The Chronicles of N8 Part VI - The return of the Storyteller

Well, here is the next installment of the Chronicles. I am sure some of you have forgotten about them, but I have not. It has been some time since my last post and I attribute that to my pressing desire to propel my fat ass around the track and my attempts to reclaims some resemblance of the shape I was once in. Instead of sitting at a computer typing I have been running, plus work has stayed busier than usual so I apologize for the delay in Chronicles. As voted for by you this story will entail how I almost went home in a box less than 24 hours in country, received my Combat Infantryman badge, and why I should have shot an unarmed Iraqi midget.

I rolled into Baghdad in March of 2004 and occupied a Forward Operations Base known as FOB Melody on the east side of the city and relieved an element of the 3rd ID. This FOB bordered up against Sadr City and was the remains of the Iraq College of Foreign language. We posted up in the FOB and started doing right seat/left seat ride-alongs with the 3rd ID guys to get a feel for the neighborhood, routes, hot spots, etc, etc…. The 3rd ID Company we relieved was a mechanized Infantry company and had Bradley Infantry Fighting vehicles. They also had a platoon of M1 Abrams tanks assigned to them. In a combat zone the only thing more comforting than your Fi-Fi is to have a 60 ton house-sized mass of “Fuck You” covering your back.


Pics of tank


Pics of Bradley


Iraqi College of Foreign Language

I had been in my assigned combat zone less than 24 hours when Kyle, (a fellow Lieutenant) and I were both down in the staging area by the main gate getting ready for our first mission. This area is where the tanks and bradleys would form up before rolling out, and it also served as our prisoner holding area.


Pic of tanks in staging area at FOB Melody


Pic of prisoners in holding area in front of where tanks staged

Kyle and I were standing to the right and in front of the tanks planning for the upcoming mission. The tank crews were working on their tanks behind us getting ready, and one of the crew members was throwing road wheels off the tank onto the ground. Road wheels are the steel and rubber wheels inside of the tracks on the tanks and weigh about 80lbs apiece. Tankers usually carry spare road wheels and track for quick repairs as these parts are the most common ones to crap out on you at the most inopportune time. As Kyle and I were trying to talk the low, gut shaking rumble of the tank engines was drowning out the conversation, but I could hear the sound of the road wheels smacking the ground as they were thrown down. As I got into the planning of my first upcoming mission I forgot all about the tanker throwing down road wheels.

Anxiety was running high, and it is difficult to put into words the gut wrenching fear, excitement, trepidation, and scrotum tightening exhilaration one feels the first time they get ready to look death in the eye and lead men into combat. Thoughts of your family, your men, their families all race through your mind as you ponder the equation before you, frantically working out all the variables, deciding which one will mitigate the risks, and then praying you were smart enough to pick the right one so all your boys can come home. Sometimes the shit sandwich you are forced to eat is a null sum equation that you can’t solve and you know not everyone is coming back. The feelings you have once you recognize you are facing an unsolvable equation is the worst aspect associated with war. Not the death, the pain, the suffering, nor the innocents caught in the middle. It is the absolute realization that you are going to have to order men you love and care for to their deaths, and there is not a fucking thing you can do to prevent it. It rips your guts out, breaks your heart, and will drive you mad because we were raised in a culture where there’s always a solution. In American culture the hero always figures it out in a nick of time, the good guys win, and the guy always gets the girl. Example: Classic Science Fiction is based on man vs. an antagonist (aliens, hostile environment, the elements, etc.) and man always wins thru shear will, determination, and smarts. That naivety is stripped away the first time war rears back and kicks you one squarely in the coin purse by presenting a situation with no good solution.

*Edit; I digress from the story. It is hard to write these because as I write memories come exploding from the past, and I find I ramble and get off on tangents as I write this for you. I came back and deleted about 3 pages of text to keep the story on track and not drag you down into a deep, dark corner of my mind. One of the future installments I will tell you the story of the null-sum equation that was Saba Al-Boor and the dread and feelings that I will carry with me till the day I pass from this earth.*

As I was standing at the front right of the tank with Kyle I heard a loud “WHOMP” and felt the ground shake right behind me. I turned around to cuss out the fucking tanker that was throwing down road wheels and lay into him for almost hitting me with a road wheel. He wasn’t there; in fact there was no one there. Then a hissing sound drew my attention to the ground. There in the dirt about 3 feet from me was a Goddamn 82mm mortar round sticking up out of the dirt. The nose was buried in about 6 inches and the tail fin had snapped off from the impact. The round was hissing, (from the heat I suppose) and a wispy smoke stream was coming up off the broken end. Shit! It was a fucking dud mortar round and had it been live I would have been killed instantly. As Kyle and I stood there and stared at this dud for a second, we were trying to process what the fuck just happened when the next round impacted. This one landed on the other side of the tank and it rocked my fucking world. Thank God there was that 60 ton beast sitting between me and that round that absorbed all of the shrapnel and most of the concussive blast. An 82 mm mortar doesn’t sound like much until you are on the receiving end of one, and the mortars in BF3 and Black Ops do not do them justice. In real life the 82mm has a blast radius of 35-40 meters with a kill radius of 10 meters and will ruin your day in a hurry. Kyle and I started hauling ass to the nearest bunker as the third round impacted, but it was outside of the fence and landed on a house. As it turns out there was only three rounds fired at us and it became a daily occurrence, usually around noon. The MO of the insurgent who was mortaring us was to drive up nearby in a car, pull a mortar out of the trunk, launch three, and then drive away. He became a real pain in my ass for a couple of months until I got so sick of his shit I decided to put an end to his shenanigans. In a future issue I will tell the story about how I laid a baited ambush for him, blew up the wrong car, and still managed to put this miserable SOB into the ground.

After catching my breath and realizing I had survived my first brush with death without shitting my pants we waited for the all clear. Then Kyle and I, (like the dumbass noobs we were) went back to look at the dud round. As we were peeking around the side of one of the tanks to look at it Kyle was in front of me and I was leaning over him trying to get a look at it. I had the bright idea to give him a little shove which pushed him out into the open towards the round. Fuck, was he mad, as he came scurrying back, but we both then started laughing so fucking hard we almost pissed ourselves. I have touched on this before in other articles about how soldiers have morbid senses of humor and how they find the humor in any situation as a protective mechanism in an effort to cope. Firefighters, cops, and anyone else who deals with death can relate. We find humor in deep, dark, perverted ways that would never be funny to someone in a “normal” situation and yet to use in a bad situation it is the funniest thing we have ever heard or seen. We then reported the dud to the TOC (tactical operations center) and they had EOD come over and blow it in place. I know for certain that I had a guardian angel with me that day and that I owe her big time because I broke her wings more than once on that deployment.

Ahhhhh, the story of the Iraqi midget and why I should have shot that little fucker right in the face, hooked him to the back of my Hummvee and drug his stubby little body around Baghdad. A couple of months after my “Welcome to Baghdad” mortar round my platoon pulled a mission to escort the Brigade Combat Surgical Hospital from Baghdad to Camp Tajii about 10 miles north of Baghdad. The only time a CSH is moved is when a big fight is going down and heavy casualties are expected. I mentioned the mission earlier and the Brigade CSH was assigned to support my battalion for that shit sandwich of Saba Al-boor. (That story is coming later if I ever am able to write about it. Just so you know I didn’t sleep last night just because writing about it yesterday got me all wound up.)

I had 8 gunship Hummvees to protect 45 Heavy vehicles, semi-truck trailers, and an entire hospital of surgeons, nurses, technicians, and other associated ass and trash non fighting POG motherfuckers. Think trying to escort MASH thru Indian country with limited assets. They are soldiers and I am glad they are on my side because if I am hit I want them there patching me up, but they are not knuckle-dragging, meat-eating killers like my boys. I set up the convoy, brief everybody, disperse my gunships as much as possible thru the convoy, and we head out. I took lead with my vehicle to lead and clear the way. I can’t stand directing from the back, and any good leader worth a shit will lead from the front and be the first in and last out. As we worked our way north thru Baghdad we would push/ram cars out of the way, send warning shots to those that didn’t listen, and cleared a hole to get the convoy thru. You may think Baghdad is a shithole, and there are parts of it that are, but it has full interstates, stop lights, on ramps, off ramps and is a fully Westernized city. For you BF3 fanatics think Tehran Highway.


Pic of Baghdad Interstate



After heading north for a little bit we came to a choke point on the north end of the city where the interstate ends and HWY #1 (real original naming system for the roads over there by the way) starts back up. There is a traffic jam and what appears to be an automobile accident blocking the pathway. (Side note, they drive like shit in the Middle East, makes Boston traffic appear to be all church going grannies putting along at 35 mph. Inshallah or God wills it mentality is very strong in that culture. They believe if they die, God wills it and if they live, God wills it so they drive like fucking maniacs since either outcome is God’s will.)


Hwy #1

Then I see the strangest thing. There is a fucking midget standing in the middle of the road. An honest to God 3 foot tall Iraqi midget wearing a miniature man dress waving cars around the accident. He sees us coming and is frantically waving for me to go around to the right of the accident where the shoulder of the road is clear of cars. My spider sense started tingling and my gut was instantly screaming “It’s a trap!” My brain may have veto power over my dick, but my gut gets the right of way and I learned long ago not to question it. I immediately ordered my driver to swerve left over the medium and into the oncoming traffic. As we started to play chicken with oncoming cars going 65 mph I gave an immediate command of “Contact Right” over the net. By this time I was 50 meters past the “accident” in the oncoming lane and a tremendous explosion detonated to my right. The concussive blast bounced my head off of my FBCB2 system (CPU/GPS tracking system/radio banks) installed in command vehicles) and then back off the door. Holy shit, did my boys come unglued. I don’t remember much about the next minute because even though I was wearing my helmet I had my bell rung pretty damn hard bouncing around the inside of an up-armored M1114 Hummvee. By the time I got my senses back around me, we had most of the convoy thru the ambush site. I was getting calls on the radio from my platoon requesting permission to break off and engage while at the same time the hospital staff were clogging up the net with broken transmissions of Shit, Fuck, What do we do?. My men were chomping at the bit to be let off the leash and go fuck shit up. It’s what they did best. I had to tell the docs to shut the fuck up and then deny the platoon’s request because our primary mission was to escort the convoy and I couldn’t leave it unguarded. We got the convoy thru unscathed and into Tajii.


My vehicle, crew, and myself. My mini medic was the best damn combat medic you could have. I demanded that he had to fireman carry me while I was in my full battle rattle before I let him into my platoon. He's strong little fucker.

While debriefing the platoon at Tajii I realized I had just survived an IED. I know in my heart that by making a snap decision to veer into oncoming traffic I avoided an ambush which would have destroyed mine or another vehicle. By going to the other side of the highway I forced them to prematurely detonate their bomb because I bet they were waiting for one of the larger vehicles. Then I remembered that fucking midget and realized that he was in on the whole thing. I kicked myself for not getting the order over the net to my tail element to shoot that little bitch on site, but by the time I got my head unfucked and dealt with all issues facing me we were already down the road. I am sure that little fucker left as soon as he saw I wasn’t going to fall into his trap and I hope some other unit put him down for a long dirt nap. On the way back to our FOB we stopped at the ambush site and did a battle damage assessment. Based on the size of the crater it was believed to be three 155mm artillery shells wired together which is a big ass bomb. From that time on I was always on the lookout for a little Iraqi midget because I had a score to settle with him. I was awarded my Combat Infantryman’s badge for that engagement which is a big deal for Infantry soldiers and I am proud I have it, but I am prouder that I listened to my gut and kept one of my fellow soldiers alive.

Damn, I'm mentally and emotionally exhausted. Tag, back to you Wini. Sound off and let me know what you want to hear next. I teased a few stories, plus for the new guys the other Chronicles are in the wastebasket/archived forum. There were some other stories to tell so take a look, read it up, and vote for what you want to hear next. No, boobs is not an option in this poll. Sorry ya perverts.

part 1: https://over30clan.forumotion.com/t2916-the-chronicles-of-n8-par-i?highlight=Chronicles
part 2: https://over30clan.forumotion.com/t2929-the-chronicles-of-n8-part-ii?highlight=Chronicles
part 3: https://over30clan.forumotion.com/t2965-the-chronicles-of-n8-part-iii?highlight=Chronicles
part 4: https://over30clan.forumotion.com/t3398-the-chronicles-of-n8-part-iv-a-new-hope?highlight=Chronicles
part 5: https://over30clan.forumotion.com/t3510-the-chronicles-of-n8-part-v?highlight=Chronicles

Nate , you are f-n awesome.
Your stories and writing style are truly inspiring
If your ever in Florida the crown reserve is on me

Awesome stories N8. I've read every one, and look forward to any more you want to share.

I would like to hear how you hunted down that drive by morter douchebag

Awesome as usual nate...that's some badass shit. I sure appreciate you sharing with us and don't mind the side stories/thoughts...as a matter of fact I enjoy them as it gives us a greater insight as to what's really going on inside a man's head who has seen the hell of war.

Once again, thanks for your service bro!

ZombiePatton wrote:

I would like to hear how you hunted down that drive by morter douchebag

I second this thought...

Thank God or however u pray to for dud motar rounds and big ass tanks to use as shields. I myself learned along time ago to always listen to my gut about everything, people, situations, but especially emergencies. Ur gut and the little hairs on the back of ur neck are better at processing all the little details than ur brain is in times of high and dangerous stress, so when ur gut speaks u act. Point blank. Saved my life and many guys working under my life in serveral fires when I was a Capt and my capt saved my life listening to his gut on my second ever fire when I was a rookie. Listening to ur gut is one of the best things an old dog can teach a noob in any service (military, fire, police, ems). Glad u listened to ur's N8 cause we like having u around. And dammit u should killed that effing midget. Never met one I liked. I might be even more jumpy around em now. lmao

hoffy wrote:

ZombiePatton wrote:

I would like to hear how you hunted down that drive by morter douchebag

I second this thought...

I third it. And thanks for getting back on the keyboard. I really enjoy the Chronicles. Even though u keep trying to get me to rage quit the 30's u asshat.

Awesome Nathan...us pansies can't comprehend the emotional toll that shit must take on you.

Thanks for sharing Nathan!

Great post, thanks for sharing. I was literally sitting on edge reading it. Look forward to the next installment.

And for all the new guys, or just to reread:

Part 1: https://over30clan.forumotion.com/t2916-the-chronicles-of-n8-par-i

Part 2: https://over30clan.forumotion.com/t2929-the-chronicles-of-n8-part-ii

Part 3: https://over30clan.forumotion.com/t2965-the-chronicles-of-n8-part-iii

Part 4: https://over30clan.forumotion.com/t3398-the-chronicles-of-n8-part-iv-a-new-hope

Part 5: https://over30clan.forumotion.com/t3510-the-chronicles-of-n8-part-v

Oops, N8, saw you added it in there. Oh well.

Thanks for telling me about your life experiences. I enjoy the hell out of them and the way you tell them.

I now have to go home and read the other ones . Thanks for sharing your experiences with us .

Awsome story, a while ago I was thinking about your other storys and was wondering if there would be anymore.

Thanks for sharing

Wow N8, this is the first saga I read. Kudos man, respect and +1.

I'm probably not the first one to tell you that you are a really good writer. Even though English is not my native tongue, I read a lot and also in English. You are sharing your personal thoughts combined with heroic adventures, mentioning the we-are-only-human-after-all. I was dragged into your thoughts about the dark and gruesome side. But it's also somehow uplifting and you manage to put things into perspective. Not everything is black and white, I guess everybody keeps learning. But with this you teach us as well. And for that I thank you.

It always sounded like being overseas was the best and worst experience of your life. I mean like you have seen things you will never forget and a number of things you wish you could forget.

Being new here, I just read all installments of the Chronicles of N8. Thank you for everything you have done and gone through.

Thanks guys. I am glad that you are enjoying the Chronicles. Sometimes I consider it theraputic to write it down, and other times its not so theraputic. There is good and bad in everything in life and I just try to express what war was like (the good and the bad). There are many times I question whether the idea I am trying to write about is getting across to you, so I appreciate the comments guys.

Its tough to bear your soul and open up old wounds, but at the same time I laugh and laugh remember some of the sillier shit about war. Why the fuck anybody would do it on a public, internet forum built for man-children is a question I cannot answer. Maybe its the intamacy we have developed by playing together for over a year coupled with the annonymity of internet. Oh well, I'm off to go kill pixel people.

Nate your stories are the best content on the site.

The reason it is the best is that it is life and death and it is human. Mainly, it is genuine. With the heroic things you also give us a glimpse into how human you really are, which in turn I think makes you all the more heroic. You define what brave is not only because you did a dangerous thing and were scared but did it anyway, but because you tell us how scared you were, or at least try. How can i ever understand what it means to prepare for a car ride that could end up in me getting blown up? I can't no matter what you tell me, but I think you capture it by describing how complicated the thought process is.

Internet anonymity is like magic. Just sayin' We can saw and do things we never would in real because we never have to look them in the face. Ever. This is why internet assholes run rampant, but also why this place seems safer for some reason. We are all just lost in the internet tubes and the only thing that gives us away is an avatar that we can change on our profile page at a whim.

Thanks does not cover it, and honestly when you can't sleep at night I am not sure what the fuck 'thanks' does to help you then. I do wholeheartedly wish you peace.

I am almost sure I would have literally shit myself seeing that mortar landing so close and being a dud.