B0038M1ADS EBOK (47 page)

To conclude, First Sergeant Michael Schindler offers his thoughts on
the topic of acceptance:

The first rule of combat is that there are no rules, so to try and accept
what happens in combat is impossible. The process of navigating my way
through PTSD gave me the tools and a blueprint to free myself of guilt
and lingering negative behavior patterns which blocked my life from moving forward, and from inner joy and happiness. For me, moving forward
meant doing the impossible: accepting what occurred in my past.

Like many mornings, on this resupply day inJuly of 1971, my platoon had to hump 7 to 10 clicks through mountain terrain and elephantgrass jungle to find a suitable landing zone (LZ) for the choppers to drop
off ammo, supplies, C-Rations, mail, and hot food. Spirits were high as
usual on this resupply day. Squads from 2nd Platoon linked up with each
other to begin the hike to find an LZ. As I remember, we found a suitable
LZ late in the morning.

We halted and spread out on a trail near the hilltop. The LT checked
his map and told Sergeant S to take a few men to patrol the LZ. I took the
point in front of Sergeant S, followed by Doc and a PFC. While walking
slowly I noticed the wind blowing hard and saw that the hilltop was thick
with razor-sharp elephant grass. Clearing this LZ would be a pain in the
ass. We came up the slope cautiously, looking for signs of VC. All of our
combat senses were engaged now, listening for metallic sounds, scanning
for quick movement, the smell of death, detecting booby traps. We stopped a
couple of times, crouching, looking, and listening for any threats.

The next event changed my life for thirty-six years. I stood up and
slowly walked about twenty five steps when Sergeant S stood up and took
three or four steps in the same spots that I did and hit a booby trap. Sergeant S hit the ground, screaming, "My fucking leg!" as I hit the ground
just ahead of him and looked back and saw him grabbing his leg while
writhing and squirming in massive pain. I crawled back to him while firing into the elephant grass. Doc came from behind and administered first
aid on Sergeant S's leg.

The rest of the patrol blindly opened fire into the elephant--grass hilltop.
After a frightening few minutes, a cease-fire order was given by the LT.
Frantically we determined there was no VC in the elephant-grass hilltop,
and that the booby trap was old. Attention shifted to Sergeant S's condi tion while securing the LZ for a medevac chopper to land and pick him
up. Sergeant S's foot had been blown off cleanly at the ankle just above the
boot. Within twenty-five to forty minutes, the medevac chopper set down.
Doc and I put Sergeant S on the stretcher, then loaded him onto the chopper.
I picked up his foot, still in the boot, placed it on the stretcher next to him,
and signaled the chopper pilot to take off.

During the next thirty-six years I blamed myself because I hadn't seen
the booby trap that exploded and ruined Sergeant S's life. Shortly after
my mental crash and burn, during the beginning of my therapy sessions,
while narrating my story, I was told by my psychiatrist that because combat
events can happen so fast, warriors only remember fragments of an event.
In my case, I for sure thought that I was responsible for what happened
because of my negligence as point man.

My closure for "causing" this came while attending my Vietnam pla-
toon'sfirst reunion injuly of 2007 in St. Joe, Missouri. Fifteen members from
2nd Platoon, Bravo Company, 1st Battalion, 501st Geronimo Brigade,
101st Airborne Infantry Division (Screaming Eagles) attended. We spent
four days reconnecting, laughing, crying, and talking story together. The
experience was truly outstanding and long overdue. During this reunion I
talked with Doc, now a lieutenant colonel, and asked him what he remembered about that day. Doc told me, `Not much, except a lot of chaos, yelling,
blood, putting Sergeant S onto the stretcher, and Putting his foot next to him
before the medevac chopper took off. "During my retelling of the story, I told
Doc that I had put Sergeant S's foot on the stretcher, not him.

On the last day of the reunion, I finally worked up enough courage to
talk story with Sergeant S, who was also there. By then, we were the only
ones who remained at the hotel. So I finally asked him what he remembered
about that day. He said that he did not remember anything after he stepped
on the booby trap. That's when I told Sergeant S of my guilt-that I blamed
myself and accepted responsibility for him losing his foot because it was my
job to clear the way as point man.

Sergeant S's response completely surprised me. He looked at me for a
few moments, gave me his Georgia chuckle, and said, "That's silly, Mike,
what happened was nobody's fault except the son of a bitch who put the booby trap there in the first place. " He also added, "Besides, I was the one
in front when we walked up to the LZ. " I said that I remembered turning
to look back toward him after the explosion, but after we talked about it, I
realized that Sergeant S had actually been off to my left as well as behind
me, and was probably not directly in my footsteps as I had been remembering it through the years. Somehow talking this through lifted a great weight
off my heart. My reaction was to laugh and feel real stupid for having
accepted the guilt and blame all that time.

My point here is that although the three of us Doc, Sergeant S, and
I-were involved in the same incident, we all remember that day differently. Each of us will swear that we "remember" correctly. The truth, of
course, is that we are all correct, and to accept this as a fact.

Instead of dwelling, analyzing, and feeling guilty about combat experiences that make no sense in the real world, accept that combat is completely surreal. Trying to understand the sense of combat is impossible.
Instead, understand your combat warrior experiences and loss of combat
buddies as something that you can't make sense of. Accept the random
insanity, and turn. the negative feelings into positive actions that will set
you free from guilt and inner turmoil.

Combat warriors often ask themselves, "Why me?" Why did I survive
that battle and my buddy got killed? The randomness of combat is a real
pisser, and the hardest thing to accept. We frequently feel that we should
have died, and that our buddy is dead because of something that we did
to cause this. The pisser here is that there is no way to understand the
randomness of death in combat. Moving on and accepting the "why" of
combat loss takes a full measure of faith in yourself and blind acceptance
of combat as unexplainable. Acknowledge your feelings, honor your combat
brothers, and accept the loss. Free yourself from the guilt and stay strong,life is good.

Extinguishing the flames of combat, killing, death, loss, and despair
was perhaps the most difficult task that I have ever done. Sometimes during the narrative and acceptance stages, I wanted to scream, and did,
plenty of times. The sense of having no control over my emotions was more
than I could bear at times, but it was better than when my emotions mani Jested in anger, beer drinking, and dangerous living, among a long list of
negative behaviors. Acceptance for me was to not think of myself as a killer,
but to think of myself as a combat infantry warrior doing his job, just as
many generations had done before me (and after).

The first time that I heard the concept that I could possibly be remembering my combat experiences differently than others involved in the same
incidents was during my first therapy session. My reaction was total confusion. My shrink had to explain it several times.

My experience is that we all feel, remember, and see things differently
even though we all are part of the same events, occurring at the same
split second. I truly believe that this is a way that we process the event as
individuals. In general, all combat memories are the "correct" memories.
Fiction is fiction, but should not be confused with remembering differently
from another who was with you in battle.

Funny how in a firefight, time seems to slow down so that you can
react to the combat actions taking place around you. I felt that I was having an out-of-body experience, like being on the outside looking in. This
outside-looking-in feeling stayed with me for thirty plus years. Acceptance
of my combat warrior actions of death, killing, loss, grief, confusion, and
pain began when I realized that I could not and should not try to make
sense from chaos. Chaos is what it is-random confusion. Accept your
combat experiences as part of your life, not what defines your life.

This is a huge issue. We have lived six months, twelve months,
or however long in Hell. We just want to come home, relax, and
do what we haven't been able to do for the past time frame of the
deployment. At the same time, our family members have been in
Hell for the same amount of time. They have taken care of finances,
children, and everything else. Time didn't stop for them, but for
us, "reality of home" did stop. Both sides have sacrificed, but all
too often that's forgotten. Neither side of the coin is the same. Both
have experienced significant change and adaptability. Both want
a break upon redeployment home.

ARMY COMBAT MEDIC, POST-IRAQ

This chapter is intended primarily for spouses or partners of warriors, but
also acknowledges the tremendous impact that deployment can have on
children, other family members, and friends. It's also a very important
chapter for warriors. Just as it's beneficial for spouses, partners, and family
members to gain a better understanding of warriors' experiences by reading the earlier chapters, the warrior can benefit by gaining perspective on
the experience of their loved ones by reading this. If you have children,
there's material for helping them. This chapter is about shared resilience
through supporting each other.

DEPLOYMENT AFFECTS EVERYONE

Wartime service can have lasting effects (both positive and negative) on
spouses or partners, no matter the length of the relationship or how much time has passed since the warrior returned from deployment. As a spouse
or partner, you might have known your warrior throughout the deployment cycle, or you might have come into each others' lives well after their
return. This chapter can be useful either way.

If you were with your warrior while they were deployed, you know that
deployment to combat can be just as hard on spouses, partners, children,
and other family members as it is on the warriors, although in a different way.
In many ways the war zone is "simpler." The warrior's responsibility is to stay
focused on the mission together with their team members. At home, everything gets more complicated for loved ones during the warrior's absence.

When I was thinking of the quote to use above, I wanted one from a
spouse, but ended up selecting this warrior's words because of its reference to the sense of time. Warriors put the home front "on hold," stopped
in time. They look forward to the moment they can break from the hell of
deployment and return home, and the passage of time can be agonizing
(particularly demoralizing if the tour length is extended). But they are
singularly occupied on their mission and don't feel the passage of time in
the same way as those left behind. They know the connection with their
loved ones exists, and may depend on it and long for it, but they also tuck
it away somewhere, like all of their other emotions, so they can get on with
the mission at hand. One day nuns into the next.