Selfless Action
We left the FOB in the cool light of morning, our string of vehicles shuttling between vacant lots like a sinewy sewing needle. The mere sight of our speeding phalanx cleared the roads of traffic, and in a few minutes we safely arrived at our destination… the small shantytown we named Goattown.
As our vehicles coiled around the neighborhood the first waves of children started spilling out of the narrow alleys in nervous anticipation, clustering together in small chattering groups. By time our vehicles settled into overwatch positions they were joined by a half dozen teenagers boys, who tried to mask their excitement at our arrival by casually strolling down the narrow lanes toward our positions. In many areas of Baghdad the locals greet our patrols with an almost casual disinterest, but the shantytowns are a far cry from those “developed” areas. In these drab neighborhoods the arrival of our patrols elicits the kind of excitement normally reserved for a holiday parade.
Our mission was relatively simple, move into the shantytown and set up a web of security while our Battalion Physician’s Assistant provided medical care to the local populace. It was a good thing that our mission didn’t rely on stealth - if it did we would have been instantly compromised by the small constellation of excited children followed each fire team like little ducks in a row. Despite the warm welcome the fire teams moved to their overwatch positions with deliberate care, their every sense focused on the tactical situation. The contrast between the smooth clearing tactics employed by the fire team, and the laughing throng of children skipping in their wake made for a very strange visual. Once they were set in the medical team slowly moved down the alleyway, and as they did a steady stream of sick and injured Iraqis started appearing from the small homes. As I made my way between the security positions I almost lost sight of the medical teams behind the quiet treatment area, it seemed like a good portion of every household had some type of illness that had been left untreated. The medical team did what they could, patching up infected wounds and dispensing medication to alleviate some of the illnesses. For the second time that day I was struck by a contrast, only this time it was between the sick and the healthy. The sick locals were almost all adults, and as they patiently waited in the shade their faces were an odd combination of hope, veiled behind a palatable sense of weariness. The children on the other hand danced around our soldiers, peppering them with requests for soccer balls and photographs. These kids were brimming with the blind joy of youth, and their smiles and laughs seemed to transform the humble alleys into something altogether different.
As I was walking along the alley one of the teenage boys pointed to the hood of a car and then placed his elbow on it, signaling for me to do the same. His friends were happily cheering and waving for me to join him, and I suddenly realized he wanted to have an arm wrestling contest. I tried to defer, I must have outmassed this kid by at least a 100 lbs and I didn’t want to embarrass him. But the teen and his friends were not to be denied, and after a few minutes of politely declining I finally leaned over the hood and gripped the teenagers hand. Once he started pulling I let him start pulling my hand over so he could save face in front of his friends, and then I slowly pulled his hand over and won. I congratulated him on the effort, and without batting an eye he asked for a rematch. I agreed and we settled back down over the hood of the car. At first everything seemed to be repeating itself, and then I suddenly found myself honestly struggling. I took a breath, closed my eyes, and started pulling with all my might – losing face to the locals had more second order effects then I cared to ponder. I slowly pulled my hand over, feeling my arm throb as the corded muscles strained with effort. Finally, with my arm shrieking and my pulse pounding in my ears I managed to pull my hand completely over and triumph. I opened my eyes to see the teen looking back at me with a shocked look on his face, and I patted him on the back with my good arm and congratulated him for his effort. As I was doing so SPC Tank yelled over “Good job sir, you beat all three of them”. I turned around and called back “What do you mean?” It was only then that I realized that two of the boys that had been cheering their friend on were sprawled in the dirt at their friend’s feet. SPC Tank gave me the rundown on their sudden increase in strength - as soon as the rematch started the first teenager stopped pulling and just lifted his feet of the ground, leaving him hanging from my outstretched arm. A moment later his two friends jumped on his back to add to the weight and “win” the contest. If I had opened my eyes their ploy would have been immediately obvious, but with my eyes bolted shut from sheer exertion I never noticed I was in effect lifting the combined weight of the three teenage boys. They certainly weren't playing fair, but I had to applaud their teamwork.
As I turned around to check on the rest of the patrol I suddenly realized that I was surrounded by a crescent of children all standing in utter silence. I smiled at them, and the moment I did so they erupted into a chorus of cheering and excited squeals. The boys took turns running up and squeezing my biceps and then staring at their friends in mock awe, then they took turns swinging from my outstretched arm. They pestered the interpreter until he finally turned to me and said “They want to know what you eat to get so strong?”. For a second I was stumped, I couldn’t really tell them to eat well – they were barely above the sustenance level. I finally settled on telling them to exercise everyday. The boys listened to the interpreter with rapt attention, and then slowly scuttled off to ask the soldiers for more treats.
After the better part of an hour the medical team was out of treatment supplies and we started wrapping up the mission. As we left the children became even more animated, jumping up and down as they asked for candy or soccer balls. As I started to get into my HMMWV I noticed a 10 or 11 year old girl standing behind the little mob holding her baby sister. I could tell from the look in her eyes that she wanted something as much as the kids jostling for attention, but she was either too polite or to shy. I grabbed our last soccer ball and started to walk over to where she was standing. The kids screamed even louder when they noticed the soccer ball, but they parted to let me through to the quiet girl standing in the back. I passed her the soccer ball and she said “Thank you” in perfect English. I walked back through the crowd of kids, got back in HMMWV and we started moving away. My last sight of Goattown was an image that will stay with me long after this mission ends. The same little girl I had passed the ball to was standing in the front door of her home and passing the soccer ball, the prize of prizes, to her younger brother. It was too late to stop the convoy and try to give her a reward for her guileless generosity, but I resolved then and there to bring her a stuffed animal the next time we visit. She earned it the hard way, through selfless action.
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