. CPT Kurth was sitting in the front passenger seat of the second truck. He and the team leader sitting behind him (Specialist Jason Ford) took the direct blow from the bomb. The bomb disabled the vehicle and was the perfect distraction for the complex attack that the insurgents had planned. Ten to fifteen insurgents positioned themselves on the rooftops and in the top floor windows of the surrounding buildings and began to rain bullets down on top of the convoy.
By the time our Quick Reaction Force arrived on the scene the fight was over. 3rd Platoon suffered mass casualties. All four men in the commander's vehicle were not moving. Captain Kurth and Ford's bodies were torn to shreds. The gunner in the back of the truck had been blown about 20 yards away from the vehicle and the driver had blood coming out of his right ear. The medics on the scene did everything they could for Jason and Captain Kurth, but they succumbed to their wounds and died shortly afterwards.

The loss of our company commander and one of our most experienced team leaders would become one of the most devastating experiences of my life. From that moment on, I started to feel very vulnerable about my life. We thought we had prepared for everything Iraq could bring to us, but nothing could have prepared us for this. I did not know how to react to my friends dying such a horrible death. I was not prepared for the river of my brother's blood that flowed down the streets of Tikrit. I cried with my brothers that day. We wept for their families. Captain Kurth's son stuck out in our minds as we sat there and cried together. We thought about Ford's mother and father who did not get a chance to see their son that year for Christmas because he did not have the money to fly home from Germany on leave. We cried in anguish for the loss of our friends.

For the first time in my life I realized that I was not invincible. We all convinced ourselves that we would not make it through the next year in Iraq. I thought of all the terrible things I had done in my life and knew that God would make me answer for those things sooner rather than later. Instead of turning to Him for guidance, we accepted our fate and began to do things that we thought we would never do. We began to take more risks out in sector. When we saw a box on the side of the road and could not figure out if it was a roadside bomb or not, we would just walk right up to it and kick it aside as hard as we could, not caring what happened to us. When we got into firefights, we would stand out in the middle of the street, refusing to take cover, daring the enemy to make us meet our Maker, to let us die like our friends on that cold March morning. But it never happened. We survived. I made it back from my first tour on February 7th 2005 and realized for the first time how much God was with me the whole time I was over there. I got back to the states and re-devoted my life to Him.

In October of 2006 I went back to Iraq for a second tour of duty. I was a sergeant, a team leader of my own fire team. This time I went with a different attitude, but used the same old tactics. I knew with all of my heart that I was going to be okay. Even if I were to die or lose a limb I would trust in God and know that everything was going to be alright. I knew where I was going if I died, so again, I took the risks out in sector. But this time I took risks for a different reason. When a dangerous mission came up and it was between me going and one of my soldiers, I would volunteer for the mission. I did not want one of my friends who had not accepted God's grace to risk their lives. I shared my faith with those who would listen. Once again, I found myself not taking cover in the middle of firefights; some people thought I was crazy, others thought I was brave, yet others realized it was my faith in God and knowing where I was headed when I died that compelled me to draw the fire away from the brothers I loved. They saw my faith in action. They knew of the church back home praying for us, asking God to keep us safe. And again, after another 15 months, no one from my platoon was seriously wounded or killed. Our battalion took heavy losses, but God looked after my platoon; the brothers that I loved and prayed for and ministered to every day.

Every day that goes by, I think of all the brothers I lost in the war. Since the beginning of the war on March 20th 2003 there has been 4,245 confirmed American casualties in Iraq to date (“iCasualties: Iraq Coalition Casualty Count”). Six of those were personal friends of mine that I served with. The significance of March 13, 2004 was huge in my life. It was a day that started my life on a long journey of self-discovery and faith. I think about the transformation that took place in my life from John Kurth and Jason Ford's deaths. The book of James says: “Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” (James 1: 2-4) I have faced many trials and many hardships in my life, but I have come out of it with maturity and a stronger faith and love for God. I often wonder and sometimes fear what God has planned for me in this life. I humbly believe He is preparing me for something special, I just hope I can take the experiences that He has given me and use them for the good of His kingdom. I hope to demonstrate the same kind of courage in my life for God that Captain Kurth and SPC Jason Ford showed for their country.
***This was an essay for my Comm1 class at O.C. The assignment was to write a memoriar of a significant moment in our life. Let me know if you see any grammar mistakes, it's not due until next Tuesday***