I’ve always believed people have three faces. Who they think they are, who people think they are, and who they really are. It takes a great deal of trust to let someone strip away the first two faces to find the real core of a person. It also requires a person to let down their defenses and be open to knowing themselves, scars and all.
From the day I met Chris I strove to really know him. He has a depth I was drawn to, but I’ve always been drawn to deep water regardless of the rip current. I think listening and knowing him is the key to helping him regain himself and find freedom from PTSD.
We’ve discussed his experiences in Iraq many times, but I approached him a short while ago about asking him some questions and writing a series of pieces about his time in theater. While I was writing a fictional novel based on PTSD and him, we discussed Iraq thoroughly, but this was different. This was asking for him to open himself up to strangers. I felt it would offer a little insight to those searching for it. I wanted to paint a personal picture about his life in combat, but more I wanted to show what a civilian – me – draws out as important details.
I told him we would do it interview style and stop when he needed to. I also told him we could end the series whenever he wanted. Chris agreed reluctantly and I am infinitely honored he would trust me to share his story.
This is the first interview. It’s rough, but it’s real.
Did you have that puffy chest I’ve seen on so many of the other guys who haven’t been there yet?
Yeah, I had that. Of course. I was going to use my training.
When did it sink in?
As it got closer to me leaving it got realer and realer. But when the door shut on that plane, that’s when the possibility of this being a one-way trip hit me. That was a sinking f—king feeling.
I bet it was. So that plane took you to Iraq?
No, no, we went to Kuwait first. We lived in tent city for a while ramping up to go. It felt almost like when we were in training. Decent food, movie tent. They tried to make it comfortable. In the sh-t you had to do that for yourself.
They took us to the airport on a big air-conditioned bus with a TV playing a local station. Soap opera.
Chris imitates the language and makes a dramatic gesture. I’m glad I don’t watch soaps. He’d probably laugh quite a bit if I did.
They offloaded us onto a C1-30. That was a scary f—king flight. My first combat landing into combat.
He smiles wide and begins to tell me a story I’ve heard several times.
Across from me was a Marine and next to me was Army Airborne. It’s not like in the movies when you see these guys sitting on a C1-30 talking like normal. No you have to lean in and yell. The Army guy, I didn’t catch his name, I wasn’t going to see him again anyway, said he’d flown on a C1-30 hundred times but this was the first time he’d landed. He’d always jumped out. This was all while the Marine across from us was booting into his Kevlar.
Problem with that is one - your Kevlar is round, so it splashes everywhere and two - we were landing in the combat zone and he needed that helmet on his head when we offloaded.
Chris has described to me many times what a combat landing is so I didn’t feel the need to have him describe it again. My time is short during these discussions so I glossed over some things in an attempt to get further.
My description may not be exact but a combat landing begins with the plane descending aggressively, think stomach in throat quick, where it then begins evasive maneuvers which consist of series of S turns with the tips of the wings pointing almost to the ground with each bank. The plane groans and screams as it comes in at a 90 degree bank. Once the plane is on the ground they are offloaded onto another bus, this one is not air-conditioned and does not have a TV.
[I often read these articles to Chris if he’s ready to hear them and he many times clarifies details with additions]
This hot f-king kerosene smell hits you as soon as the door falls which is seconds after that b—tch is on the ground and you better being grabbing your sh-t because she’s going to be back off the ground popping flares before they start lobbing crap.
So when did the puff come out of your chest?
First time rounds came flying over my head. Soon as we hit the ground we were in the shit. No easing in. Get off the plane, get the f—k off the plane - Camp Victory was lighting something up…
Chris imitates the artillery in a way that I can’t get across in this medium. He has very specific ways to describe every big gun, from mark 19s to howitzers, and every other weapon used over there from mortars to small arms. He imitates them well, which speaks of how ingrained those noises are in his head.
From here I stopped asking questions and Chris talked about how the insurgents created ways to kill his men. Always ‘his’ men.
At first they had the big guns, but eventually all they had were mortars and RPGs. They could carry them around easily and hide, f-king [derogatory term]. There were thermite RPGs and what they do is burn into a tank then send the explosives inside.
[They] would take them apart, remove the thermite, and fill them with anything they could. Washers, nails, rocks… when they shot those things off they would rain destruction down on anything made of meat.
Chris got up at this point and looked in the fridge. He stood for a few moments pretending he wanted something to eat.
I can’t do this. I can’t talk about this anymore.
We had to stop at this point. I never push Chris past where he’s comfortable talking. Though I’ve heard these stories many times before, I felt it was important that someone else hear them. He’ll be distressed for the next few hours, but it’s worth it for him to talk about his time in Iraq. He needs to get the stories out of his head so they don’t hold so much sway in his life.
Chris was an Air Force combat medic and he served in Iraq from 2003 to 2004 at Camp Sather and at BIAP.
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