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David Hardt in Iraq

David's Last Day in Iraq

6:30 a.m.: The alarms start going off. They’re the same annoying alarms that I have heard over the last 15 months. At this point, I think when I get home I will be hearing these alarms in my sleep — especially Staff Sgt. Pearson’s cow alarm. I roll over in my bed and look over at Staff Sgt. Reeves’ bed, and surprisingly, he isn’t there. I start to wonder if I am late for something. I roll out of bed and then look at my watch — 6:30 a.m. A minute later, I hear flip-flops of someone coming down the hall, and in walks Staff Sgt. Reeves. “Man, all those alarm clocks going off; I didn’t know which one was right, so I just got up,” he says with an irritated huff while he stands in his blue towel by his bed. I gather the energy to get up and start my morning hygiene.

7 a.m.: Today there isn’t much that could upset me, having me flare up like some distraught politician on the House floor (watch C-span enough and you will see some serious professional meltdowns). Today would be our exodus from this war torn country, but before that there is a little work to do. The whole company congregates outside of the mausoleum. I notice that a lot of guys have the look of a child at Christmas — very happy, to say the least, that this is the last day. We are so close to going home you can taste it. Some men are sitting down at the smoke point and talking of good times while on the deployment while others are joking about what their plans are for when they get home. “Oh, man, when I get home I am going to get hammered.” Another soilder sitting nearby smiles and responds, “Yes, that’s on my list as well, but I think my lady is going to need some attention first.” The other soldier replies, “Do you mean you’re going to need some attention?” Everyone around listening laughs.

After some time, 1st Sgt. Ward came out and gave the word to start the moving process. Everyone jumped up like drones walking to the sound of a voice calling in the wilderness. Everyone lined up at the supply room and started the process. The greatest thing about having a company detail is that what could take four hours takes only an hour or less — productivity and efficiency in numbers.

We knocked that detail out, and then the first sergeant gave us the word to head down to the mil van in the Cav motor pool. We all showed up, but when we got there, the guy who was supposed to unlock it wasn’t present, so the first sergeant gave us the word to grab some breakfast. I hadn’t had breakfast since maybe the first few weeks of being in Iraq if I recall right. After getting a good full stomach, I headed back to the site.

Just like our customs layout before, we laid out everything, and the inspectors would show up to look at our stuff and then we would pack up everything. So everyone got in a line, and the process started. We finished rather quickly — before it started getting too hot. After the inspectors went through everything, we got the word to pack up. But before that there was a practical joke played on one of the customs guys. One of the guys was hiding in a tough box for a while, and when the inspector came and opened it, he scared the crap out of the inspector. He jumped back like 5 feet; it was so funny.

The first phase of the day was complete. Now we would go back and do our platoon’s layout, which took only a little time. After we packed our things up, next on the list was the company picture. Everyone met outside. Before we took the picture, the company commander gave us his speech about what we had accomplished and how he was proud of the company for keeping focus and resolve and also helping the new guys get on their feet. After he concluded, we made our way down to the picture place and gave our best smiles.

The only things left on the list were to clean our room and then wait for our time to depart and make our journey home. Staff Sgt. Reeves and I had cleaned the room the day before, so there wasn’t that much to do, so we just chilled and relaxed. As I awaited the word to go, I messed around online, and while doing that my lady friend I have been talking to for some time came online. I hadn’t heard from her in two days, so she didn’t know we were leaving. For the last month or so, she has been my only link to the outside world. She has been such a wonderful woman to talk to and a big help during the rough parts of the last part of the deployment. I had talked to her a few days before on the phone, and I guess my neighbors were looking forward to my coming home, so that was refreshing to know.

So I said my good-byes, closed my computer, grabbed my assault pack, and then made my way out the door. But before I did, I looked back at the room and took a visual picture of the life I had lived there, because when I get home and things get rough, all I will have to do is close my eyes and remember that room, and I am sure I will snap out if it. I made my way up the stairs where everyone else was getting their stuff. We grabbed our bags and went to load them on the truck and then marched down to where we would sign out. And just like we left in the middle of night to come to Iraq, we would start our journey back through the thickness of darkness.

We all lined up and waited to hear what was going on from the first sergeant. After some time, 1st Sgt. Ward started yelling out what chalk we would be on and where to get in line and to start the sensitive items check. This sensitive items check would be something that we would do every time we made a big move. After we got all that done, we had some time to get something to drink, so we all did. After about 20 minutes, the buses would pick us up and take us to the location where our next transportation would be.

We got on the buses according to the chalk, and we left the FOB. Everyone was rather quiet. We made our way to our linkup spot and unloaded. We got into our chalk formation, and then we had our sensitive items check. Then everyone sat down on their bags and awaited the choppers. After one hour, the birds came in. We loaded and made our way across the darkness of Iraq. The trip was awesome — and nice and short. We landed, got off and made our way to a staging place where we again got into our chalk formation and did the whole sensitive items check. After one hour the truck came, and we loaded our bags. Shortly after that, the buses came, and we got on and made our way to the tents and settled in. Four of us made our way to breakfast and then came back and racked out.
From the start I knew this was going to be a long trip home, but I can hang. Until we get to Kuwait I will sleep, read, write, and eat. I really need to be running, but there’s a good chance that we could get called to leave, so it’s not a good idea. Folks, the steps are being taken. We will be home soon.

Buses and more buses

So there we were awaiting the word to get our stuff together and make our way to the bird and make the trip to Kuwait. The first day everyone just rested and relaxed. There wasn’t a lot of moving around. The night went by, and there was still no word. The sun came up, and everyone in the tent quickly realized that it might be some time before we would leave, so the men started making themselves at home. Men started arranging things and getting comfortable for the long haul. During the day, I made my way to the PX and then to the phones to call my lady friend to see what was going on. After an hour or so, I made my way back to the tent where the word was that we weren’t leaving. As the hours and days started to mount, men started to get frustrated with the waiting. At night you would hear random guys talking across the tent. “Hey, Bobby, guess what? We are still here.” Bobby answered back: “Yep, don’t seem like we are going home.” As I lay in bed, I shouted out to Corey on the other side of the room, “Hey, one more day and we qualify as permanent party.” He responded, “That’s what it’s looking like.”

Frustration levels rose. Everyone just wanted to get the hell out of there and at least get to Kuwait. As the night fell, everyone started to listen to their music and watch movies. It was really the only thing anyone could do — just wait.

Finally, on Sept. 13 at 1:30 p.m. Staff, Sgt. Fleming from 1st platoon came in and gave us the word. “We have a flight time; have your bags out 1630.” Everyone in the tent was relieved that the next part of the journey home would soon start.

I didn’t know when I would get to take a shower again, so I scurried to the showers and got all that done. I made my way back to the tent and started to break down camp. Everyone in the tent seemed relieved that our days at this FOB camp would be over. After an hour we got our bags and made our way outside and awaited the buses to take us to the airport where we would fly to Kuwait and start the next part of the journey. The buses came, and we jumped on them like we had so many other times. Most people could not deal with how tight and uncomfortable things get when you’re traveling with all the gear that you have. It’s something you just get used to. Body parts can even go numb — especially in the lower body.

When I got on the bus, I thought the ride was going to be short, but for some odd reason, it seemed like it took forever. After some time, we arrived and unloaded and went to the holding stages. Again we conducted our sensitive items check, and then we got the word from the first sergeant that we could get something to eat and then come back and wait for our trip plan. While I was at chow, I ran into some familiar faces from FOB Falcon. While I was in line I noticed a young lady I used to talk to when I worked out on the treadmill. I wasn’t sure it was her, so I found myself staring like an idiot. I went to my seat, and sure enough she came and sat right next to me. As I was eating she started talking to one of the girls at the table. I looked over at her and said nervously, “This is so not a come on line, but do I know you from somewhere?” She smiled at me and turned red. “I don’t know do I?”
“I think I remember running and talking with you somewhere. What FOB were you at?” I asked.
She answered, “FOB Falcon.”
Sure enough it was her. We started talking, and she said that when we left things got really bad and that things had changed a lot. I wished her luck on her last months of tour and made my way back to the journey.

The time came to get on the bird. Everyone lined up outside and waited for their name to be called and then made their way in line. I was last. It sort of reminded me of elementary school — being picked last on the basketball team. Funny thing is those kids who picked me last, well, let’s just say I was leading them in high school basketball years later. Funny how that works. My name was called, and I yelled, “at last.” I made my way in line. The word came to make our way to the bird. The darkness engulfed us. All you could see were the lights of the bird. As we made our way up the ramp, it was like a burden had been lifted off my shoulders — almost a heavenly feeling. I made it — that’s how I felt. As I sat down with all my gear on my lap and squeezed tight in the seat, I began to look around at the men around me. For some odd reason I began to think about all the men who would never make this trip back home to their loved ones. The smiles and laughs suddenly seemed mute. It was like I had removed myself from the situation. I don’t think I can properly explain it without sounding like some weirdo, but the feeling of sadness was immense. I took a deep breath, put my head on my bag, closed my eyes and just thought about things in life that I may have taken for granted and made a promise to myself to work on some things such as starting to share things with people with whom I haven’t shared things because I just didn’t see it important. Sometimes in life you stop and realize how life is so short and how it can all be over in a second. Then and there was that moment for me.

As the plane started to take off, everyone errupted in applause and cheers. It was the moment that everyone had been waiting for — leaving Iraq. The plane trip was short, and there was no turbulence. The only thing that was slightly uncomfortable was the tight turn the plane made toward the runway; it was intense. We landed and dismounted and made our way once again to buses that were waiting for us. We loaded on the buses and made our way to another staging area and again awaited another bus to come to take us to our camp. In the meantime, we did a baggage detail and then just waited. After an hour, the bus came, and we jumped on and made our way to the camp. This ride was not as long, but it seemed like it because it was getting really late. We got to camp and then dismounted and made our way to our tent. At the tent we did our sensitive items check, and then guys started to rack out. I made my way to the phones and called my lady friend. Next I made my way to SUBWAY and then back to the tent, but not before I got lost, but that’s a story in itself. The tent was so dark; the first thing I did was fall over someone and onto his cot. After my eyes adjusted, I made my way to my cot. I lay down and shut my eyes. After what seemed like 10 minutes, I was tapped on the head and told I had tent guard. I got up with a huff and went outside. For once since our winter, I was cold. The sad thing is it was 80 degrees, so that is an indictor of how cold I am going to be when I get back. After an hour I was relieved of tent guard duty and made my way to back to bed and racked out.

I awoke at 10 a.m. and started getting ready for the day. I don’t know when we are headed home, but I know it’s shortly. Once we go through customs and get locked down that is the point that you know it’s almost over and home is on the horizon.

David Hardt in Iraq

David sent us another batch today...there is no stopping this guy. You'll see some photos include the current movement home already underway.

David Hardt in Iraq

Here is David's final report from the warzone. Beyond this week, David will continue to write about his transition back to the United States. Look for his continuing reports here and weekly inside the Fort Lewis Ranger newspaper.

I could write a review of the whole 15 months and absolutely bore you all to death. In this last article, I will briefly share with you what I learned and what I believe we could have done differently. This may be the most opinionated article I write, but I see it only fair that I share with my faithful readers what has been on my mind for some time.

As I write this article, I know that foremost I must be careful not to show disloyalty to my country or my unit. However, during this deployment, I have had the misfortune of learning that even though I carry a gun and have a flag on my right arm, I am still silenced by the politics that send my countrymen and me into harm’s way. I have been e-mailed numerous times asking how I feel about the war and the taxing on the men around me. Sadly, I have answered these e-mails with safe political answers, so that some random person could not print somewhere that some soldier in Iraq is whining about how this war is languishing and not working. I have tried my hardest and diligently, taking pride in trying to report the story like a civilian journalist living with an infantry company, to show the things that most people will never really get to see or hear on the inside without being too much of a political rat. The thing with writing like that is you’re only asking for trouble. I have had my run-ins with that situation here and there, but I’ve found the courage to continue to write because I knew that someone one out there could read between the lines and feel the underbelly of the story.

Is everything peachy in Iraq? Are we winning the war on terrorism? Do the troops still have the resolve and the undying motivation to fight the fight? Are the troops worn out and disappointed in the direction that the government is leading? Why are there so many people getting out of the service rather than staying in? One thing that raises a flag in my head is all of the officers who are getting out. Where’s all the money really going in this war, and who has positive accountability over it? Why hasn’t our government told the Iraqi government, “Hey, we didn’t plan on staying and doing everything for you?” What’s really going to happen when the troops leave? (Ask just about any Iraqi and he or she will tell you civil war.) Why is it when a general retires from his position he decides that the war, after all, is going nowhere, but while in command he diligently fights the fight? How deep are the politics and wallets in this war? Being on the ground and being a part of this makes me feel numb and unresponsive sometimes. I try hard not to be the guy with all of the cynicism.

Soldiers know all too well the old saying: “You signed up; you knew what you were getting into when you signed the dotted line.” But do young people really know?
Having been here twice, I can tell the world that every day this war changes, and so do the men on the ground. Infantrymen trained to fight are being sidelined for other things — for instance, Civil Affairs missions. Granted, those other things are a part of the reconstruction and are valid. But you have to understand that when you allocate a force for a certain job there may be another place that is in greater need. We are the greatest country in the world, but our military can be stretched thin at any given time.
While here we have been relentless and fought these terrorists and killed them. But what we all know as soldiers on the ground is that once you kill one there’s always another one to replace him. You cannot destroy hate and evil; you can only hope to contain it. If we are ordered to go into a city and vanquish the enemy from the area, we do it, and we do it professionally. When we leave from that victory, what becomes of the city afterward? History tells us that you can win the battle, but the war continues. I have read the words quoting commanders in the Stars and Stripes: “… in our offensive we have killed and driven out the insurgents.” But they’re still there — just down the road. We are not that ignorant, and it’s a circle of war that we have yet to contain or control.
What will be the defining moment in history to break us free from this ongoing war? Will it be a leader in Iraq standing up and saying “enough is enough; we will sustain by ourselves”? Or will it be someone in an office at the Pentagon checking off the marks of success. Some of the biggest questions are: What is success, and what is the key ingredient for our leaving? What do we define as success? We are a goal-oriented people, and once there are goals and seeable gains then morale for the situation will increase. But if you send troops on three deployments over a short span and they get there and there is really no change, then what constitutes the gains and success?

The question remains: How do we do it? Do we stay here for 15 to 20 years and put billions more dollars into this country and then someday wake up and realize: “Shoot, they just don’t want it the way we desire them to have it.” And what’s to say that we are not going to find ourselves in another fight with another country. I will say openly and honestly after going through the s*** I have been through — We cannot split and leave this country. This country will come down like the walls of Jericho; I sense it.
What made me change my mind, you ask. Some will call me a hypocrite because of my stance months ago, but I have changed as a man. I have witnessed a great deal of pain and suffering and death — enough for a lifetime. For me it’s the kids. It’s the younger generation that I see. The older generation will not change. If we can’t change our own people in our own country, there’s no way we are going to do it here. I look into the little boys and girls’ eyes and see that we are their hope. We are what some of these kids have only seen in their little lives. The impression we make on them, I believe, in the long haul, will shift this country. Of course, we will always be the infidels. But there will be a child who will grow up and remember what he or she saw and how we treated him or her and his or her family. This is where I get very sad. Not all of us have the heart of a lion or passion for these children, and sometimes I hear stories of kids being messed with here and there. I have no accounts of our men, but I have read e-mails from men who are saddened by the way their comrades treat the young ones — especially the young boys. The young boys running around in these streets are what our country will be facing, but some men can’t look that far ahead.

The moral compass and ethical dilemma we face over here has radically changed over the years. The days of blowing down a door for tactical advance into a house are fading, and now we are faced with learning how to be politicians on the ground. We can’t make everyone happy, and we sure can’t win the hearts and minds when the hearts and minds of their own government are perplexed by faith and religious doctoring and consistent disloyalty issues. I have been to the embassy, and I have had a chance to walk around. I didn’t, however, get to hear any meetings or see anything really cool to report. But what I did feel in that huge, multibillion dollar, reconstructed building is that there are a lot of folks running around in there in their nice suits, proper haircuts and their cool-guy badges. I didn’t get the sense that these people knew that a war was going on; they looked completely removed from it. I felt out of place. People stared at us like we were wild animals. I just wanted to yell, “Hey, we are the ones fighting the fight; this is what we look like.” I am sure they have their responsibilities, but I just got the feeling that a lot of these people were clueless as to what was going on outside the wire. That was just my personal assessment, and I could be completely wrong.

I came to Iraq with a harshly hardened heart for the country and even the organization I work for. I try not to walk around with a chip on my shoulder or carry a grudge against anyone; it’s just not in my nature. But I don’t forget experiences that have molded me into what I am now. After having almost four years of service and 26 months of combat experience, and a great deal of issues at home as well as here, I know that this place has stolen more from me than I could ever explain and has mentally and physically worn me out. However, I have held my ground on the issues that I face every day on the inside. I have strived to keep my physical fatiguing to a limit. The thing that I have learned the most from my commander in our hours and hours of talks is that I can’t hate the Army as a complete component but rather that there are a few undesirable people I have come across who have simply crushed my progress and my ability to use the talent that I gained and used in my civilian life. I will admit that it’s a two-way street. I can say that my fighter experience taught me. My instincts or better yet my desire to keep what is left of me has decreased the buoyancy in my career. Those words completely changed my perspective on the overall situation in my career. I thank my commanding officer for giving me direction and encouragement and always allowing me to say what I want without recourse. He is a gentleman and possesses wisdom that is thought provoking.

The roller-coaster ride is almost over for this deployment, and it’s just in time for some of us. The only thing I really wish that had been different about this deployment is that we had done more infantry-related tasks. The war has changed, and I know we must adapt. But those in the big White House need to know the frustration level of the men fighting the fight or pounding the streets. We are feeling the political disposition of this war every day, and it sometimes limits our effectiveness on counterterrorism.

I have enjoyed writing the stories about the men around me and their bravery and their dedication to the mission. I thank my first sergeant for understanding the importance of my chronicling this deployment on a weekly basis.
I try not to speak for the company without taking a good survey, but my visual assessment is that some of the men are tired and are just ready to get this entire thing over with and come home and try to fit themselves back into the revolving door of society and Army garrison life.

Well, I made it, and so did everyone in my platoon, and I thank God for that. I thank all of my readers for their support during the good times and the bad times. I hope someday when I complete my journal of my days in this organization you will be able to open a book and walk further in my steps. I am working on a book titled “My Rife and My Last Four.”
I hope to see all of your smiling faces at the Seattle marathon. I will be writing, God willing, as we transition back into the real world. I write till my publisher and buddy, Ken Swarner, cuts me loose. Till then, I am homebound and happy as a fat boy eating cake. Out for now.

David Bruce Hardt
(*The Writer)

David Hardt in Iraq

David is headed home...but he managed to send us these photos from Iraq before he left. Enjoy. David's last column before leaving the warzone will appear here tomorrow.

David Hardt in Iraq

We have a new batch of photos from Fort Lewis Stryker David Hardt. We'll be posting them all week.

David Hardt in Iraq

We have a new batch of photos from Fort Lewis Stryker David Hardt. We'll be posting them all week.

David Hardt in Iraq

We have a new batch of photos from Fort Lewis Stryker David Hardt. We'll be posting them all week.

David Hardt in Iraq

We have a new batch of photos from Fort Lewis Stryker David Hardt. We'll be posting them all week.

David Hardt in Iraq

Meet and greet

With all of the hustle and bustle getting ready for redeployment, our commander, Capt. Graham, set up a day where we could have a sit-down with the men who would be replacing us. The specific scheme was to have each platoon link up with the corresponding platoon in the company. After breaking it down to platoon, they then broke it down to corresponding squads. The platoon sergeants and platoon leaders also would have face-to-face dialogues to discuss important things learned and used effectively in this area of operation as well as other areas we have worked in.

As the new guys made their way into the mausoleum, our squad sat silently off to the side awaiting word from Bill to come over and introduce ourselves. As I sat there, I took a look at the new guys. Some were rather young and looked like they had just finished high school. There was one guy out of the squad who had been here once; I saw that he had his combat patch on. It’s not really recommended to wear it over here. Insurgents know what that patch means. The patch means experience, and what is best is to take out the experience and leave the Joes with no or little combat experience to fend for themselves.

I think the fresh faces are what stood out the most. I looked at our guys, and it was like night and day. The weary eyes followed by an unintentional slouch coming from wearing your kit and sitting in the Stryker for hours at a time. All this corresponding with the “Oh my God, it’s almost over disposition” (manifested by hand rubbing their heads while sitting down looking at the ground). This week I have taken some time to look at individual pictures from the deployment, and sadly, some of us have aged five to eight years being here. Over the 15 months, I have taken a picture of myself every week to catalogue how much I have changed. I could make a book just on that; it’s amazing.

After some time, Bill called us over, and we introduced ourselves. “Hello, my name is Dave. Welcome to the suck.” The young man responded, “Yeah, I bet you guys are ready to get out of here.” I responded with a smile and moved down the line of guys. After Bill got done talking to the squad leader, showing him the maps and giving him a little history, the next step was for the Joes to have time to talk. To make things more comfortable, we made our way down to my room. Everyone took a seat, and it seemed like everyone came alive. It’s like when you get away from you parents you finally can talk regularly. The first question was one that everyone was waiting for. “So, what do you guys do on patrol?” The room went silent. I looked at Daniel, and Daniel looked at Davie. I wish I had had my camera out. It was a priceless moment. Daniel answered, “Walk, more walking, ask about electricity issues and water issues and then some more walking. Oh yeah, and the hide (a new tool we use to help with security issues); we do that too.” The new guys smiled and laughed. While they were laughing, I jumped in with a serious voice. “He’s not kidding.” The smiles went quickly to an “oh man, it’s going to be boring” look. Since Daniel and I were told not to talk about politics or how we feel about things, it really narrowed the talk down to nothing more than story time. Daniel is the intellectual, and I am the politician, so when you get us in the room together you have a lot coming your way. It’s just too bad we weren’t able to share other things with the young guys to further educate them on some of the things that will boggle their minds. I did, however, get a chance to show them pictures of what they may see in the AO — also some pictures and videos to remind them that at anytime all hell can break out. As they passed the computer around, I could tell this was better than talking about it. Pictures say everything. After an hour or so, the meeting concluded. We shook their hands and wished them good luck, and they left the room.

The day ended, and I was happy that it did. Time is ticking, and the boys are starting to break down everything and get things cleaned. The guys I hadn’t seen smile or laugh in 15 months are laughing and smiling now. Having had a rough week, I am just trying to keep motivated and work hard and get my stuff done. I have been running my 35 to 40 miles a week even with everything going on, and I think these stresses put together may be messing with my mind-set. For some odd reason, I don’t feel like we are going home. But all I have to do is walk over to the calendar and see the circle, and I know we are.

It has been a long time, and we have been through a lot. So when your boys hit the ground, I want you to know that these men know what the definition of “hell and back” really means. I hope that the comfort you bring them makes them feel like they’re in heaven. They deserve it. SEE YOU ALL SOON.

Editor's Note: David Hardt is expected back in the South Sound near the end of next week. David will continue to write in the Ranger through December to detail his and other soldiers return to the United States after war.

David Hardt in Iraq

We have a new batch of photos from Fort Lewis Stryker David Hardt. We'll be posting them all week.