I am the President of a small Record Company and Recording Studio in Scranton, PA. I receive an early morning phone call from my mom...she knows I do not have a TV and immediately tells me to go find one. I wake up my daughter, bundle her up, and am out the door in one minute. Three minutes later I am at a friends house horrified at what I am watching on the television. I thought my sister was in New York...she was supposed to be there...I couldn't reach her. Phone lines were jammed as the second plane hit...all I could do was watch in abject humility and terror. I watched and cried as rescue ops went into motion...screamed out loud as I watched a man jump to his death, and with my heart in my throat I watched as the Pentagon was hit...right where my brother worked. I called everyone I knew at the Pentagon, called their cell phones, called home phones...no answer. No answer from my sister-in-law who worked down the street in Crystal City. I finally called the Office of the Secretary of Defense, a private number...they had no information as yet on survivors. It was eight hours later that I found out my brother had crawled out of the wreckage with his team. Shortly after, I received a call from my sister...she had missed her flight...she was ok as well. I took a deep breath and went into action. I left Kat, my daughter, with a friend, and made my way downtown to AMR. It was chaos at the station. Every team wanted to take a vehicle and head up north to help. The company sent two trucks and several teams. Many went on their own, and my partner, in all his wisdom, convinced me to stay home.
It has been many years since that day. My life took a new direction...a path I never thought to be on. Yet every day, I take the time to watch the events that unfolded on a day our Government perpetrated the largest massacre in our history after the Indian Massacres. Did I always believe thusly? No, I did not. And like so many others before me, I felt a great need to serve my country, a call to duty, and a need for retribution and closure. What I got instead was a nightmare. A nightmare I live every day whether I am asleep or awake. Welcome to my nightmare.
Diyala Province 2006 - I am not allowed to tell you when, and I am not allowed to tell you where...a foot patrol finds a truck camouflaged in the bushes...nine decapitated bodies are in the back...been there quite some time, a feast for the beetles and no match for the beating sun. 50 meters away, an underground chamber...torture chamber...nine heads, one chainsaw, one chair, two ropes, 1" wire cable (a favorite treat of Iraqi torturers...beat a man across the feet, elbows, shoulders and knees). One man loses it and starts stacking the heads in a pyramid, a game he is playing to overcome the trauma.
Diyala Province - I am not allowed to tell you when, and I am not allowed to tell you where...the guards fall asleep and every policeman is massacred in an orchestrated dual VBIED attack. No one survives the slaughter. In the photos below you will see a floor inches deep with their blood, the chain reaction of cars blowing up and the final results.
Diyala Province - I am not allowed to tell you when, and I am not allowed to tell you where...VBIED
Diyala Province - I am not allowed to tell you when, and I am not allowed to tell you where...VBIED
Diyala Province - I am not allowed to tell you when, and I am not allowed to tell you where...a marketplace massacre
In the clinic...patients were brought to us when the Iraqi's did not have the level of care needed...
These are just a few of my nightmares...from my first tour of duty. It did not get any better for the second.
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