By Deborah Turner
dturner@mckeniebanner.com |
 |
Sergeant First Class David Jarrett
|
David Jarrett went to war and came home a changed man.
Deeper is his devotion to his family, his country, and the
men with whom he served from January to December 2005 in the
tempering fires of Iraq's unconventional battle zones.
There, he and 48 other soldiers of Alpha Company's third
platoon spent endless hours in scrutiny of 200 miles of
bland highway. Anything new in the scenery was apt to be
something deadly as the crew scoured the roadside for IEDs
(improvised explosive devices).
Unavoidably, the situation took its toll.
"I think we all came back with a certain degree of PTSD
(post traumatic stress syndrome)," says David, relaxing in
the screened-in back porch of his lovely, Holly Hills abode.
The scene from the breezy enclosure is one of the American
dream realized: beyond the landscaped patio and well-kept
lawn, children run back and forth playing on the swing set,
accompanied by the family's dogs. Laughter punctuates quiet
conversation as David and Michele, his wife of 15 years,
recount their experience.
"So many people said he's going to come back a different
person," Michele says, laughing.
The truth is that things couldn't be better since David came
home, and that the family is working through the reality of
the lingering influences of his wartime service.
Michele's first clue came when David was home on leave in
July last year when, driving home from the airport, he
dashed headlong through traffic like a man possessed.
Now, he's able to explain that, when not encumbered in the
slow process of IED detection, "You ran as fast as you could
(on the highways of Iraq). Speed was your friend because, if
an IED goes off, you want to get as far away as possible."
Other signs came later. "Sounds startle you, you just get in
a funky mood," he says, recounting the collective experience
of his comrades. "You couldn't deal with little things,
things you used to love are like fingernails on a
chalkboard."
But, he adds, "It's not unusual. Some folks try to hide it,
keep it pent up and don't deal with it. My opinion is hit it
head on and just deal with it."
It was only after he was home that Michele realized the
hardships under which he had daily struggled. She had
thought he was encumbered with office duties.
"Every time he called he said he was doing paperwork!" she
exclaims, her smile one of relief, pride, and understanding
of her husband's deception; his stalwart protection of her
and their children's emotional well being, as well as his
unit's mission.
Ten-year-old Morgan, slumped alongside her mother on a
cushioned wicker sofa adjacent to David's chair, mumbles,
smiling, "And I actually believed him because he sent home a
picture of his office."
Her dad smiles too, protesting that he did have an office,
never mind the fact that work accomplished there consumed
scant moments of 12- to 18-hour workdays spent mostly in the
field. Back on post, often in the wee hours of morning,
there was barely time to put equipment away before
collapsing, exhausted, for a few hours sleep before rising
to repeat the cycle.
|
|
Glad to have David back home is wife
Michele and children, left to right, Zach, Evan, and Morgan.
|
It's all clearer now for Michele, who had been frustrated
with his short e-mails home.
"I'd write a book!" she declares, wide-eyed and animated,
"and he would write back a couple of sentences."
His family had good cause to assume he was "doing
paperwork." For the past five years before deployment he had
worked in an office as a full-time National Guard recruiter.
It was a position his father had filled years earlier as
David grew up in McKenzie, the son of career National Guard
soldier, Earl Jarrett, and Shirley Jarrett (now Bell).
David had signed up with the Guard during his senior year in
high school. "As soon as I was old enough and got to where I
could, I enlisted," he says. "It was a lot of family
tradition and (financial assistance for) school and just
something I wanted to do."
The unit was just moving to the new armory in 1988 when
David joined. Then Company A of the 4-109 Armor Battalion,
30th Separate Armor Brigade, the unit employed M-60 tanks,
in 1993 changing to M-1 Abrams tanks. David became one of
the youngest tank commanders in the unit, as a sergeant
taking on the responsibilities of a staff sergeant.
The company assumed its new role as combat engineers in
1994. David was a squad leader until 1999, when on April 14
he transferred out of Company A and went into recruiting.
Listening to "John Boy and Billy" on 92 FM as he drove to
work on September 11, 2001, he thought they were joking when
they said a jet had crashed into the World Trade Center. But
when he walked in, he saw office workers glued to the
television as a plane crashed into the second tower.
"We were just dumbfounded," says David, adding that he went
through the typical stages of disbelief, shock, and anger as
he assimilated the scenes before him.
Three years later, in October, he was asked to deploy with
the unit to Iraq.
"I told them, I can't volunteer to go but if you command
direct me, I'll go," says David. "The next day I had a
letter slid under my door from Colonel (Stephen) London that
said, 'You are hereby command directed...' He came down to
visit me and said, 'We need you.'
"First Sergeant (Johnny) Walker asked me first, then he
brought out the big guns," David laughs, a bit uneasily. The
decision for David to deploy as a platoon sergeant is still
a sore point for Michele, who was devastated by the news.
"We had gone out for a nice date," says Michele of the
outing planned before David knew of the pending
mobilization, "and on the way home he told me."
Beside herself at the prospect, once home she'd wailed, "Go
get Jennifer!"
Michele's long time friend Jennifer Pinson assured her that,
with the help of family and friends, she and David could
make it through the hardship.
"Ms. Jennifer was a big help," Morgan interjects softly.
Michele agrees, "She was, all our family and friends were a
big help."
David and Michele had before endured uncertain times.
They began dating when they were both 16. A junior in high
school and daughter of Mike and Laura Bateman, Michele was a
year ahead of David and somewhat older, born four month
before his November birthday.
They met one evening during the decades-long, teenage ritual
of cruising the Dairy Queen. He attended prom with her that
year and the rest is blissful history, disrupted by the
circumstances of Michele's horrific pregnancies.
She was attending Bethel College when David completed basic
training. With that chore behind him, Jackson State
University was first on his "world tour of universities."
After realizing he was ill suited for the pre-med lab
program in which he was enrolled, he switched to Bethel
where he found a criminology class to his liking. With no
major offered at Bethel in that discipline, however, he
transferred to UT-Martin. When Michele's first job in social
services, after her 1991 graduation, took her to Knoxville,
he enrolled at UTK. Upon her transfer to Union City, he
returned to UT-Martin where he graduated with a degree in
criminal justice and a minor in sociology.
"And five years later I was born," whispers Morgan.
She was the couple's "last normal child," they joke. Michele
experienced gestational diabetes in her pregnancy with
Zachary, who weighed in six years ago at 10 pounds, 11
ounces. Two years later, she was in bed for more than five
weeks as she fought to maintain her pregnancy with Evan, who
came into the world two and a half months early at three
pounds, two ounces.
Though David was sick with the flu, running a 104-degree
fever, he was allowed into the delivery room. "I actually
think they thought they were going to lose both of them," he
says.
The six weeks Evan spent in neo-natal intensive care was the
couple's first plunge into the proving grounds of adversity.
Following a year of physical and speech therapy as Evan
learned to speak and walk, the couple emerged stronger, with
Evan, by all appearances, a normal four-year-old.
"He's a miracle," says David, smiling broadly.
"A wild one," Morgan adds quietly, with a knowing grin.
Reflecting on their solid relationship, David says gently,
"I guess we're still on that honeymoon. In 16 years, or 15
and a half or more, I can probably count on one hand the
number of fights we've had and they didn't last long. This
deployment gave me a lot more admiration... I see the
strength she displayed with the courage to raise three kids
and deal with her diabetes--she did wonderful."
Wonderful, too, for coalition soldiers, was the mission by
which David earned a Bronze Star for meritorious service.
Thanks to David and his men, many more coalition soldiers
are alive today to enjoy and pursue their own dreams, saved
from the ravages of the more than 80 IEDs detected and
destroyed along the supply route.
|
|
Deadly components of an IED. Fugas (left),
a mixture of soap and gasoline, acts similarly to napalm,
sticking and burning.
|
Initially in charge of second platoon, David's first job
involved a search and seizure patrol mission in the less
dire, southern reaches of Iraq.
"It was fairly quiet there," he says. Drivers were typically
amiable as they stepped aside to allow soldiers to search
their vehicles and even confiscations took place without
consequence.
"I had a great group of guys, I was really confident in
them," says David.
His role changed after a couple of months when he was placed
in charge of a third platoon mission to CSC (Convoy Support
Center) Scania, which he characterizes as "a big truck stop
in the middle of the road.
"The third platoon sergeant was on leave, so they called me
and told me I'd been assigned to take the third platoon on a
60- to 90-day mission," he explains. "That turned into nine
months."
The 26-man platoon was augmented with members from the first
and second platoons as well as support and maintenance,
bringing its numbers to 48.
"It was a pretty good sized operation," says David. His men
provided OpCon (operations control) support for soldiers of
Kansas' 891st Engineer Battalion's Alpha Company, who were
engaged in a hunter-killer mission, searching for IEDs.
Third platoon's mission was to secure bridges and culverts
from insurgents intent upon destroying the supply route.
On June 1, the platoon was incorporated into the IED
hunter-killer mission that became know as "Task Force Row."
Nearer Baghdad, the soldiers encountered a different face of
the Iraqi people. David says that, without a doubt, the
enemy arose from within and without the country in that
northern region, a stronghold of Baath party and Saddam
Hussein loyalists.
"We felt real good about that mission--it scared us, it was
nerve-wracking, you were always up tight; you knew if you
made a mistake there would be dire consequences, and we did
make mistakes sometimes--but we found more than 80 IEDs and
we thought that with every IED we found we saved somebody's
life."
Sadly, devastatingly, one who did not survive was one of his
own men, Dusty Carroll.
"That was my first mission back after leave," says David,
the pain from the loss evident in his suddenly knit brow. "I
was in the Hummer right behind him.... For what it's worth,
I was one of four or five of us that was doing first aid for
him."
It was 3:15 in the morning when the IED exploded alongside
the Hummer in which Dusty was riding. Terrorists had
targeted that vehicle, David explains, because they couldn't
"get a good solid lick" on the South African "Buffalo" mine
equipment that led the convoy, but knew the Hummer was "a
soft target."
Ironically, it was one of the new, commercially armored
Hummers in which Dusty rode. David's vehicle was one of the
"hillbilly armored" Hummers modified by the troops
themselves. The soldiers had up-armored the vehicles' vinyl
tops, undersides, and unprotected machine gun turrets with
shields of metal plating.
South African "Buffalo" mine clearing
vehicles (left) are designed to keep IED detection teams
safe while investigating suspicious objects.
"Hillbilly armor" applied to Hummers by
members of the third platoon provides an additional measure
of safety.
Maintenance troops Kenny Barber, Lyn Cochran, David Hollis,
and Troy Curry along with Randy Sykes and several other
soldiers participated in the life-saving chore of toughening
up the Hummers. Sykes had experience as a "body man" and
knew how to do the job right.
"That was our blessing; the thing about the National Guard
as opposed to the regular Army," says David. "The National
Guard has so many diverse people--mechanics, accountants,
carpenters, construction workers. Several guys could weld
and do mechanic work. Some were real wizards with
electronics. We had what we needed and were more efficient
in a lot of ways."
The much-hardier, "Buffalo" vehicle was proved on the dirt
roads of South Africa, where land mines are a danger,
according to an article by U.S. Army Pfc. Matthew Clifton at
www.defendamerica.mil.
It is an armored personnel carrier with a unique, V-shaped
hull that deflects explosions. It sits high off the ground,
increasing its distance from explosions, and has a 16-foot,
remote controlled arm used to investigate the roadside
"garbage" used to conceal IEDs.
David recalls his first experience with an exploding IED.
The blast that occurred about 20 feet away thrust his
Hummer into the air and slammed it back down, filling the
cab with smoke and gravel in a flash of fire.
"You never saw who attacked you, they used remote control or
attacked in the dead of night," he says.
"You guys have got guts," was how one Marine put it to the
crew that made safer the route he traveled.
"We took that as a huge compliment," says David, telling how
the man, when told they were a National Guard outfit, had
said that back home that made a difference, but "not here."
"He said, 'Here, we're all in it together.'" Says David. "We
felt accepted and that meant a lot."
The IED detection night crew prepares to
go on duty: pictured are: lying, Brian Carpenter; second
row: interpreter Jabber Otab and David Jarrett; third row:
James Tucker, medic Megan Widner, Kenny Mann, Jason Surrat,
Brian Buttrey, Jeff Hopper, Dusty Carroll, and Robert
Lovell; and fourth row: Stephen Prather, Josh Pardue, and
Bobby Gulledge. Photo by Lt. Stephen Love.
The work was arduous. "Basically we rode down the road
very slowly and looked at the shoulder of the road very
closely," he says, "looking for anything that looked out of
place or sometimes just a gut feeling. If there was a tire
or clump of grass you didn't have a warm fuzzy about, you
checked it out."
The convoy daily traveled the road, as long as from McKenzie
to Memphis, at 15 miles per hour. "We knew every pot hole
and every crater because we had studied it intently for nine
months; if there was anything out of place, you knew it," he
said with a touch of reminiscent weariness.
Had he been able to hand pick his men, he couldn't have had
a better, or more unlikely crew.
His immediate supervisor, Lieutenant Stephen Love from
Medina, was a copier repair man before he went to war.
"He's an outstanding officer," says David. "We ended up not
only boss and subordinate but would be best friends over
there. The guys kind of made fun of us, we ate every meal
together. Off duty we'd be sitting under a veranda made of
of camo nets between the tents. But it was always
work--battle planning, personnel issues--every day was work.
He and I worked seven days a week literally for six or seven
months."
David notes the experience he gained at Carroll Academy, an
alternative school run by the Carroll County Juvenile Court,
was an asset in his leadership role. He operated a juvenile
boot camp at the academy for three years and spent another
year at the school as site manager and head of discipline.
Third platoon, wearing black armbands as a
sign of mourning, pays tribute to comrade
Dusty Carroll, who was killed in an IED explosion July 31,
2005.
"I learned a lot about counseling and de-escalating
situations," he says. "Being able to do that and talk to
people was such an asset to me."
He also drew off first squad leader, Staff Sgt. Randy Sykes.
"His basic function was to make sure our gun trucks were up
and running," says David. "He was our go-to guy. He retired
as soon as we got back. We thought so highly of him. He's a
weapons expert and distinguished marksman. He was a huge
asset."
David recalls Sykes would tell him, "You've got all the tact
and I've got all the bluster."
"We made a good team, we worked off each other a lot," David
continues. "He taught me a lot about being blunt. You can't
be nice all the time, you've got to mix it up."
David is pragmatic regarding leadership: "You don't always
win the fan club award but you got to do what you think is
best. Sometimes it's better to make a bad decision than no
decision at all. If you can't make a decision, you lose your
men, you lose their respect. If you make a bad decision you
can recover. but no decision at all is deadly."
State Trooper, Staff Sergeant Phillip Clark was third squad
leader. Stern faced, David says, "He was all business when
he needed to be, but he's one of the best human beings in
the National Guard today."
Second squad leader, Staff Sergeant Brent Burch, from
Memphis, pre-war was an accountant for a major hotel chain.
He and Clark ran bridge hardening missions and took a turn
as convoy commanders for Task Force Row.
Fourth squad leader was Brian Carpenter of Paris, a truck
driver who on his own planned and implemented rear security
for the convoy.
"They were dedicated and just awesome," says David. "I wish
I could say something about everyone, I thought so highly of
them and just loved them all to death. I really think it's
rare you have a platoon that's thrown together... that a
group of people like that can have bonds together as we did.
We bickered at times, but my platoon was so close. We relied
on each other so heavily that we felt a camaraderie that you
can only achieve, not necessarily in war, but in extreme
duress. We became so close that a lot of us came out of
there feeling like brothers. You just sweat with them, work
with them, bleed with them and just live with them. I'm glad
I had the opportunity to serve with, know and lead the ones
I led."
Of their commander, school teacher and National Guard
Captain John Leonard of Nashville, David says, "He's got a
heart of gold, he's got a heart the size of Texas. He was
genuinely concerned about his men. He didn't stay in his
ivory tower, he rode several missions with me personally. He
was there with us for a lot of it. He wasn't afraid of work;
he worked excessively long hours. Sometimes he didn't eat.
We'd have to bring food to him because he wouldn't quit.
He'd run himself into the ground, but it's because he was
genuinely concerned."
Third platoon's mission continued until about three weeks
before Company A came home. Back at Tallil in southern Iraq,
David told his men to hide.
"We had done our mission and caught a lot of hard stress, so
when we got back to Tallil we relaxed," he says. "We tried
to unwind before we came home. We played cards, watched
movies. It was needed, my guys were exhausted mentally and
physically."
He continues, "Our mission was extremely worthy and other
platoon's missions were also extremely worthwhile as far as
renovations on post, shoulder work, work with locals' hearts
and minds; they had worthwhile missions, too.
"I feel like what we did, it was an honor to do that. I was
proud to do that. It was scary at times, it was nerve
wracking, but I felt like it was a very important and
special mission... I'm in for the long haul."
David warns it will take some time after "decompressing" at
home before the men can "start thinking clearly again.
"A lot of my guys came back still keyed up, still on edge.
They go through paranoia, hypervigilence, it's hard to let
it go where everything you'd see was a possible IED, any car
that got next to you, you were ready to shoot."
He's made his own changes, transferring out of recruiting to
the 194th Engineer Brigade in Jackson.
"I think the things I have seen and done in Iraq... for me
personally I don't feel comfortable recruiting, but if I can
I'll help a soldier that's in."
As for the future, he says, "Our plans are to retire as
early as we can possibly retire and live right here and
travel the country."
He calls the response he's received at home, and across the
country while traveling home from Iraq, humbling.
"There was an 80-year-old man in a Marine Corps uniform and
Korean War vets that saw more combat than I did, and they're
thanking me? That's humbling," he says. "And when we got
back home again and there were so many people hugging and
thanking us. You're grateful and you love it but on the same
token I felt so modest, I wasn't sure what to say or do. In
the back of your mind you always question whether you
deserve it or not."
Says Michele, "I'm thankful we live in a small community
like McKenzie, this city really came together."
In addition to the community as a whole, David says, "I want
to thank my wife and children and our family and friends...
I don't have enough room to list all the people, and our
church, they were wonderful. The amount of help people were
willing to give was just unbelievable, people were so
supportive. The welcome home was so well planned, so
enthusiastic. It was just wonderful."
