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They were rushed to the Air Force Theater Hospital at Balad Air Base, north of Baghdad. They couldn't have been taken to a better battlefield hospital. I know, because for six weeks last summer I worked there as a radiology technologist.
Balad is a long way from southern New Jersey, where my family lives. The war, as it is portrayed here at home these days by some politicians who see it only as a lost cause, is a long way from the war that I saw played out every day at the hospital.
Here, there is much bickering about the merits of the war and strategies to win it. There, at the hospital, I saw single-minded commitment to saving lives -- Americans and Iraqis, friend or foe.
The base is nicknamed "Mortaritaville" and it lives up to its name. The base is frequently attacked with rockets and mortars.
The hospital consists of a series of contiguous tents and is surrounded by concrete "T-barriers" for protection. Inside, sand and dust were everywhere. There was constant noise from the diesel generators that provided electrical power.
On my first day, I found my way through the maze-like corridors to the radiology department. The master sergeant in charge said there were two 12-hour shifts with no days off.
When informed of the work hours, I told my daughter, Alison, that six weeks would fly by. I used the words "chump change" to describe the six-week deployment. She got upset with me when I used these words.
I was assigned to the day shift with two other technologists and a radiologist. The department had three CT scanners, an ultrasound machine and diagnostic radiology equipment.
One of my assignments was to work on the trauma team. When a Black Hawk medical evacuation chopper landed in the hospital compound, a monotone voice would say over the hospital public address system, "Attention, trauma call. Radiology, pharmacy and respiratory therapy, report immediately to the emergency room."
Then we would gather up X-ray film cassettes and walk briskly to the ER. Trauma calls went out two to four times a day.
When the casualties came in, the ER became a scene of controlled chaos. Doctors and medics frantically yelled out orders and requests. The ER team moved quickly. There is a golden hour to save a life. The three ABCs were crucial: provide an open Airway, ensure the patient is Breathing and their blood Circulation is functioning properly.
When the patient was carefully rolled over onto his side for examination, I carefully positioned the film for a chest X-ray. Upon my order, another technologist shot the film.
The film was digitally processed minutes later. Sometimes you could see a medic's hand in the film. The doctors needed a chest film quickly. They were looking for many things. For instance, shrapnel or bullets can cause a pneumothorax, or punctured lung, which is very serious. Sometimes, a surgeon had to insert a chest tube into the patient immediately after the film was reviewed.
After about a week of this activity and with some coaching from my fellow technologists, I developed a rather good technique. Day by day, I began to feel more confident in my abilities, and, maybe for the first time in my military career, I became an important part of a lifesaving team.
The surgeons, doctors, nurses and medics were amazing. They were active duty personnel, reservists or guardsmen. There was also a contingent of Australian medics. All worked as a seamless team.
Most of the injuries were caused by improvised explosive devices. It never mattered whether the patients were Iraqi civilians, insurgents, contractors or U.S. military personnel. The ER staff worked on every patient with the same resolve.
Some patients made it, and some did not.
Occasionally when a patient died, someone in the ER would ask, "Was he American?"
The answer never really seemed to matter. We all felt bad at every death. Usually there were more casualties that required your attention. So you just moved on to the next patient.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, the hospital had clinic days for Iraqi civilians. The patients had war-related injuries that required medical follow-up. It didn't seem to matter that they didn't speak English. Hand gestures and simple words were enough to communicate.
On Sept. 7, 2005, I was summoned into a guarded room in the ER. I performed a portable chest X-ray on an American civilian. He looked to be around the same age as me. I thought that he was probably a contractor. Next to him was an Iraqi detainee for whom I did an extremity X-ray. A plastic band bound the Iraqi's wrists, and an Army soldier guarded him with an M-16.
The next day I saw a TV news report that the U.S. military had rescued an American contractor, Roy Hallums. He had been kidnapped and held for ransom. He was kept in a hole for 10 months by his Iraqi captors. After a physical, he was going home, the report said.
My last duty day was Sept. 11, 2005, a rather poignant date on which to end my six-week tour.
Four years before, after the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, I was activated to work in the Dover Air Force Base, Del., mortuary as a radiology technologist. I was assigned to a forensic team to help identify the 189 victims of the attack on the Pentagon.
I'll never forget that duty. The radiology personnel assigned to the Dover mortuary are remarkable people. They perform their difficult painstaking duties day in and day out with little fanfare and with the utmost professionalism.
They truly personify the Air Force core values of integrity first, service before self and excellence in all we do. Looking back on these life-changing experiences, I feel proud and humbled that I was able to make a small yet valuable contribution to the global war on terrorism. To work on a team that saves the lives of these brave soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines is truly an honor and a privilege.
My thoughts, prayers and thanks go out to all of our servicemembers who have and will enter the "patriot gateway" to a deployed location in Southwest Asia area of operations to support Operations Iraqi and Enduring Freedom.
(Air National Guard Master Sgt. Thomas E. Hastings is a systems analyst in Philadelphia. He lives in Gloucester Township, N.J., and is a member of the Delaware Air National Guard. The original article was printed Feb. 6 in the Philadelphia Inquirer's South Jersey Commentary section. Used by permission.)