Combat Life Saver

“What are you going to do Private Miller,” screamed a nearby sergeant. I was petrified out of my mind. What had just happen? What did I just get myself into? “He’s f — -ing bleeding out Miller and you’re f — -ing standing there,” the sergeant’s harsh and coarse voice blared, penetrating into my thoughts, and then having his face inches from the side of mine.

Four weeks earlier, I had just landed on the island of Oahu, Hawaii. I was now stationed at Schofield Barracks, and given to the 25th Infantry, even though, at this time, my full unit hadn’t arrived back from their deployment in Afghanistan. They put all of us newly placed soldiers in a “Warrior Training” program.

This program was to retrain the entire group of new soldiers just coming out of their Basic Training and Military Occupation Specialty (M.O.S) training. There were approximately twenty-six of us all together, including myself. The training consisted mostly of combat drill formations, and then Combat Life Saver, or CLS.

The first two weeks were easy with the combat drill formations; those had been drilled, pounded, and chiseled into our minds and muscle memory. The next two weeks consisted of CLS training, and this training was more in depth than what we had gotten in Basic Training. I had no idea what laid in the days to come.

Training for CLS began in a classroom environment with sergeants and specialists conducting the walk through of CLS, the history of death on the battle field, and other important subjects. For three days, all of this was again pounded into my head: how to stop the bleeding, how to complete the task of a needle decompression, and how to move a casualty off the battle field.

My comrades and I made it a personal goal to be the best at knowing everything that the instructors hounded out. On the fourth day, came the written test. I looked it over and was confident, writing down the answers, and turning it in relatively quick. I passed with a 92%.

Then came the “hands on” testing, another four days of getting the feel for what we were learning and getting comfortable with how to set things up. I never got sick of CLS training, but there was non-stop training. The only times we stopped was for lunch, which was sometimes an M.R.E (Meals Ready to Eat), and at 1700 (5 o’clock pm), which was quitting time.

On the eighth day there, again, was testing. This time it was much more difficult, and could you blame them? Of course not, this class was to make sure that I knew how to treat a casualty on the battlefield. Thankfully, I also passed this portion of the training.

Now came the last two days of the training, which were called “stick lanes.” Everything that we were being taught was now going to be put into practical use; as real as could be in a controlled environment with little to no mercy. It was a pass or fail.

The new soldiers were cut in half. The first thirteen were labeled “caulk one”, which I was a part of, and we were going first. We were headed to a mock range. All of us were excited as we established who was going to do what and when.

The formation was a wedge formation — we made the letter “V” and the point was head of the formation. The situation was to relieve an already established platoon of thirteen from holding a small village. There had been reports of enemy forces occasionally popping off shots into the village, but they seemed to have died off.

The lane had begun, and I could feel my body prickle at the thoughts of what could happen. We made the required radio call up to the unit to let them know that we were only a couple of minutes away. The small five-building village came into our view. Now the anticipation was swelling in all of us.

We entered into the village and things seemed to be quiet and natural. Suddenly and without any warning, a massive amount of gun fire could be heard. On the hills to the north of the village, a group of the enemy force had opened fire.

Training plus adrenaline kicked in, and everyone found cover and returned fire. Even though the rounds were just blanks, a few of the soldiers of the established unit had blood shooting out of them. Something was off.

There came an explosion 100 meters to my left. It drew my attention to a soldier standing and returning fire. BOOM! One of his legs went one direction, and the rest of his body went the other. The image was rather bloody, and it petrified me.

I don’t know how long it was that the sergeant was yelling or screaming at me; I do not think that it was for long, but when his hand crashed against my helmet it woke me up. “Do we have superior dominance of the engagement?” I called out to my little section of thirteen.

The sergeants stated that we did. With the rest of the established platoon and five of my section holding security, seven others and I performed the CLS training to the casualties. All were saved and evacuated safely.

Later, after our section’s exercise was complete, the instructors informed us that they had volunteer veterans with amputated parts help with the exercise. The veterans came out and told us how they got their ligaments ripped off of them.

To this day I cannot, and will not, forget that experience. Because of this experience and training, I can perform without hesitation in nearly any battle situation. I still receive CLS training and have to perform the “stick lanes”; however, none of them could be compared to that day at Schofield Barrack.