Adjusting to the heat of Western-Iraq is not easy, for the Southern California transplant, much worse. Reaching 119 degrees at nearly 0700, I felt that this tour, my first, was going to be brutal. Nevertheless, I was excited and full of adrenaline at finally being in Iraq. After arriving in ‘country’ at Baghdad International Aiport (BIAP) we made our way to Camp Ramadi via the ‘Phoenix Academy’ at Camp Taji.

Meeting the US Advisors we would replace was quite the experience. These Marines had just completed nearly 8 months in the tumultuous city of Ramadi. The individual I was replacing was a career Logistics Officer. Sent to the 2d Battalion, 1st Brigade, of the 7th Iraqi Division to advise the nearly 900 man Iraqi Infantry Battalion on logistics.

He was exhausted beyond belief, the lack of sleep, mounting stress, and the feeling of nearly being home was visually aparent. You could see the permanent sunken eyes, sun worn face, and the stress lines crisscrossing his face. During our turnover, he described the firefights and contact they had made with the insurgency that was raging in the post Fallujah environment.

The Author, at pre-deployment training at 29 Palms.

My excitement quickly turned to fear, as he described the ambushes, sniper attacks, death, and the sprinting through the streets that became common place. I was worried now. Not what ‘they’ sent me to do. Nevertheless I was putting my concerns and worries to the back reaches of my mind. Hopeful that the fear would never bubble up at the wrong time or interfere with the work ahead.

Tomorrow he explained, “would be our first patrol” to conduct a ‘battlefield circulation.’ Our new team would check out the ‘battle space’ we would be operating in for the next 7 months. I took a big gulp, as mentally I thought we had a few days before we were to start heading outside the ‘wire’ (base). The departing team was eager to leave and not a day to delay.

That night I laid out my uniform, weapons, ammo, grenades, vest, ‘camel back,’ kevlar, radio, and the littany of stuff I needed before heading out in the morning. Sleeping in my ‘rack’ that night I mentally filed through the various situations we would encounter on the next day’s hours long trip. Eventually I drifted off to sleep.

I woke up to the blazing chinese knockoff garage light buzzing loudly in the room. My roommate was up early, displaying the groggy 3–4 hours sleep we all had enjoyed since arriving in Iraq. I quickly dressed and was surprised to see the outgoing team already in the compound preparing for the mounted patrol.

The M240B medium Machine Gun

Quickly getting my gear together, I joined the rest of the team outside and started preparing our vehicles for the movement. I was in the lead High Mobility Multi Purpose Wheeled Vehicle (HMMWV) that had become common place across Iraq. The HMMWV had earned an incredible reputation in years past, but had recently earned a bad reputation as a venerable ‘death trap’ due to Improvised Explosive Devices (IED) threat.

I pushed most of those thoughts outside of my mind and focused on the task at hand. ‘Top,’ as our team Master Sergeant (MSgt) was known, asked me for some help as he loaded and prepped the vehicle that myself and four other Marines would occupy. My role that day would be as Turret Gunner, manning the M249 SAW with my M4 rifle as back-up. The SAW was being used as our other medium machine gun, as the M240B was in maintenance.

Directly behind the my HMMWV was the second HMMWV with the venerable M2 .50 caliber heavy machine gun. The powerful weapon system, dating back to just before World War II, was reliable and relatively unchanged since its creation. A veteran that had manned the .50 cal during WW II could easily man the weapon today. Prepping the weapon, was my Sergeant (Sgt) and a Gunnery Sergeant (GySgt) from the other team. Out of the corner of my eye I could see them both doing something to ‘fifty’ (M2 .50 cal).

Unfazed, ‘Top’ and I worked to prep the vehicle, then all of a sudden, SSSSHHHBOOOM!!!

‘Top’ a damn good Marine

About 2.5 feet away, a deafening roar and impact rocked me right in front of my face. A large flash of light, then the sound of the impact on the armor of the HMMWV turret. Falling back and swinging around, I almost shit my pants (I didn’t in case your wondering). Looking up, I could see everyone was frozen still. Jumping out of the HMMWV, ‘top’ took a step back while my Sgt and the other team’s GySgt stood atop the HMMWV in horror.

The nightmare scenario had occurred, the negligent discharge of a weapon. Amongst Marines, such an occurrence is looked upon in both horror and disgust. In ‘combat’ the line between life and death is razor thin, and that day even thinner by stupidity.

The GySgt had attempted to ‘teach’ my young Sgt a lesson in ‘old school’ tricks. The GySgt had charged the .50 cal and placed a round into the bolt, then he proceeded to place a discarded .50 cal bullet behind the butterfly trigger. The .50 cal does not come with a ‘safety’ switch, some believe that ‘making one’ can circumnavigate the issue and thereby adding a degree of ‘safety’ to the powerful weapon. Placing a .50 cal bullet behind the trigger is dangerous and not condoned by any intelligent being. As doing the ‘field modification’ can give a false sense of security.

Good view of the butterfly trigger

I was beyond angry after the incident, luckily both ‘top’ and I had escaped injury. But we were both ‘raging’ with fury at the near deadly incident. The GySgt and I were seperated and never saw each other again. That afternoon we had inspected the damage and realized the round had penetrated the armor and logged into the radio. Destroying the turret mechanism and rendering the radio useless.

The GySgt pressed onto the butterfly trigger to demonstrate the ‘safety’ and the weapon fired. Luckily, no one was killed, but was damn close that day. I litterally almost lost my head. War is dangerous, combined with idiots, made deadly, that only the lucky can survive.