David Hardt From Iraq

It’s time to fight

By David Hardt

Editor's Note: David Hardt serves with the Strykers from Fort Lewis.

The annoying sound of a cow alarm clock going off a couple of rooms down awakes me out of my sound sleep. I toss over in my bed, putting a pillow over my head trying to drown out the ringing. “S@#%, is it that time already?” I clear the bird poop out of my eyes and glance at my faithful watch; it blares 5:50 a.m. I languorously roll out of bed. Unexpectedly Bill, who lives on the top bunk, already has gotten a jump on the day. It’s the day that everyone has been waiting for: our progressive offensive move into a city that we know little about. The one thing that is guaranteed: They know we are coming; they always do. It’s similar to a high school scenario. A kid gets into a fight on the other side of the school, and before you know it, friends have shown up, and the fight now has an audience. The world of technology in this region has improved just enough to make things difficult for our surprises or an offensive or whatever it may be.

I had packed my gear the previous day, so all I had to do was grab my assault bag and make my way to the trucks. As I made my way upstairs to the restroom, I looked at the guys walking around. Some walked with purpose, others seemingly like drones. Regardless of the way they walked, they all had a similar look on their face — focused. We took all of our gear down to the truck and loaded it as planned. Before you knew it, Staff Sgt. Rine gave us the word to mount the truck. As the ramp went up making an awful creaking sound, silence came over the truck. It was a very eerie moment.

We made our way out of the gate and back into the world of unpredictability and sacrifice.

Our first stop before our push into the fight was midpoint camp. We settled in and started the planning and prepping. The good thing about Camp Kelso is it doesn’t get hit a lot by mortars or rockets, but since the whole world had just witnessed the task force making its way in during the middle of the day, we all knew that where the circus goes so do the clowns. Back in a tent, just like when we were at FOB Falcon. The first night, as we sat in the tent and relaxed, what sounded like a whistle going off was heard. Everyone was silent. I looked over at Staff Sgt. Pearson. The look on his face gave me the impression that something was up. He looked around and said, “That didn’t sound right.” Booooom. The ground moved like an earthquake. Everyone jumped up and made their way to the bunker. Booooom. I didn’t have socks on, so as I made my way to the bunker, I found myself with sharp rocks pricking at my feet. We huddled in the bunker, and everyone was talking about how close the rockets sounded and what they were doing when it went down.


After we got the clear, we all made our way to the tent. The rest of the night was silent. I didn’t sleep too well that night, but that was also because I was thinking heavily about what we were going into. The days at the camp went by rather slowly, but it really didn’t matter because everyone knew that the more time down meant more time to get rest and to relax.

The last night before our offensive the tent started to get rowdy. I think it was nerves. To loosen everything up, guys started playing practical jokes on each other, such as taking guys’ blankets and hiding them as well as taking their gear and placing it where they couldn’t reach it unless they jumped on someone else’s shoulders. I took some video; it was so funny. The night ended with rockets or mortars coming down on us again. This time I was sound asleep, so I heard only the end if it. Once again, it was close. Davie, who was sleeping in the bed next to me, woke me up. If he hadn’t I would have slept through the whole thing thanks to NyQuil.

D-Day

O’ dark 30 the lights came on, and the men started making their movements around the tent. Once again no one talked. It was silent except for the shuffle of the feet tiredly going across the floor. I gathered up all of my gear and cleaned my area and then quickly made my way to the trucks. As I walked out to the motor pool, I saw the vehicle crews prepping their trucks and squads packing their trucks. I continued to make my way through the pitch dark and heard someone yell, “It’s game day, baby. Let’s get ’er done.” This was the time everyone had been waiting for, the time to go into battle and show who’s the boss, and show who really runs the show. I have always separated myself from the emotional aspects of going into a fight, examining the characters around to see the true emotions of American fighters. After we loaded our gear on the truck and prepped everything we waited for the word to load the truck and make our way to the fight. As we stood by the trucks, there was little talk, but mostly, men were drinking energy drinks and smoking cigarettes. I just sat on the ramp and stared at the ground, thinking about home. I often ask guys, “Do you think our loved ones really know what it takes do this and all the s@#% we go through?” Usually the answer is: “They have no idea.”

The words came over the radio: “Get recon one.”
I heard some voices in the dark whooping and hollering. We loaded the truck and raised the ramp. It was game time.


After driving for a while, we stopped to get some fuel and to get out and stretch. This was the last stop, and you could tell by the energy of the guys it was time to wake up and get focused.

As I sat down in the troop compartment, I looked up and saw that the sun was out and the temperature was increasing. The traffic on the radio was blaring; I could tell the momentum was building. I was curious what the squad thought was going to happen when the ramp dropped. I took out my camera and flipped it to movie and started recording. “So, Davie, what do you think is going to happen today?” He looked at me and said, “Nothing.” I turned to Lance and asked the same question. He replied, “Nothing.” I finished off with John. John concurred with a laugh and then smiled, “Nothing.” I flipped it around to me and finished it off. “Well, we all think nothing is going to happen. We’ll see.” The truck stopped, and Staff Sgt. Rine started to take off his headset and made his way down from the hatch. He looked to the rear at Bill. “Are you ready?” Bill was trying to close the hatch and take off the headset at the same time, so he got tangled up a little. That little pause may have saved us. SWISH…….Booooom. “What the hell was that?” Staff Sgt. Rine said. “Get the hell off the truck.” It was like someone had taken the pause off of a war television show. Hell was unleashed. Booooom…… The ramp dropped. What we would go into would be something far worse than anything we had encountered yet, but we had been told over the weeks what to expect. I hit the ground, and the first thing I saw was Spc. Obe with a SAW shooting down the road. After I adjusted my eyes, I finally saw what he was shooting at — an insurgent lying on the ground who had just shot an RPG. Our squad hit the corner. To say the least, that insurgent wasn’t going to be doing that anymore.

Imagine being at a Fourth of July fireworks show and the end comes and the explosions of the lights in the sky captivate you. Well, in this case, the only lights we were seeing were explosions from RPGS followed by the sparks of small arms fire. We fought our way to the corner house scanning like we had never before, everyone at the ready, and made our way upstairs. We reached the roof, and from there is when I realized that the fight that we had just been in was going on all around. Booom. Bang. Bang. SWISH. Explosions rocked everywhere, and the smoke was rising in the air like a house was on fire. The trucks started to get engaged, and they fought back with the brilliance of 50 Cal accompanied by Mark 19. All around you could hear men holding their ground. Someone commented as we went around the corner, “This is like ‘Black Hawk Down’ or something.” Everywhere you turned there were either shots being fired or explosions from mortars.

As I was on the roof pulling overwatch, I noticed one of our trucks making its way down the road in front me. As they were coming down, I raised my hand identifying our position. The guy in the front hatch raised his hand acknowledging us, and then in one blink the truck was engulfed in an explosion. “Holy s@#%, the truck just got hit by an IED or something.” Staff Sgt. Rine came over and looked. The Stryker driver put it in reverse, backing out of the blast site. The 50 Cal on top turned down the road and unleashed hell. As we overwatched the fighting, the call for company mortars came in. This was a site to behold. For once there was silence. THUMP — the sound of the handheld mortars getting fired. BOOOOOM. Smoke arose from the city — a perfect shot. The insurgents didn’t see it coming. I looked in the sky, and Apaches were flying aggressively and low to the ground. You could see the pilots’ white teeth and smiles. It was time to make our move. As we made our way downstairs, I knew when we hit that street we all had to be on the same page.

We made our way to a school and tactically cleared it. At that point my whole body was drenched in sweat. After clearing the house, we got word that we were going to cross the road. “Oh great, time to dip, duck and dodge from the crazy snipers,” I said laughing as I made my way out the door. Lance, Sgt. Smith and I made our way to the wall for cover fire so that Alpha Team could make their way across. Once Alpha Team made it across and secured the courtyard, it was our turn. I looked both ways like I was looking for traffic. I noticed that this was all in sync with the platoon farther down the road, because as I took my breath and started to run, I noticed another solider making his way across the road. I was now on the way to the school across the street. It felt effortless, but that had a lot to do with the adrenaline and all of the shooting going on around us. As I made my way to the door, I picked up the pace and grunted my teeth and went flying into the door. Crash — the door split open and went crashing to the ground. Unfortunately, the force and energy that I put into the kick made me fall through the door. I was supposed to wait for the team that was trailing a little behind to enter, but I ended up on my knees. It did look like I had done it on purpose, though, because when I hit the floor my tactical light came on, and I was pulling security down the hall.

After we cleared the building, Staff Sgt. Rine talked to me to about going into a building without the whole team. He was right; there could have been the Mongolian horde in there. I took it and pushed on. By the end of the first day, we had put it to the insurgents. I know they will regroup and come at us again; it’s guaranteed.


All around AK-47 and RPG fire rung throughout the day. As the day progressed, we continued to clear the area. After things calmed down, we had time to put everything together. The day wasn’t over, though. We drove to the FOB to refit and come back out for the second part. After getting fuel and water, the saga continued. From 1:30 a.m. to 8:30 a.m. the following day the fight raged. At night the insurgents shot RPGS and small arms.

The men around me were so tired some thought they were seeing things. When you’re crammed in a truck and you have been up for 30 plus hours your sanity is always on the edge. I always wonder how the hell do we do this. The answer: There is something deep down that pushes us to the limit allowing us to exercise discipline that is necessary to win the fight: pride and the person next to you.


For those family members of C Company, 5-20, you would have been in awe at how your men did their jobs. The confidence and the courage under fire. These are the days that you may never hear about because these men are humble. Sometimes I think what would happen if you could turn on the television and flip it to us and see what we do and go through. I think a lot of people would turn it off. This s@#% is real, and the blood and sweat that hits the ground every day is all worth coming home to a loving embrace.

This new AO should bring many some interesting days. The men are tired but ever willing to continue the fight. This is what we have waited for and trained for. The following weeks will show why the American Infantry solider will never lose in battle — only adapt and overcome.

Comments

[jkelly]

What you are doing we would not be able to handle. I wish i could be there but you guys are doing what needs to be done and get it completed . We as family would love to have you home and I mean today but that is not happening . But our prayers are with you daily and hourly. You are are proud and strong ARMY. we love you MOM

[Jeff Nossaman]

Dave, Your article was amazing. My son SPC William Nossaman (Moose) is with Charlie Company 5-20 SBCT. It is great to hear that we are accomplishing something over there. The news media will only tell us what they want us to hear.
Thanks. Say hi to my boy for me.

[Jerit VanAuker, Jr.]

Great article Sgt! Keep your head on swivel, and Keep Charging! Send Matt a hello for us.

[Tammy]

God bless you guys and keep you safe until the time when you are home with your families. Keep your chins up, your eyes ever watchful and know that we are 100%behind you and so darn proud to call you our own. A very proud Army mom

[David B Hardt (*The Writer)]

Army Squeezes Soldier Blogs, Maybe to Death

I am sure you read this folk, this is not good for me. They havnt hunted me down yet, but I am sure I am on a list some where. I want everyone to know that all my articles go straight to the top. Although my leadership trust my judgement, I still take pains to get it right. Don't know how long I got, but I am going to write my butt off. Sometimes when they hush the truth, you really start to wonder....

Dave B Hardt]
THIS MAY BE A TIME FOR BLOG READERS TO STEP UP AND SAY HOW IMPORTANT IT IS FOR US RESPONSIBLE WRITERS TO TELL WHAT IS REALLY GOING ON HERE

[Ellie]

I've enjoyed all your pictures and articles. I hope you can continue writing. I know we all appreciate the time & effort you put into letting us know what you guys through over there. My friend 2nd LT. M. Podplesky is with 3/2 SBCT and it's been great to keep informed. Thank you so much. My heart goes out to you all. God Bless you and keep you safe.