Years ago, I met a fellow veteran at a promotion event for one of my novels. The man suffered from traumatic brain injury, sustained in an improvised explosive device attack on his vehicle during his deployment to Iraq. Due to his injury, he wore one of those soft helmets, and he misunderstood basic social cues. I pitied him and thought of how close I’d come to a similar fate.
With the Army in Afghanistan in 2005, I was manning the turret behind the Mk-19 grenade-launching machine gun, with my top half sticking out of the Humvee and my back resting against the upright, locked-open turret hatch lid.
One mission took us off the dirt road into a poppy field, trying to keep rolling on dry land to avoid getting stuck in the mud again. Ahead was a small irrigation rut, a dry, foot-deep channel with six-inch-high dirt ridges on either side, an easy place to get stuck. But it was a far drive through muddy terrain to go around it.
“We’ll go over it,” said our squad leader, Staff Sgt. Patten, whom we all secretly called SatCom 6. SatCom was a good guy, concerned for his troops’ safety, but sometimes he took his concern too far. “Everybody dismount except the driver, Spc. Hinton, and Reedy, providing cover on the gun. We want everybody clear in case there’s an IED ahead.”
IEDs were a serious threat, but the enemy understandably placed them along roads or other routes we were likely to travel. We were in the middle of nowhere. The odds of the enemy placing an IED in that particular spot were effectively zero.
My team leader, Sgt. Preston, explained this to SatCom, who shouted, “I’m the squad leader here!”
Preston even jumped up and down around our crossing area.
“See? No IEDs. We should ride in the Humvee, and there’s no one around, so Reedy can get off the gun,” he said.
SatCom wouldn’t listen. Hinton was ordered to drive over the rut, and I remained in the turret.
“If we get stuck here, it’ll take forever to get out. Back up a little. Then floor it,” I told Hinton. “Don’t let up on the gas. We have to cross this.”
I braced myself, gripping the Mk-19 handle with my left hand and the turret lid support strut with my right. “OK, Hinton, go!”
Faithful readers, I try not to lecture people, but I implore you to wear your seatbelt in the car. You might think you can hold on, but you can’t beat physics.
The Humvee hit the rut. I flew forward, chest nailing the back of the Mk-19. My Kevlar helmet slid forward, over my eyes and nose, as my face smashed into the top of the gun. I bounced and my back smacked the turret lid. Forward to the gun again, and my helmet flew off, skittering over the top of the vehicle.
“No! Helmet!” I absurdly said, reaching for my Kevlar. The Humvee halted, clear of the obstacle.
“SatCom was horrified,” Preston later told me. “Like, f***, I’m gonna lose my job!”
Preston walked toward the Humvee, deep, stunned concern on his face. Finally, he snapped to business. “OK, his face will be crushed. Casualty treatment! We gotta stop the bleeding!”
I stood in the turret, patting the armor plate that had struck the back of the gun. No chest pain. I touched my face and nose, then checked my hand. No blood. Nothing hurt. Incredible.
THE AFGHAN ADJUSTMENT ACT: A NEW HOPE
“Sergeant, wanna hand me my helmet?” I said. “I think … I’m OK.”
It took a while to convince them, and to convince myself, but I was perfectly fine. My armor had saved my chest, and because I always wore my chin strap loose, my helmet had slid forward to protect my face. As my team drove on, continuing the mission, I thanked God for saving me from what could have been a life-devastating injury.
Trent Reedy, author of several books, including Enduring Freedom, served as a combat engineer in the Iowa Army National Guard from 1999 to 2005, including a tour of duty in Afghanistan.
*Some names and call signs in this story may have been changed due to operational security or privacy concerns.
, 2025-10-10 03:40:00, 
, Washington Examiner, %%https://www.washingtonexaminer.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/cropped-favicon.png?w=32, https://www.washingtonexaminer.com/feed/, Trent Reedy
