#thefallencity

I received word a few days ago that the Mosul had fallen to a militant Islamic group named ISIS.  The Iraqi Army and Iraqi Police shed out of their uniforms, dropped their arms, and fled when faced with the new challenger.  Despite having a 40:1 advantage in manpower and enough firepower and armor to wage a small war, they turned tail and fled.  While this was essentially par for the course with IA and IP, it still saddened me. 

Mosul is my city.  That is probably weird for an American to say, but I claim ownership of that city.  I spent a year of my life trying to make that city better for its inhabitants.  I devoted my blood, sweat, and tears to that city.  I lost friends in that city.  I put up with the heat and the cold; the small arms fire and the IED’s with the hope of making Mosul a better place.  This recent news is like a punch to the gut. 

Mosul is where I stopped being a boy and started being a man.  I grew up faster in those 12 months than I had in the 23 years previous and in the seven years since.  It was a turning point in my life, right at a critical juncture.  I learned how to be responsible for my own actions and for those of the men around me.  I learned to not tolerate “good enough” and to constantly strive to be better every single day.  I also learned how to function almost entirely on caffeine and whey protein.  I gained a deep understanding of hurry-up-and-wait.  BOHICA became my constant friend.  I learned the tonal difference between a mortar that was going to hit close to me and one that was going to be further away. 

Mosul gave me a sense of purpose, a higher calling.  The people of Mosul and my brothers in arms needed me to perform to the best of my abilities every single day.  The enemy didn’t care if I hadn’t slept for 2 days.  They didn’t care if I had a headache or a chest cold or a fever.  The mission was the mission and it was my duty to perform that mission every single time.  I didn’t always like it, but I did it because that was what was expected of me and that was what I owed those around me.

Mosul gave birth to some of the best stories I’ve ever had; the ones that you can tell your friends and family and your children and your children’s children.  Like the suicidal donkey on Route Toyota.  Or any story that starts with an Iraqi child screaming mistah-mistah and ends with said child giving you the finger.  Or me and Sgt. Skinny Kid getting shoved out of the way by a 4’6” Filipino man/woman (the gender details are a little fuzzy) and a herd of other TCN’s at the LSA Diamondback PX during a mortar attack as we were moving to the C-barrier.  Or the medic from 1st Cav that had been shot in the leg, evacuated the wound, stitched himself up, and only went to the CSH after the mission to have the wound examined where he and I had a lengthy conversation about the Iraqi weather compared to Alabama and Kansas respectively…he was killed in action 4 months later.  Or Man-Love Thursdays, because, as we all know, there is no love like man love.  Or the time I got turned away by some joker with a God-complex at the D-Fac guard shack after a mission because I still had on my IBA and wasn’t wearing my PT belt.  Or having my Purple Heart pinned on me…or receiving the wounds that led to being awarded the Purple Heart.  There are more stories than I could possibly share in a lifetime. 

Mosul was a whole new world for me.  It was the land of the Opal Vectra and the Bongo truck.  It gave me mortars every morning at 0500 and roadside bombs every evening.  Within its’ borders are some of the most beautiful sunrises and sunsets that I have ever seen.  It provided me with Monster cocktails and water bottle showers. 

Mosul as I knew it is likely gone for all eternity and that makes me sad.  I had hopes of one day bringing my wife and children to Iraq to show them where I was and to show them the country that I helped to build.  I fear that is no longer going to be a possibility.  The Mosul that was in my dreams never came to fruition and was torn down before it ever had a chance to come to be.  I fear that the people that I helped protect and defend are now left to the wolves as Sunnis continue to kill Shiites and Shiites continue to kill Sunnis.  They all try to kill the Kurds.  Make no mistake; this is genocide masquerading as sectarian violence tied with a bow that is corruption and greed.