To The Fallen
This is dedicated to my brothers and sisters who have given everything for the country I love. They passed on the torch to me, and I'm proud to be able to carry it. May God bless those families who have answered the call, and may God watch over and protect those who give everything for others.
This is just a quick short story that I whipped up. I felt like I needed to write something to remember those that have given everything so that I could live my life how I saw fit. Note: any relation to any real persons is completely accidental and unintentional.
March 27, 2003:
My name's Sergeant John Fischer, US Army. I'm writing this in the hopes that, maybe someone will understand why I did what I did. That maybe, they can understand for just a few seconds what it takes to be a soldier.
I was born and raised in Minnesota. My family never was an extremely patriotic, I mean, not one of my family served in the military. By the time I was eighteen, I was tall, a little over six feet, and lanky. I was light, about 160 pounds, and not extremely athletic. I had green eyes, which is surprising because I'm a Grey Wolf. When I was eighteen, I didn't have any direction in life. I was a jack-of-all-trades. I never excelled in anything, but I never failed in anything. The main reason I didn't excel wasn't because I didn't understand the material, but I just really didn't have any motivation to excel. Whenever someone asked me a question, I would always help them to find the correct answer, but I never pushed myself to do better than average. If I really wanted, I could've pull off those A's and could've graduated with that illustrious 4.0+ GPA, but I never did.
One day during high school, an Army recruiter showed up and talked with people. I walked over and talked with him. He wasn't one of those salesmen-like recruiters, but just explained the facts. He even told me that life in the Army wasn't easy, especially as enlisted. I made my decision right there and then. Maybe after a stint in the Army I would have some direction in life. The very next day, terrorists knocked down the Twin Towers. I watched the towers get hit by both planes and collapse. I was told by some friends of mine that I seemed to have fire in my eyes. I'll be honest, I was pissed. I was as patriotic as the next guy, but I was ready to gut the person who caused this like a fish. The attack only further pushed me to believe that going into the Army was the right choice. That day, I finished everything that I needed to so that I could enlist right out of high school. When I told my parents, they were shocked. They supported my decision though, for which I am extremely grateful. When I was told that due to my ASVAB score that I could be any specialty I wanted, I chose Infantry. After I graduated that year, I went to Basic training at Fort Benning. By the end of Basic, I was still a little over six feet, but I was lithe instead of lanky and about 200 pounds of muscle. I was promoted to Sergeant quickly during AIT (Advanced Individual Training) which was quite fun. I was then placed in a squad in the 1st Infantry Division. My squad leader was a Staff Sergeant Steve Jackson. He had served for about six years and was the kind of guy that you would want in a squad leader. He was calm under pressure and seemed to be able to radiate that to his men. He was about six three and was an arctic fox. The same thing could be said for our Platoon leader, one Lieutenant Tom Johnson. He was a German Sheppard at about five eleven at 190 pounds. He was an enlisted man that earned a commission, and had served for over twenty years. He served in Operations Desert Shield and Storm, and in Somalia. He was kind of guy, that treat us like we were all his sons. We all loved him like a father; however that didn't stop him from chewing us out when we needed it, but he always looked out for us, praised us and rewarded us when we earned it. I was proud to have him as a Platoon leader. In fact, the Platoon started to call him Paps or Pa, whenever we were talking about him. We always did it with respect though, and when the Lieutenant found out, he laughed. He liked that we did that. Our Company Leader just shook his head when he found out, but never pressed the issue.
A year into the service was when we got deployed. Our unit was assigned to take a town in Iraq. Even to this day I can't pronounce the name. When we arrived, my squad came under fire. We all dove to cover, but Private Thompson wasn't so lucky. He was caught out in the open and was killed. I watched as he was thrown back by the seven point six two rounds. I couldn't help but shed tears as I thought about his wife and unborn son that he was bragging about only hours ago. When he landed on the ground, his eyes were staring blankly at me; at least that was how it looked to me. He was our units first KIA. Sergeant Forrest ran through the fire and grabbed his drag handle and got him out. He then grabbed his tags and picked his rifle back up. We all started to return fire. The sorrow I had turned into anger, and that turned into rage. What right did they have to take his life?! We were here to help these people. We were here to help oust a dictator that was murdering people by the thousands each day, and torturing even more people! The tears the stung my eyes continued to flow, but a feeling of hate flowed through me. I wouldn't let them get away with killing my brother! I put round after round down range. Every time I felt my rifle kick against my shoulder, a little more of my rage flowed out of me. By the time we had taken the town, it had been the longest hour of my life. I had expended all of the ammo I had. We were told that our job was now to sit on the town until the unit behind us caught up and relieved us. My squad had taken the only casualty. When we got to the area we were supposed to defend, we dug in. We enhanced whatever cover we were behind. Finished mine and I sat behind while I watched my assigned area. Unfortunately when the physical work stopped, my mind tried to comprehend what I just went through.
I didn't want think about what I did, about killing another living being. I hate to think I actually killed someone, but I had to. If I didn't, then Thompson wouldn't have been our only loss. We might have lost the whole squad, maybe even the Platoon. I couldn't let that happen. My brothers were counting on me. I remember leaning out of cover and fire the rifle. I also remember seeing one of the enemy soldier's head snapping back as a puff of red. Every time I close my eyes I see his face, his body as it drops to the ground after I killed him. It scared me. I was scared about how good I felt when I was him die, like I had avenged Thompson somehow. That was the worst feeling I had ever felt. I then thought about Thompson. When I closed my eyes I saw him as he died. How his body danced as the rounds hit him, and than I see him only hours before he was killed. Back when he was bragging about his family, about his son. How happy he was. He was going to get discharged in just a few weeks. He was going to go into his father's business. It was just a small ma and pa store, but it had been in their family for five generations. My mind forced me to think about what his wife would be going through when she got the news. I couldn't help but cry as I imagined it was me who had to tell her.
I felt someone place a hand on my shoulder then. I looked up to see the Lieutenant standing over me.
"It isn't easy, the life we live. I remember what it was like during my first deployment into a combat zone. My unit lost one of its own during Desert Storm. The man was a good, lifelong friend of mine. We both grew up together, went to the same schools, and we were always looking out for each other. We both joined up at the same time and we swore we would always look out for each other. I took it hard when he was killed. My Platoon leader at the time had served in Nam, and did the same thing for me as I'm doing now. It doesn't get any easier, losing a brother, but you need to be able to at least set your feelings aside, until you can deal with them in a safe location and in a healthy way. Thompson was a good man, and a good friend. He will be missed by many people. Remember him as the hero he is. He died so that other would never have to feel or see what we do. I too morn his loss, but I know I can't morn properly right now," he told me as he sat beside me. I looked at him, through tear filled, as he talked. I know he was only thirty nine years old, but suddenly he seemed much older. He then looked out into the distance for a moment before he continued, "I asked my PL if I could be the one to contact his family. He said I could so I got on the Sat phone and called his family up. It was the hardest thing I ever did. I broke down and cried more than once while I was on the phone."
After that the two of us just sat in the town. A little while later we were relieved and we got reassigned. We had a little time to ourselves before we were to head out. I called my folks to tell them that I was alright. I couldn't tell them who we lost, just that we lost a man. I broke out in tears after that. My family did the best they could to help deal with the pain, but it didn't really help. I would have to get over it by myself. I don't think I will ever get over it. Like Paps said. That was my first day in Iraq. I hope that if I die, I can at least make it mean something...
The mission we got is classified so I can't write it down. I do know that this war we are in has just begun though. I pray that we all can come home, despite the fact that I know that not all of us will...
Congressional Medal of Honor citation:
*Fischer, John D.
Rank and Organization: Sergeant, United States Army
For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty: Sergeant John D. Fischer distinguished himself by acts of gallantry and intrepidity above and beyond the call of duty in action with an armed enemy near Balad, Iraq on 20 April 2003. On that day, Sergeant Fischer was engaged in a patrol Balad, when a Task Force currently defending the nearby base was violently attacked by a battalion-sized enemy force. Hearing a call for reinforcements, Sergeant Fischer quickly organized a hasty counter consisting of his platoon, another nearby platoon of soldiers, one Bradley Fighting Vehicle and three armored personnel carriers. Once he arrived, he was informed that he was the highest ranking soldier and immediately took charge of the entire Task Force. As the fight developed, Sergeant Fischer braved hostile enemy fire to personally engage the enemy with his rifle, hand grenades, and anti-tank weapons, and organized the evacuation of five wounded soldiers from an armored personnel carrier struck by a rocket propelled grenade and a 60mm mortar round. Fearing the enemy would overrun their defenses, Sergeant Fischer moved under withering enemy fire to man a .50 caliber machine gun mounted on a damaged Humvee. In total disregard for his own life, he maintained his exposed position in order to engage the attacking enemy force. During this action, he was mortally wounded. His courageous actions helped defeat the enemy attack, and resulted in as many as 80 enemy soldiers killed, while allowing the safe withdrawal of numerous wounded soldiers. Sergeant Fischer's extraordinary heroism and uncommon valor are in keeping with the highest traditions of the military service and reflect great credit upon himself, the First Infantry Division "the Big Red One," and the United States Army.