I left for training at the end of 2006, a little over 450 of us all did 3 1/2 weeks of detainee operation training before getting to Bucca. The course is supposed to be 6 weeks long but we didn't have that much time so it was shortened. Once we arrived in Kuwait we were given our compound assignments, each compound had a different type of inmate or a different religious variation of Islam. One compound held the elderly, sick, and children. That's right, children from the age of 10-16 were grouped together. They couldn't be placed with the adults because of safety issues, but they were far from innocent. Anyways, our squadron posted multiple lists of all the compound assignments and on each one I couldn't find my name. After looking for about 30 minutes, my squad leader told me to go see the Master Sergeant in charge of the rosters. When I spoke to him, he told me I had been assigned to the Quick Response Force (QRF). I was so excited! QRF was responsible for conducting searches, extractions, intakes, releases, and my absolute favorite, riot response. In short they were the badasses of the prison.
On my first day in the Theater Internment Facility (TIF), fancy word for prison, one of the compounds had a riot. Us new guys, just grabbed some gear and jumped on the back of the nearest truck. I remember being nervous and excited. One of the older guys, who was leaving soon, asked me if I was excited. I said, yes, and I'll never forget the look he gave me, just devoid of any emotion and he said, "Don't worry, you'll get over it." During that first riot I got a nice little taste of what was to be my life for the next few months, I got hit with everything the male body can produce (yes, everything!), I got gassed because someone grabbed the wrong grenade and threw a mace one near my position, and I almost got set on fire. My group had gone into one of the small compounds and while trying to round up the last of the rioters, another one set fire to the tent we were in. For the next few months, riots happened almost daily, some huge, others a little smaller. Every so often we would have multiple compounds riot at once, and occasionally the entire prison would riot. The older guy was right, I did get over it after a while, it got to where they no longer excited me or made me nervous.
We had a saying at Bucca, "Don't let the monsters out." It's a simple enough saying, don't let the bad guys get away, right? Wrong. It was a reminder to us. "Don't let the monsters out" meant don't let your demons out, don't become someone you can't recognize. Sadly, I failed. I decided that showing any emotion other than anger was weakness. The inmates will use your weakness to kill you. So I shut down my emotions. At one point, right after our deployment was extended a second time (it was extended 3 times), I just told myself, "Heather, you're never going to leave here. Just accept that the rest of your life will be spent here." It was easier to deal with the constant craziness and cruelty by just not caring. But it set me up for failure when I returned home. I was completely emotionally cut off, I didn't know how to connect with people. I had always drank a lot, but it was after Bucca where I began to drink not for fun but to try and help me feel.
Remember when I said Pakistan had a lot of firsts for me? Well Bucca did too! It was the first place, where I smoked a hookah and made friends with refugees (they worked in stores around the base). I was also the first place where I got to hunt for escaped inmates in our living quarters, watch inmates kill somebody for fun, and shoot someone in the face with a riot gun. The inmates were an interesting group, they hated us; I understood that. But what I couldn't fathom was how much they hated each other at times. I've heard and seen them kill each other for being a different denomination of Islam, or for being too nice to the guards, and my personal favorite, using what the Americans gave them. I saw a guy get his ass whooped because he used toilet paper. Yup, toilet paper! By that point I didn't even care, I figured as long as he was beating the other guy, he wasn't bothering me. No emotions, no empathy to another's pain; at the time it was just easier that way. Inmates beating each other inside the compounds were normal, and we had no good way to stop them; not enough people, gear, or supplies meant we stayed outside the fence and just simply kept them inside; whatever they did in the fence was their business.
May 6, 2007-This day will always be engraved on my heart. It was the first of what I never wanted, the first time a friend was killed in action. He wasn't at my base, he was a childhood friend. I found out via a message from my mom on Facebook, it's not like she could call me. After finding this out, I had to go to work and inprocess about 150 more inmates from Bagdad. I was able to take a few minutes; a good friend of mine stayed with me until I had to go to work. That day during the inprocessing, I was so angry- all I could think of was the person who placed that roadside bomb might be in my inprocessing group. I won't go too into it, let's just say I was relieved for the day.
May 14, 2007- I got my next awful first. I was notified that a Security Forces member from my base had been killed up north. Our leadership was telling us to call our families and let them know we were ok, since the news in Little Rock would be reporting a person's death but no name. Furthermore, we weren't allowed to tell our families who had died just that we were ok. As one of the NCO's from Little Rock, I also was tasked with telling my Airmen who it was that had been killed. It was my first time telling a man that one of his bests friends was dead.
June 9, 2007- It was the first time a mortar almost killed us! The day actually started off kind of funny, I slept through the first few mortars. My roommate woke me up by saying, "Heather, get off your bed and get on the floor." I was so confused I thought I was still asleep, then BLAM! My whole pod shook and suddenly I was on the floor! We responded to the prison, there weren't enough trucks for some reason, so we had to walk. The heat was incredible! 135+ degrees and add a helmet and vest. When we got to the prison we could see why there weren't any extra vehicles. They were being used to cart injured and dead inmates to the hospital. That day was the first time I saw a human brain and part of a skull, they were hanging from some of the fence. Thankfully, no Americans were injured or killed. Although on CNN (I can't stand them!) they were reporting several Americans were dead and dozens injured; my poor grandmother caught the news and freaked out.
I figure here should be a good stopping point. There is plenty more I could write about but I fear that in doing so I might open the monster's cage. I have successfully wrestled many of them back into their cages, but at times they still get restless. After almost a decade I have begun to allow my emotions to show a little. It's amazing to me that a decision made long ago will affect me so much today. I thought as soon as I was home I would just "relax" my emotions and everything would be fine. It's a sick lie. To this day I can't really cry. Oh I can tear up at a funeral or when I hear bad news but it literally almost takes a physical effort for me to shed tears. All because I thought I could kill my emotions 10 years ago.
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