One Fine Summer Day Carleton R. Bowekaty

One Fine Summer Day

By Carleton R. Bowekaty

I have indelible memories of Iraq, which felt surreal then, doubly so now. I served three tours with the United States Army. This event occurred sometime during Summer in 2003, north of Baghdad in what was known as Forward Operating Base Taji. As part of my team, I drove a cargo version of the High Mobility Multi Wheel Vehicle, commonly referred to as Humvee. Before many of the insurgent activity began, I drove our vehicle in regular convoys. My Humvee did not have armor but was covered in a weatherized tarp-like material. I could sleep comfortably on top of the cab in a sort of hammock. The cargo area had benches along the sides for seating. Once Improvised Explosive Devices (IEDs) became more common practice against our Forces, I would not be able to drive in security convoys. Most everyone referred to me as “Bowie” since Bowekaty was long.

Our team was approached by a sheikh that lived next to a major road that was patrolled by our Forces. Sheikh Alex was a large man, kind and earnest in his approach that roadside bombs had been planted on his area of responsibility. He did not want to be blamed for any attacks on our Soldiers. He was not familiar with maps but was willing to show us the location of these IEDs. We had an Arabic linguist, Janet, that relayed this information from him. Janet was not enlisted but worked as a Department of Defense Civilian. Alex did have one further request, to wear a uniform as disguise to protect his family. Alex received some unfortunate Joe’s less-than-fresh duds, but at least it fit horribly!

With the disguise in place, we were ready to proceed. We had security support as well as an Explosives Ordnance Disposal (EOD) Team. I sat in the driver’s seat and looked over at Alex, wondering how we would communicate. Even in the best of situations, it is hard to talk over the running engine of the Humvee to your passenger. I asked him a question but our linguist could not hear from the back of the Humvee. We ended up sticking her in front, hunched over the engine block! Luckily she was a petite woman and a grand sport!

The Convoy Commander instructed us to take the lead. Outside of the FOB gates, there was a thriving market, with vehicles making way for our Convoy. Lamb hung from butcher shops and in certain places you could smell kebabs being grilled. Past the market, we continued down the road. An irrigation canal ran alongside this road, reeds screening the fields beyond. All along the sides of the road were farms of varying sizes and crops, one estate lined with rows and rows of date palms.

Alex was to let us know when we were getting within 100 meters from the IEDs. I felt Janet’s elbow in my shoulder and slowed to a stop. I looked down the road and pointed to a culvert I saw, approximately 100 meters away, and asked if that was the location. I hear female Arabic followed by male Arabic followed by -

“BOWIE!” shrieks Janet, “HE SAYS THE BOMBS ARE RIGHT THERE!”

I hear the radio click and the Convoy Commander asking if I can see the location of the IEDs. I look to my right where Alex and Janet are pointing. I see multiple dirt mounds with bits of metal and wires coming

out, lined up parallel to the road. I hear muffled questions from the back but reach for the hand mike to respond.

“Be advised we are in the middle of the blast zone,” I respond, “Recommend we move back a click, Over.” I hear the muffled questions in the back become muffled shouts of concern! Alex led us to the IEDs all right!

Once we moved back to a safe distance, security took their points while the EOD Team dismantled what would be over twenty 155mm artillery rounds, packed with explosives and daisy-chained together. A car battery was found nearby that would have electrically triggered the charge. We watched with Alex as EODT blew the bomb in place with a controlled detonation, bits of metal rained down on our cargo Humvees. IEDs neutralized, Soldiers safe.

There were many good people like Sheikh Alex and Janet, non-combatants in the terminology of the time, that helped this Zuni rez boy and many other Americans make it home. Elahkwa/Thank You.

By Ashley Matkovich