Personal Narrative-My First Stryker Brigade Combat Team

On March 10, 2010, at 13:30 a.m., 3rd Platoon, Company D, 1-22 Infantry Battalion, was conducting a convoy operation. The purpose of the operation was to transport equipment and selected Service Members to the battalion’s main Forward Operating Base. Twenty minutes into the convoy operation, Patrick’s unit was under attack by an enemy force equipped with automatic weapon systems. During this time, Patrick maintained his confidence and began returning firing toward the enemy force. As Patrick was returning fire from the vehicle that he was in, he was struck by one round from the enemy force. The medic that was attached to the convoy operation immediately tended to Patrick’s wounds and managed to get him to a medical facility,

Sergeant First Class Jackson was a very humble warrior. In his cubical, you would find American Flags, Daily Bread pamphlets from the chaplain, maintenance magazines and a candy dish which we all loved. He never boasted about his accomplishments, but you knew there was something special about this gentle giant. As he and I talked prior to him undergoing surgery, he told me that he was assigned to the 507th Maintenance Company during his assignment to Fort Bliss, Texas. This company stood out in my mind because it was the infamous Maintenance Company which Private Jessica Lynch was assigned to when she became a prisoner of war. Staff Sergeant Jackson was the responsible for the maintenance of the fleet of vehicles that were partaking in the in the convoy. The convoy departed Kuwait, led by the Company Commander, Captain Troy K. King, en route to Iraq on the first day of the war in 2003. When many of the vehicles had become bogged down by the sand (Michael Luo 2003), Staff Sergeant Jackson moved forward to execute his functions and keep the convoy moving. The convoy became disoriented and was immediately surrounded by the enemy in Nasiriyah, Iraq. Staff Sergeant Jackson immediately began to return fire to help defend the convoy and protect his fellow Soldiers (Jackson 2014). He continued to fire until he was wounded and unable to fire his weapon. During the fog of war, Staff Sergeant Jackson transitioned from firing his weapon to

My company was Delaware Company of the 1-501st Parachute Infantry Regiment 4 Brigade 25TH Infantry Division. If this particular outfit doesn’t rings any bells other than the rich history it does possess, I’m positive the name Bowe Bergdahl will. Now Bowe was in Comanche Company and we all basically know his story. This immediately led to our commander walking into our living quarters and informing us we had 20 minutes to pack our rucks we’ve got a DUSTWUN. That’s all we got, no mission time frame, nothing. We passed out two mortars each, every man carried his standard combat load, MRE’s for 2 days that were field stripped, whatever clothing we

After the leadership conducted map recon they decided to push to a ridgeline that would give us a 360 degree view of the area. To paint a better picture there were a series of three ridgelines that were running almost parallel roughly a thousand meters apart. The plan was to push us to the middle ridgeline and recon the area. Everyone in the Platoon dropped most of their equipment except for the guys carrying mortar rounds and equipment. We meet no resistance getting to the ridge but moved slower than planned because not everyone could drop all of their equipment. When myself and the rest of 3rd platoon arrived on top of the ridgeline we were not prepared for what was about to happen next. In the time it took us to regroup, make a plan, initiate movement, and arriving at our new location, the enemy was able to set up a complex ambush on our location. The firefight was initiated by a few guys on the ridgeline to the south opening up with small arms and rpg fire. Then platoon almost reacted simultaneously by jumping to the reverse slope of the ridgeline. The spot I slid down was a little steep and I slid roughly eight feet down. The enemy knew this would be our reaction and they had a firing squad ready for us on the ridgeline to the north. We’re trapped, they opened up fire and it was a mad scramble back to the top of the ridgeline. With my 60mm in one hand and my M4 in the other it was a bit of a struggle to get to the top. Luckily a friend of mine SPC Tomila was there at the top along with one of our Afghan counterparts with their arms extended reaching down for me. They grabbed my arms and started to pull me up, the earth below my feet started popping where machine gun rounds were impacting. This was single handedly the scariest moment of my life. I made it back to the top of the ridgeline and started low crawling backwards to the direction I’m getting

It’s June 5, 1944, the day before D-day. The 101st Airborne Division led by their vigorous lieutenant Alex Hodulik is deployed behind enemy lines and they are known as paratroopers. The soldiers mission was to anchor the corps southern flank and to destroy the 2nd defense of the German forces on the hazardous beach. The day before the mission was a go, I lieutenant Alex Hodulik, was informed by my commanding officer that we have a few replacements for those who have fallen in our division. Little did I know, my little brother had volunteered for the paratroopers. “The replacements just showed up,” yells sergeant Ryan, “there's my little brother.” I immediately ran to him and asked, “Why the hell did you join the paratroopers? You had

It was just another ordinary day; no one could have predicted it would turn out the way it did. We were assigned to our usual stretch of desolate open road, mostly calm and quiet; maybe a couple of vehicles would pass by per day. It was my duty to watch over the group on a nearby bridge. It was decided over a coin flip, as it did not involve anything more than sitting in the sun and basking for a couple of hours. It was a favored assignment amongst us; the rest of the group spent the day patrolling up and down the road and checking documents, you know, boring things. Time passes

We were at Fort Jackson or relaxing Jackson as some liked to call it but that nick name didn’t hold up to the meaning. There was nothing relaxing about this place. It was mid-January with blue skies, a slight wind, and the tempter sitting at seventy degrees. I was in the middle of in processing to my basic combat training (BCT) unit. I was with people from all over the United States, some who could barely speak English. We were all lined up in our fresh, unblemished uniforms ready to load the busses. My boots were as stiff as brick, rubbing my feet raw while my uniform rubbed my skin dry. We all picked up our bags and loaded up the busses.

The time came and in 2012 we deployed to Southern Afghanistan next to Helmand Provence. I was much more active outside the wire during this deployment and was often placed in either a gunner’s position or as a subject matter expert dealing with IED’s and UXO’s (Un-exploded ordnance). Consequently as the tour continued and we started to rack up the injury count my thoughts started to turn back to the Information world. I was beginning to tire of watching friends get wounded or emails asking if I had heard about so and so. Often I would hear about friends in other units becoming grievously wounded, or members of my own company being sent home with injuries. In particular my platoon was leaving a British FOB when we were hit by a car bomb. Consequently

It was a quiet week in the Sadr City and the surrounding area. And we were gearing up to support another Red/Orange hat operation (Special Ops Teams) to include the Seals in this operation. The operation was to secure and capture a building with Four High-Value Targets (HVI’s) from Iran to include a high ranking officer out of the Jaish Mahdi Army (JAM) that they were supposedly having a meeting in the Area of Operation (AO). We were given four hours of prep time after Warning ORDER was given to the platoon. The Company had been awaiting for this mission for about two weeks now. This time I was a Bradley Commander in the Platoon and we did not have much to get ready because we have our equipment and Bradley’s always ready and prepared

Flashes filled my mind as the memories of the war welled up in my head, creating a spinning pool of grief and survivor's guilt. I could not forget the faces of my companions crying out for help, hoping to be saved by someone, anyone.

Unscrewing the water bag cap, I fill my cupped hands with cool water; splash my face, and wash the soot and exhaustion from my eyes. I light up a cigarette as the platoon begin to move out slowly, single file, through the concertina wire circling the NDP. No one is saying anything. Not a word. No “Mornin’ Doc”. Nothing. Just a quiet, shuffling, single file of soldiers, eerily silent with only the sound of our boots moving against the thick, dew covered grass broken by the mechanical cadence of locking and loading our M16’s as we exit the perimeter wire. Each man with his own thoughts, but all wondering what we’ll find on the

On May 28th, 2016, I, FAM Travis Ringer, and FAM Joseph Drossos were assigned on mission status to DL 2330, from Detroit Metropolitan Airport (DTW) to San Francisco International Airport (SFO). At approximately 1615 EST, while flight DL 2330 was taxiing from gate A66, flight attendants called for medical assistance. The Captain announced the aircraft (767-300) was returning to the gate to meet medical personal. EMTs and Detroit Metropolitan Airport Police boarded and moved toward the rear of the aircraft, where PAX John ANTON was seated. Shortly thereafter FAM Drossos and I heard loud screaming and calls for police assistance. We exited our seats and began moving toward the area of the EMTs. FAM Drossos and I displayed our tactical badges

Man it was so hot i had to take my jacket and riding in the tanks and trucks really didn’t, but it is nothing compared to what we are facing right now being trapped behind a blow up vehicle. At one point during this North Africa raid we were pinned down by a sniper, i was one of my crew members get shot in the lungs then he did something really stupid he held up a piece of paper, i yelled to him to put it down before he dies or gets one of us killed then his best friend ran out to him that’s when i heard the sound of the Gewehr 98 then i saw the privates best friend get shot in the head i saw the red mist come from his head and then his body hit the ground and then Private David Purpel screamed for his friend then the sniper finished him off. That's when i decided to flank the sniper so i ran to where i might be able to see him but i still couldn’t see him then i looked down at my belt and felt around for a grenade i had one but we really couldn’t trust this type of grenade but i had to believe that it would work so i pulled the pin and then i used a my power i had left to throw it into where i thought the sniper was, then i heard the captain yell to the other “ there he is get him” that's when i heard thompsons to .30-.06 i heard the yells coming from the sniper it was the best sound

The sound of blaring alarms stirs me out of my sleep. The world is a blur of activity, with my coworkers rushing around amid the flashing red lights and the wailing alarms. I sleepily rub my eyes, causing everything to come into focus. I slide out of bed, put my boots on, and head to the control center, hoping to find out what’s on. As I get there, a soldier approaches me and breathlessly says, “Sir, we’ve just about pinned him down. He just sprung one of our traps. Agent X will be in custody by the end of day.” I allow myself a small smile. We first received the orders three years ago, after he performed one of the greatest acts of sabotage ever seen, almost completely crippling the entire military. When the orders had come in that day,

Morning brought with it heavy rain, the nail-like droplets pelleted against the rim of my helmet and gathered in a puddle between my feet where I sat. The rippling pool brought a sense of peacefulness to the harsh conditions the trenches brought. The rain muffled the sounds of stray gunfire and stomach-curdling screams, it helped to take my mind off of what were to come over the course of the next few days. The things Ive seen will never be forgotten, visions of people I considered brothers being torn apart by enemy fire only metres away from me ingrained into my mind, sights of explosions crippling those anywhere near them constantly relaying through my brain. I always thought fighting for my country would be my proudest moment but no level of patriotism could prepare even the strongest willed of men for the sadistic and unthinkable acts that take place here. Never in my life did I think I would kill a man, a changed person I was the day we stormed the beach. Sure it was only days ago but I will never forget that night, bullets hammering down from the steep cliffs, piercing the flesh and muscle of anyone that were to stand in its way. The adrenaline made things feel unreal, screams, gunshots, cries for help. I've never ran so fast in my life, conveying from one form of cover to the other with only hopes of making it out alive. It took 25 minutes to overcome the enemy's outpost but it felt like an eternity, scaling the rocky cliff preparing myself to put an end to the