This is a powerful post from a soldier serving in Afghanistan.
See the orignal story here.

On Friday our patrol got hit. An insurgent threw a grenade into one of our patrol vehicles. I helped the rest of my guys carry my roommate to the CSH (Combat Support Hospital) here in Mosul in a black body bag. As we took the body out of the Stryker vehicle our uniforms and boots became stained with blood comingled with tears for our buddy. Our steps were slow and
deliberate, blood seeping out the bag as we walked. No one talked. There was no need. We placed the remains on a cold metal table. I turned to my guys and I told them “Remember this feeling”..then we started filing out. The bigwigs had started arriving to have their “look see” and quite frankly I was not in the mood for their dog and pony show. Our platoon consists of
thirty men. We lost three that day. My roommate was fatally wounded..the team medic will never return to military service (amputee) and the gunner will most likely not return to military service (reconstructive facial surgeries).

We walked back to the transport vehicle and began hosing down the blood. As I watched it seep into the ground, I became acutely aware that tears were streaming down all our faces although there was no audible sounds emanating from us. We have been down this road before. We are well aware of our own mortality. The putrid acrid smell of burnt human flesh permeates our vehicles and clothes. My heart bleeds and my soul hides.

A Doc comes out to tell us that our gunner is conscious and alert. We race inside to see him. We are not prepared for the sight. There are tubes in various orifices. His face is unrecognizable. His jaw and multiple facial bones are broken. His eyes are almost swollen shut. Yet he manages a smile which exposes the carnage in his mouth. Most of his teeth are broken or
completely gone. His bottom lip is split wide open exposing a few more remaining teeth. We huddle at his bedside touching whatever body part we could..telling him that we were there..that the only thing to focus on now is getting better. They give him the purple heart. The tears flow freely again mixed with a few sobs and expletives. We are asked to leave so he can rest. I inquire about our team medic. They told us he was still in surgery..that they were doing everything they could to save his leg. We return to our vehicles.

The chaplain comes out and offers us water and words of consolation. I am in a daze but I clearly hear words like God and hero and sacrifice. The platoon is not in the mood to hear anything religious. We need our space to think and grieve. He prays and walks away. We sit and wait.

A nurse comes out to tell us that the team medic is out of surgery and heavily sedated. They managed to keep his leg attached for now and it is covered in a mound of bandages with blood seeping through. He briefly opens his eyes, scans the room to acknowledge everyone, then closes them again. We stand in silence. He opens his eyes again and asks why we were all
staring at him. We have no answers. Someone yells “It’s because your nipples are exposed”..(his hospital gown had fallen down off his shoulders). The feeble attempt at humor works for a brief second. He smiles..we smile. Then he asks about the other guys. The tears flow freely
once again. We tell him to rest and begin filing out of the room.

We drive back to our living areas. Those that have the stomach to eat do so. Most of us huddle outside. I go into the room. His laptop is still open..unfinished letter to his Mom..on his bed…dirty laundry strewn across the room. The reality is sobering. He is gone. Members of other
platoons start arriving to pay their respects and offer condolences. People started punching and kicking things. There was a lot of cussing and enough tears to fill a bucket. Someone said we should get clean. We had a ramp ceremony (where we bring the casket to the plane) in a few hours. No one moved.

A few hours later we were back at the CSH. There were two planes on the runway. One had soldiers returning from leave and new soldiers arriving to the unit. The look on their faces told us this was not the welcome they expected. The FLA (dont know the meaning of the acronym) drove the body onto the tarmac flanked by two of our guntrucks. We marched out and removed
the casket. It was adorned with the bronze star, the purple heart, and the CIB. The CIB, combat infantry man’s badge, is issued to an infantryman for taking and returning fire during combat operations. My roommate returned from leave on April 16. We got into a firefight the very next day, April 17, in the Ras Al Koor neighborhood. This was his first firefight and
therefore made him eligible for the CIB. I wrote his recommendation after that incident and he was due to get the coveted CIB very soon. He was looking forward to pinning it on his uniform and I was now looking at it pinned on his casket. The tears flowed behind our military issued
sunglasses as we carried his body slowly to the aircraft. The casket was mettalic in nature and extremely cold due to the material used to preserve the body during shipment. The airfield was a sea of people rendering final salute as we walked by. We placed him in the belly of the airplane and rendered our final salute. I ran my hand the full length of the
coffin..caressing the flag..whispering that if he could hear me.. I loved him and I missed him. The chaplains and Battalion Commanders gave their speeches. We hugged and cried. We marched off that plane with the entire battalion behind us. I paused briefly to look at the lonely casket sitting on the ramp of the airplane. We drove back in silence to our living quarters.

A few hours later we were back at the airfield. We carried our team medic to his plane pretty much in the same fashion we carried the coffin a few hours earlier. He was on his way to Landstuhl Germany for treatment. We shook hands and saluted as he flew off.

We never got to see our gunner leave. Sometime during the night he was flown to Balad Iraq to catch a follow on flight back to the states. We were pissed. I guess command thought that we had a pretty long day and needed the rest. What we NEEDED was to send our boys off the right way.

Saturday we mulled around for the better part of the day. Recovery guys came and inventoried his property and took it all away in large black tote boxes. I asked them to leave the pictures up that he put on the walls. They comply. The room is much emptier. I stare at the walls and the ceiling. Sleep does not come easily but it finally does.

I am awakened a few hours later by members of the squad for a mandatory debrief. The Combat Stress Team is here asking “How does that make you feel?” type questions. They say they KNOW how we are feeling and we need to talk it out…we politely tell them to go away. When they leave..we open up to each other..we laugh..we cry..we talk about our buddies. We keep the memories between us..no one else understands the bond..the unit cohesion..the love we have for each other.

A few minutes later we get word. We are tasked with a mission. Less than 36 hours have passed since the incident. We lace up our boots, don euipment, and race to our vehicles. Work beckons…we will grieve later. The war machine grinds on..and we..we are the cogs in the wheel. I do one final check of my guys..we lock and load..and prepare to walk through the valley
of the shadow of death.