[Congressional Record Volume 150, Number 96 (Tuesday, July 13, 2004)]
[Senate]
[Page S8023]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                        WHAT IRAQ IS REALLY LIKE

  Mr. HOLLINGS. Mr. President, as we go about our leisurely way, the 
majority of people back home think Iraq is a mistake. The Commanding 
General says we can't win, and Congress refuses to pay for the war. 
This generation not only has to fight the war, but this generation will 
have to pay for it, because my colleagues in the Senate want tax cuts 
so we can get the vote in November.
  I think we all need to sober up about the realities of what is 
happening to our young soldiers in Iraq. Joseph Galloway, of the Knight 
Ridder Newspapers, wrote a column that should be mandatory reading for 
all of us. It appeared recently in The State newspaper in Columbia, and 
I ask unanimous consent that it be printed in the Record.
  There being no objection, the material was ordered to be printed in 
the Record, as follows:

             [From the State (Columbia, SC), June 27, 2004]

                  From Iraq: ``What It's Really Like''

                        (By Joseph L. Galloway)

       The Internet, which fills our inboxes with spam and scams 
     every day and keeps our delete keys shiny, occasionally 
     delivers a real keeper, such as the words below, which were 
     written by a graduate of West Point, Class of 2003, who's now 
     at war in Iraq.
       We tracked down the author, who gave us permission to quote 
     from his letter so long as we didn't reveal his name. Old 
     soldiers in the Civil War coined a phrase for green troops 
     who survived their first taste of battle: ``He has seen the 
     elephant.'' This Army lieutenant sums up the combat 
     experience better than many a grizzled veteran:
       ``Well, I'm here in Iraq, and I've seen it, and done it. 
     I've seen everything you've ever seen in a war movie. I've 
     seen cowardice; I've seen heroism; I've seen fear; and I've 
     seen relief. I've seen blood and brains all over the back of 
     a vehicle, and I've seen men bleed to death surrounded by 
     their comrades. I've seen people throw up when it's all over, 
     and I've seen the same shell-shocked look in 35-year-old 
     experienced sergeants as in 19-year-old privates.
       ``I've heard the screams--Medic! Medic!' I've hauled dead 
     civilians out of cars, and I've looked down at my hands and 
     seen them covered in blood after putting some poor Iraqi 
     civilian in the wrong place at the wrong time into a 
     helicopter. I've seen kids with gunshot wounds, and I've seen 
     kids who've tried to kill me.
       ``I've seen men tell lies to save lives: What happened to 
     Sergeant A.? The reply: C'mon man, he's all right--he's 
     wondering if you'll be OK--he said y'all will have a beer 
     together when you get to Germany. SFC A. was lying 15 feet 
     away on the other side of the bunker with two medics over him 
     desperately trying to get either a pulse or a breath. The man 
     who asked after SFC A. was himself bleeding from two gut 
     wounds and rasping as he tried to talk with a collapsed lung. 
     One of them made it; one did not.
       ``I've run for cover as fast as I've ever run--I'll hear 
     the bass percussion thump of mortar rounds and rockets 
     exploding as long as I live. I've heard the shrapnel as it 
     shredded through the trailers my men live in and over my 
     head. I've stood, gasping for breath, as I helped drag into a 
     bunker a man so pale and badly bloodied I didn't even 
     recognize him as a soldier I've known for months. I've run 
     across open ground to find my soldiers and make sure I had 
     everyone.
       ``I've raided houses, and shot off locks and broken in 
     windows. I've grabbed prisoners and guarded them. I've looked 
     into the faces of men who would have killed me if I'd driven 
     past their IED (improvised explosive device) an hour later. 
     I've looked at men who've killed two people I knew, and saw 
     fear.
       ``I've seen that, sadly, that men who try to kill other men 
     aren't monsters, and most of them aren't even brave--they 
     aren't defiant to the last--they're ordinary people. Men are 
     men, and that's it. I've prayed for a man to make a move 
     toward the wire, so I could flip my weapon off safe and put 
     two rounds in his chest--if I could beat my platoon 
     sergeant's shotgun to the punch. I've been wanted dead, and 
     I've wanted to kill.
       ``I've sworn at the radio when I heard one of my 
     classmate's platoon sergeants call over the radio: Contact! 
     Contact! IED, small arms, mortars! One KIA, three WIA!' Then 
     a burst of staccato gunfire and a frantic cry: Red 1, where 
     are you? Where are you?' as we raced to the scene . . . 
     knowing full well we were too late for at least one of our 
     comrades.
       ``I've seen a man without the back of his head and still 
     done what I've been trained to do--medic!' I've cleaned up 
     blood and brains so my soldiers wouldn't see it--taken 
     pictures to document the scene, like I'm in some sort of 
     bizarre cop show on TV.
       ``I've heard gunfire and hit the ground, heard it and 
     closed my Humvee door, and heard it and just looked and 
     figured it was too far off to worry about. I've seen men 
     stacked up outside a house, ready to enter--some as scared as 
     they could be, and some as calm as if they were picking up 
     lunch from McDonald's. I've laughed at dead men, and watched 
     a sergeant on the ground, laughing so hard he was crying, 
     because my boots were stuck in a muddy field, all the while 
     an Iraqi corpse was not five feet from him.
       ``I've heard men worry about civilians, and I've heard men 
     shrug and sum up their viewpoint in two words--`F - - - 'em.' 
     I've seen people shoot when they shouldn't have, and I've 
     seen my soldiers take an extra second or two, think about it, 
     and spare somebody's life.
       ``I've bought drinks from Iraqis while new units watched in 
     wonder from their trucks, pointing weapons in every 
     direction, including the Iraqis my men were buying a Pepsi 
     from. I've patrolled roads for eight hours at a time that 
     combat support units spend days preparing to travel 10 miles 
     on. I've laughed as other units sit terrified in traffic, 
     fingers nervously on triggers, while my soldiers and I deftly 
     whip around, drive on the wrong side of the road, and wave to 
     Iraqis as we pass. I can recognize a Sadiqqi (Arabic for 
     friend) from a Haji (Arabic word for someone who has made the 
     pilgrimage to Mecca, but our word for a bad guy); I know who 
     to point my weapons at, and who to let pass.
       ``I've come in from my third 18-hour patrol in as many days 
     with a full beard and stared at a major in a pressed uniform 
     who hasn't left the wire since we've been here, daring him to 
     tell me to shave. He looked at me, looked at the dust and 
     sweat and dirt on my uniform, and went back to typing at his 
     computer.
       ``I've stood with my men in the mess hall, surrounded by 
     people whose idea of a bad day in Iraq is a six-hour shift 
     manning a radio, and watched them give us a wide berth as we 
     swagger in, dirty, smelly, tired, but sure in our knowledge 
     that we pull the triggers, and we do what the Army does, and 
     they, with their clean uniforms and weapons that have never 
     fired, support us.
       ``I've given a kid water and Gatorade and made a friend for 
     life. I've let them look through my sunglasses--no one wears 
     them in this country but us--and watched them pretend to be 
     an American soldier--a swaggering invincible machine, secure 
     behind his sunglasses, only because the Iraqis can't see the 
     fear in his eyes.
       ``I've said it a thousand times--`God, I hate this 
     country.' I've heard it a million times more--`This place 
     sucks.' In quieter moments, I've heard more profound things: 
     `Sir, this is a thousand times worse than I ever thought it 
     would be.' Or, `My wife and Sgt. B's wife were good friends--
     I hope she's taking it well.'
       ``They say they're scared, and say they won't do this or 
     that, but when it comes time to do it they can't let their 
     buddies down, can't let their friends go outside the wire 
     without them, because they know it isn't right for the team 
     to go into the ballgame at any less than 100 percent.
       ``That's combat, I guess, and there's no way you can be 
     ready for it. It just is what it is, and everybody's 
     experience is different. Just thought you might want to know 
     what it's really like.''

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