Editor's
note: following is report written by Assembly of God Chaplain (CPT) Brad
P. Lewis, U.S. Army, and submitted to the AG Chaplaincy Department. The
report is based on an attack occurring on a mess hall on December 21, 2004,
in Iraq. The report is fairly graphic, due the nature of the event. However,
it provides a glimpse into the kind of ministry our military chaplains
are involved in as well as the kind of "prayer coverage" needed by our
chaplains and other military personnel -- physical, emotional and spiritual.
Tuesday,
December 21, 2004 MASCAL -- By the time I got back to our compound it was
all over the news. It seemed like the thing had just happened when in reality
I had been neck deep in it for several hours. And there it was on TV. Frankly,
it's kind of a blur.
The
day began early as I didn't sleep very well last night. Once I was awake
I decided not to just lay there and stare at the darkness so I got up,
got dressed, shaved and headed into the TOC (Tactical Operations Center),
the heart of what goes on. In the TOC they monitor several different radio
nets to keep abreast of what is happing in the area. It's the place to
be if you want up-to-the-minute information. When I arrived, it was fairly
calm. The day was clear and there was very little going on, or so it seemed.
A very short while later we received the initial reports.
In
this area there are several "camps" or "posts" that house the various combat
and support units that do the day-to-day fighting and working around here.
The first report said that a mortar had just hit one of the nearby chow
halls during the middle of lunch (I'm on GMT so my morning is actually
the middle of the day). It's called a MASCAL or Mass Casualty event and
it's where the rubber meets the road in military ministry. They said there
were approximately 10 casualties. The next report wasn't so good: 10 dead
and approximately 50 wounded. They were being transported to the Combat
Surgical Hospital down the street. The Chaplain at the CSH is a good guy
and I knew he'd be in need of help, so I woke my assistant and we rushed
to the hospital. I didn't expect what I saw.
The
scene was little more than controlled chaos. Helicopters landing, people
shouting, wounded screaming, bodies everywhere. As the staff began to triage
the dead and wounded, I found the chaplain and offered my assistance. He
directed me to where he needed me and I dove in. I would be hard pressed
to write about every person I had the opportunity to pray with today but
I will try to relate a few.
I found
"Betty" on a stretcher being tended by nurses. I introduced myself and
held her hand. She looked up at me and said, "Chaplain, am I going to be
all right?" I said that she was despite the fact that I could see she had
a long road to recovery ahead of her. Most of her hair had been singed
off. Her face was burnt fairly badly, although it didn't look like the
kind of burns that will scar. What I do know is that it was painful enough
to hurt just by being in the sun. I prayed with Betty and moved on.
"Ilena"
had been hit by a piece of shrapnel just above her left breast causing
a classic sucking chest wound. The doctors said she had a hemothorax (I
think that's what they called it) which basically meant her left lung was
filling with blood and she was having a very hard time breathing. For the
next 20 minutes I held her hand while a doctor made an incision in her
left side, inserted most of his hand and some kind of medical instrument
and then a tube to alleviate the pressure caused by the pooling blood.
It was probably the most medieval procedure I have ever been privy to.
In the end she was taken to ICU and will be OK.
"Mark"
was put on a stretcher and laid along a wall. A small monitor on his hand
would tell the nurses when he was dead. Even a cursory glance said it was
inevitable. Mark had a head wound . . . I knelt next to Mark and placed
a hand on his chest. His heart was barely beating but it was beating so
I put my face close to his ear to pray with him. I had something of an
internal struggle. He's practically dead so why stay? He probably can't
hear anything! A prayer at that point seemed of little value. But I couldn't
risk it. I prayed for Mark and led him in the sinners prayer as best I
could. There are few things in this life that will make you feel more helpless.
After that, I needed some fresh air.
I stepped
outside and found the situation to be only slightly less chaotic. The number
of body bags had grown considerably since I first went inside. I saw a
fellow chaplain who was obviously in need of care himself. I stopped him
and put my arm around him and asked how he was doing. A rhetorical question
if ever I asked one. He just shook his head so I pulled him in close and
prayed for his strength, endurance, a thick skin and a soft heart. Then
I just stood and breathed for a few minutes.
Regardless
of what some may say, these [the enemy] are not stupid people. Any attack
with casualties will naturally mean that eventually a very large number
of care givers will be concentrated in one location. They took full advantage
of that.
In
the middle of the mayhem the first mortar round hit about 100 to 200 meters
away. Everyone started shouting to get the wounded into the hospital which
is solid concrete and much safer than being in the open. Soon, the next
mortar hit quite a bit closer than the first as they "walked" their rounds
toward their intended target -- us. Everyone began to rush toward the building.
I stood at the door shoving as many people inside as I could. Just before
heading in myself, the last one hit directly on top of the hospital. I
was standing next to the building so was shielded from any flying shrapnel.
In fact, the building, being built as a bunker took the hit with little
effect. However, I couldn't have been more than 10 to 15 meters from the
point of impact and brother, did I feel the shock. That'll wake you up!
I rushed inside to find doctors and nurses draped over patients, others
on the floor or under something. I ducked low and quickly moved as far
inside as I could.
After
a few tense moments people began to move around again and the business
of patching bodies and healing minds continued in earnest.
As
I stood talking with some other chaplain, an officer approached and not
seeing us, yelled, "Is there a chaplain around here?" I turned and asked
what I could do. He spoke to us and said that another patient had just
been moved to the "expectant" list and would one of us come pray for him.
I walked in and found him lying on the bed with a tube in his throat, and
no signs of consciousness. There were two nurses tending to him in his
final moments. One had a clipboard so I assumed she'd have the information
I wanted. I turned to her and asked if she knew his name. Without hesitation
the other nurse, with no papers, blurted out his first, middle, and last
name. She had obviously taken this one personally.
I placed
my hand on "Wayne's" head and lightly stroked his dark hair. Immediately
my mind went to my Grandpa's funeral when I touched his soft grey hair
for the last time. And for the second time in as many hours I prayed wondering
if it would do any good, but knowing that God is faithful and can do more
than I even imagine. When I finished I looked up at the nurse who had known
his name. She looked composed but struggling to stay so. I asked, "Are
you OK?" and she broke down. I put my arm around her to comfort and encourage
her. She said, "I was fine until you asked!" Then she explained that this
was the third patient to die on her that day.
"Rachel"
was sitting in a chair with no injuries. She was worried about two friends
that had been moved to other hospitals in country. So we prayed.
"John",
a First Sergeant, asked me, "How does my face look?" knowing he had been
badly burned and would probably have some scaring. He was covered in blood,
pus, and charred skin so I said, "First Sergeant, you look better than
some people I know back home." He laughed and we prayed.
As
my assistant and I walked away at the end of the day I saw another chaplain
and a soldier standing among the silent rows of black body bags. The soldier
wanted to see his friend one more time. We slowly and as respectfully as
possible unzipped the bag to reveal the face of a very young Private First
Class. His friend stared for a few seconds then turned away and began to
cry.
The
last count was 25 dead, and around 45 wounded. Nevertheless, our cause
is just and God is in control. I'm where God wants me and wouldn't change
that for anything, even if it means death. After all, "to die is gain."
(All
personal names, excluding the Chaplain's, have been changed.)
--
Chaplain (CPT) Brad P. Lewis, U.S. Army1
