A tribute for the citizen soldier
Book Review
The Devil’s Sandbox
By John R. Bruning
Zenith Press
By BILL DUNCAN
The News-Review
At first, John R. Bruning, a writer and military historian from Independence, Ore. was considered an outsider and not fully trusted by the men he was interviewing. He had proposed a book telling the story of the citizen soldiers from the Oregon National Guard who were deployed to Iraq.
He was held in the same contempt as any member of the media. Slowly, he won their confidence and respect as he interviewed the National Guard members to tell the story which now appears in print as "The Devil’s Sandbox."
That confidence is well placed. Bruning does an authentic job of telling their story in a 344-page book that begins with rumors of a call up the National Guard unit from Oregon’s south coast, Willamette Valley and even into Eastern Oregon. In all, Bruning says he did 350 personal interviews to compile this book.
The call up was for men who were ordinarily farmers, clerks, brick layers, landscapers, college students and policemen — the backbone of the U.S. military since the days of the Minute Men. Bruning called them "anonymous heroes among us."
They are not so anonymous as Bruning chronicles the battles they faced in Iraq almost from the moment their boots hit Iraqi soil and it is clear they are heroes. On the first day the Guard unit was in Iraq it was engaged in combat and took casualties and as Bruning writes, "they learned the hard way that their training ill-prepared them for the reality in the streets."
Bruning writes a griping story and Bruning that includes the reality and horror of war sparing no words as he tells what they saw, how they survived the life-and-death decisions they had to make in "The Devil’s Sandbox." The Guard unit was assigned to the 1st Cavalry Division to bring that division up to strength. Lt. Gen. Peter Chiarelli, commanding officer of the division, called them "the best infantry battalion in Iraq.
They would pay the price for that honor.
"I started this book as a way to contribute to my country in time of war," he said. "Instead it became my way of paying tribute to the finest humans I have ever known."
Be warned it is graphic in both detail and language, so much so that readers will have the sensation they are standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the 2nd Battalion, 162nd Infantry. The readers will also be angered that we as a nation sent soldiers to war who were ill-equipped and forced to use vehicles without protected armor. The troops improvised armor using plywood and sandbags, what they referred to as "Dog Patch" armor.
There is a particularly poignant anecdote on page 83 that illustrates this when Sgt. Luke Wilson of Hermiston is wounded and a nurse at an aid station starts cutting away his gear, but when she starts to cut his under armor shirt, he demands:
"What the hell are you doing?"
"We have to cut everything off," she explained.
"Hey. It’s my leg that’s hurt, not my shirt."
Wilson had paid for the under armor shirt out of his own pocket because the Army had not supplied it.
In the next chapter of the book, Bruning recites an even more poignant story about this particular incident when Luke calls home from the hospital to let his parents know he is alive. His mother answers the phone.
"Where are you?" she demanded.
"I’m in Baghdad."
His mother could hear a nurse talking in the background.
"Are you in the hospital?"
Wilson realized that the Army had not yet contacted his parents and he couldn’t handle breaking the news to them. He hung up.
The most deadly encounters for the Oregon guardsmen was their close combat with the Mahdi militia, the fanatical followers of Al Sadr. On one occasion in June 2004, the battalion discovered a compound within the Iraqi Ministry of Interior, where over a hundred prisoners were being tortured and abused by the Iraqi guards. The troops stormed the compound, disarmed the American-supported Iraqi guards and gave medical treatment to the prisoners. Their actions provoked an international incident, but they secured the release of the abused detainees.
Interestingly, while the book is about the bloodied 2nd Battalion, 162 Infantry’s exploits in Iraq, Bruning does touching stories about the families left behind, a fact he notes is part of the strength that held the Guard unit together in their year long combat ordeal. (See excerpt accompanying this review.)
The unit was finally relieved in the Spring of 2005 and returned to Oregon, but not for long. In September 2005, six months after returning home, the unit is deployed to New Orleans in the wake of Hurricane Katrina.
This is not an easy book to read, but it is a timely book as leaders of our country debate the war in Iraq. It should be mandatory reading for those decision makers.
It is not an anti-war book, but it is an in-depth account of the reality of war — a war these citizen soldiers from Oregon fought with pride and honor.
(Bill Duncan is the editor of The Senior Times. He writes a weekly column on the Opinion Page each Thursday.)
(Editor’s Note: The excerpt below is printed with the permission of Zenith Press. It is from Chapter 6, Page 227, in "The Devil’s Sandox." The story is about Mandy Ferguson, a school teacher in Independence, Ore. and the fiancee of Specialist Spike Olsen, serving with the 2nd Battalion, 162nd infantry in Iraq.)
THROUGH HARDSHIPS †TO THINGS OF HONOR
Mandy Ferguson sat in her little silver sedan on the side of the road and sobbed.
She gasped with pain and struggled to breathe. She was caught in the agony of the unknown. Not knowing. That was the worst of everything related to this deployment. It left every family member in a state of perpetual anxiety. The unknown became the playground of the imagination, and left unchecked it could be a stiletto to self-control.
On this September morning, the local radio news had demolished her composure. She wondered how she’d survive the day. All across the Emerald Valley, Volunteer families felt the exact same anguish.
At the top of the hour, a Portland station had reported that two men from Bravo Company, 2-162 Infantry, had been killed in action. Their names had yet to be released pending notification of the families. Who were they? Was Spike among the dead? It was like a dreadful lottery, one in which she had a one in fifty chance of finding the contact team at her doorstep.
“Why do they do this? Don’t these people know what they’re inflicting on us?” she cried aloud to herself. If she hadn’t already hated the media, she detested them now.
Mandy was no shrinking violet. She’d been tough all year, finding reservoirs of strength she never knew she possessed. Under her pretty face and engaging smile was a woman built of solid steel. Just to keep busy that summer, she had volunteered to be a juvenile rape counselor in Portland.
But even steel can be broken.
How long did she sit by the side of the road? Not long enough. She had just started a new job not a week before, working as a first grade teacher at Independence Elementary School. She had to get to work. She continued on her way to school. As the fresh face in the staff room, she had no shoulder for times like these. She was on her own. All day long, she fought the tears. She kept the kids on task, even though Spike’s parents barraged her with phone calls asking if she’d heard anything.
Her kids saved her. One particular stinker picked that day to be extra naughty. He fell out of his seat. He chewed up a pen. He drooled and spit on his desk. He colored his hand black with a marker, and when Mandy told him to stop, he began spitting on it to wipe the ink away. At the end of the day, he balled up a worksheet and refused to give it to Mandy. She had to pry his fingers loose and take it from him. In the process, a corner tore off. Quick as a cat, he stuffed it in his mouth.
It was that kind of a day. Yet, it distracted her from the awful news. For that she was grateful.
As class ended, she learned who had been killed. Spike was unhurt. A wave of pure relief flooded her. But guilt rode on the crest of that wave. Somebody else would see the contact team. She had no right to feel relieved.