My HMMWV was hit once. I believe that my platoon was hit over ten times. We lost one Marine.

The IED that hit my truck was dug too deep and set off a bit late. I was up in the turret as usual. I remember a shock wave of intense heat. I don’t think I took any significant damage. I wasn’t knocked out. I don’t remember any pain. I didn’t incur any physical injuries. I was showered with dirt and rocks and whatever else the bomb sent into the air like a geyser. I had the time to put my hands up to protect myself from the debris because I saw it coming down in my peripheral vision.

It probably looked funny to anyone watching. A shocked Marine raising his hands up in fear to protect himself from what was essentially half a bucket of dirt and leaves poured on him by some dick on the second deck.

So I got lucky. Many were not. Shortly after we got to Ramadi a popular Marine had his lower jaw blown off by an IED. A crafty corpsman saved that part of his face in a MRE bag with some ice or a cold pack. That’s how the story goes anyway.

The real impact of IEDs are mental. The insurgents turned our patrol areas into places where death was possible every foot you drove. IEDs are essentially smart bombs. They are pinpoint accurate artillery strikes set off by people nearby with cell phones.

It’s very hard to completely separate yourself from a place where roads are a very common source of death. It stays with you, probably forever.

I posted these three pictures to show the soft ground along the road and get across the point that any inch of it could have three linked artillery rounds waiting just for you. Or not.